How I took on Papa John... and won

Tonight, I had been planning on a nice meal for my roommates and me. We haven't been able to sit down together much for a while, and I thought it'd be fun.

Unfortunately, plans never seem to go as I would want them.

I got home from work, and fell asleep on the couch. It turns out that Brian was already asleep upstairs. Around 6:30, we were both up and thinking about dinner. And our lethargy. Brian suggested pizza and a movie, which sounded great to me. But then we started wondering, what pizza shall we have?

We debated for some time on this matter (I mean, come on, the combination of indecisive and indifferent is just terrible). Finally, I decided that I wanted to make our own pizza. Brian kind of tried to talk me out of it--he didn't feel like doing anything, we both wanted pizza sooner rather than later, and the like. But, I was now set on it, and went to it.

The end result was fantastic. My initial reasoning for going the homemade route was that I'm rather picky about my pizza. Eventually, hunger and apathy won out and I didn't care what it tasted like, but my slow-food soul relished the experience. We spent longer in the kitchen, it's true, and we could have expended less energy and gotten to eating sooner. But the beauty of our pizza tonight lie in our work and our time together preparing it. I made the sauce from tomatoes Erin and I had canned, and pulled the pepper from Paulus's out of the freezer while Brian chopped mushrooms. We spent time lingering together, fighting with dough (though I admit, that part we didn't make), and watching eagerly as the cheese went all bubbly and the crust got good and crispy. I, as usual, had my fun playing with spices during the entire process, and we were all well rewarded in the end.

As I ate, I reflected on the hands that had worked on this pizza. The tastes and the nourishment of it were made so much more beautiful by the care and labor that I knew had gone into it. It wasn't just a disembodied product that came from a vacuum; it was tomatoes and peppers and mushrooms and spices--cared for from beginning to end by folks who care what food does for the body, the soul, and the earth. Some days I wish I didn't have to cook--heck, even today I didn't particularly feel like it--but the beauty of home and community enrich it so that I couldn't go for anything less.