Such was the case last night. I’d purchased a white pizza at the grocery. Spinach, garlic, mozzarella – you know the drill. Probably my all-time favorite pizza. Every time I have it, I’m hearkened back to my life in Florida. I had an apartment on one of the islands, so going home each night meant taking the bridge across the intercoastal, which was a real treat and the ultimate in relaxation on its own.
Anywho… as soon as I drove onto the island, there was a group of shops – gas station, small grocery and a New York pizza joint. Let’s just say that once I discovered the pizza place, I never ordered pizza from anywhere else. To this day, I can still taste that pizza – delicate white cream sauce, garlic cloves, four kinds of cheeses, tomatoes (that was an add-on for me) and spinach.
Apparently, my grocer has never had that experience. Because last night’s pizza had red sauce on it. That’s right. They’d taken a perfectly good pizza and ruined it with red sauce. Not that I don’t like red sauce, just that red sauce has its place. Which is not on a white pizza. Ergo the name – white pizza. UGH.
At first, I thought I could suffer through the grocer’s gross error in judgment. But a piece and a half in, I gave up, silently wondering if white pizza would ever be the same again.
So today, I’m off to find a real white pizza at a real pizza place. There’s a lot to live up to, here, so to all you pizza place owners, you’ve officially been put on notice. When you see me coming through the door, remember – white cream sauce, four cheeses, garlic, tomatoes and spinach. And no matter what, hold the red sauce.
How dare someone mess with Liz’s white pizza. Go forth, Liz, and search out a real white pizza, but be sure to pop in a CD of island music, blast the heat in your car on high, and put blinders on so you won’t notice that you are surrounded by dirty snow and bundled up people. And someday can you please take me to your island and treat me to a “real” white pizza?