2528 Let's have pizza tonight!

At the library today I was reading a history of the pizza industry/craze in the United States, so I think we'll have take out tonight. No other foreign food has ever immigrated so successfully. It first really took off about 60 years ago in the midwest--and I was there, reluctantly. The first time I ate pizza was in 1955 or 1956 on a date with a tall, dark and handsome Italian-American whom I met because we both played trombone. I think he wanted to really impress me so we went to an Italian restaurant in Rockford (40 miles from my home, so counting the distance from Oregon to Mt. Morris, then Rockford then back, then to Oregon, he must have driven close to 100 miles round trip for that pizza). I was aware of two condiments--salt and sugar. I'd never tasted oregano, or garlic, and probably had never had any cheese other than Velveeta. I didn't even know how to eat it and asked for a fork--embarrassing him I'm sure. Leonard, where ever you are, forgive me. I love pizza now. I'm sorry I didn't believe you.

The second time I had pizza I was a freshman in college at Manchester in Indiana in 1957, and a carload of us went to a restaurant in the next town (getting out of North Manchester was excitement in those days), and they all ordered pizza. Being weak willed, I went along. It didn't seem to taste too bad that time. And it wasn't the beer--I still have never tasted beer because it smells like rotten grain.

By the time I had my first big date with my husband in 1959 at the University of Illinois, he took me to a restaurant in Urbana after a dance. I thought pizza tasted pretty darn good that night (maybe it was love?). However, in the intervening 4 years, I think the fat calories had increased considerably because I could see my happy reflection in the grease puddles on the pepperoni slices. And I was hooked.



Before (L) and after (R) pizza