We all have them, right? Those moments in the grocery store when you just want to indulge. You don’t want to go home and chop up all those amazing colorful veggies you just bought. You’re tired. You’ve been sick. You just need something easy. And fattening.
That moment found me a couple of times this past week. In this exact combination. I usually like to cook at home. Sure, restaurants and I are no strangers, but the routine is pick out a couple of recipes, shop for those, cook ’em and have leftovers ad infinitum.
Routine has not been part of my vocabulary lately. It’s taken much of the energy I have to sleep and kick virus butt. Enter weakness. A single serving pizza, and meatless pepperoni. The first time I “made” it, I set off my fire alarm. (So happy to know it works. Silver lining, right? Sorry neighbors). The second time was far less eventful. Both times—pre foodus— I was infused with a guilty pleasure that almost drove me to drag my gooey meal to a dark corner, where I could eat it in quiet bliss.
But … the actual taste of it wilted in comparison to what my mind had built up. I imagined a crunchy crust, sharp fresh tomato sauce, and buttery cheese. That’s not what my mouth got. A frozen pizza warmed up in the oven. Don’t get me wrong. It was fine, maybe even better than many of the frozen pizzas shivering in the arctic wastelands of the freezer section. However. It was not “foodie” worthy, nor did it fulfill the sinfully delicious quotient of that guilty pleasure bit. It DID satisfy every inch of the lazy factor, though.