Ahh...The Decline of Delivery Pizza

There was a time growing up when I held nothing in such high esteem as a delicious pizza brought to our door, where we fell about it like friendly hounds. Washing it down with cola was obligatory. Oops, excuse me. I swallowed some air and one of my fingers. Not being on my writing hand; it is an acceptable loss. We cooked almost all of our meals at home. Eating out, or getting delivery was a treat. That made eating junk food some kind of Holy Grail.

When I was twelve, a friend and I once shared a free Quarter Pounder at McDonald's. When done, we were still bored and broke, so we went across the street to look for balls on the golf course. When we found some, lacking clubs, we were likely to wing them across the street. On the days we were most unaware of our citizenship, golf balls bounced off the sides of cars, and we ran to our next expression of entropy.

In the present, I rarely consort with golf balls. And I can pretty much eat out--or in--anytime I want. It is precisely this kind of discipline which allows me to consider myself an expert on delivery pizza. It can be summed up like this: consistency is not the strength of pizza joints. That isn't to say pizza lacks consistency. It's just the contrast near-cheese and floor sweepings provide when compared with food that contains at least one vitamin and/or mineral is striking.

Here's the scoop; the best frozen pizzas are as good or better than three-quarters of delivery pizza. Once baked with the care which they deserve (what, you don't have a pizza oven?) balance your paper plate on one knee while you watch American Idol. Laugh as Simon mistakes saleability for talent. When your cousin, Sara, gets back from the tryouts with a sad look on her face, fix her one of the good pizzas. Here in Madison, Wisconsin, that can mean an Emil's or a Park Plaza pizza. Sit her down to enjoy something pizza chains can't seem to get right. And turn off the TV so your cousin can eat in peace.