I thought I hated it. The very idea of it was enough to ruin my appetite. In fact, various renditions of it ordered from fast food outlets during working lunches and late nights, had succeeded in not just putting me off pizza, but the entire cheese family. They were giant lumps of white bread, sometimes stuffed with melted cheese. The sauce was a sickly orange with no discernible taste. The toppings were overcooked, each standing on its own, without taking any flavour from others or the sauce. The seasoning tasted synthetic. Indeed the whole effort was a usually a regrettable mess, leaving you with a heavy stomach for the rest of the day.
That was until I discovered pizza in Europe. Freshly baked. Thin Crust. Toppings are fresh and uncomplicated. The tomato sauce is cheerfully piquant, and energetically seeps into the dough as it bakes. The wood fires in the oven give it a crusty base and a smoky aftertaste. The cheese adds its salty creaminess to the sauce. When you bite into a slice, you are welcomed by a warm, soft mouthful of tang and cream, teased by the crusty bite and lured into having another go. No heavy aftertaste here, rather an assurance that you are warm and well taken care of.
I could have it every day for lunch and dinner. Come to think of it, I have been having a lot of it. Hmmm... that might explain why my jeans don't fit so well any more...
