Private Selection

So last night my son and I were eating pizza and I said, Wait! Don’t throw away the box. There’s some comedy potential on it.” And there certainly is. Our dinner consisted of a Kroger’s pizza priced at under $4, but it had a name, “Private Selection” TM, Pepperoni and Roasted Garlic. This, my friends, according to the box, was baked on a marble hearth. Be still, my barely beating heart.

The box went on to say that it had “a thin and flaky crust.” I know a lot of people like that— thin and flaky and yet with a lot of crust. So the box was believable and might actually be a fortune-teller to boot. I read on: “…topped with robust tomato sauce, stravecchio parmesan, fire roasted garlic, pearlini mozzarella, basil and pepperoni.” Whew.

Some people I know also have robust tops (and bottoms, not to mention their waistlines after consuming this marvel of modern baking.) Some people I know also reek of garlic! Ah, the knowledge possessed by this box.

“Oh, box, tell me more,” I said. And it did.

It gave me very detailed instructions on how to eat food of this sort.
Do not thaw before baking.
Do not eat without cooking.
Due to the unique ingredients, toppings may have shifted during handling.
(Wait a minute, this pizza isn’t Pamela Sue Anderson, is it?)

The box goes on to recommend that I remove all of the wrapping before putting it into the oven. This box is loaded with common sense. I was on the very brink of putting it in cardboard, shrink wrap and all. But I forced myself to discard the wrappings.

However, I hung onto the box. Now I shall continue to discuss this Private Selection publicly. The box invites me to share its passion for exception culinary experiences. Well, jab me with a fork. The box wants me to tell you how much I love Tootsie Rolls, apparently.

And it also gives me a promise. If this Private Selection fails to meet my expectations, I will have my pizza replaced or have my money refunded. Too late. This particular culinary catastrophe is already being converted directly to fat calories and being shaped to produce yet another spare tire on me, thus earning the Michelin Prize. I am “tired” now, so I shall end this essay abruptly, leaving no skid marks but a greasy stain on Facebook. Nuff said.

*This essay was made out of a pizza box and me, but it definitely is not a retread! Pass the gelato. The box recommends it for dessert. It oughta know….

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