The Power of the Pizza | Teen Ink

The Power of the Pizza

January 8, 2010
By Anonymous

Throughout my life, one thing has oddly stayed the same. From my past residence in New York City to now in Ormond Beach, a good, old-fashioned pizza has always made even the worst days better. Coming from New York, the American home of the pizza, its no surprise I have such an affinity for it. Oven-baked, hand-prepared, and freshly made, these circles of cheese and sauce are a masterpiece of culinary excellence. The aroma of such a perfectly prepared pie can stretch across tables, families, and cultures.

Besides its allure, the humble pizza has a special place in my history for a very special reason. When I was just ten years old, my life changed drastically when I moved to tiny Ormond Beach Florida. Needless to say, this completely disrupted my quiet little life in the city. It was August, and the flight we took had a layover in Atlanta. My family was broken up because the temporary apartments we were moving into allowed only one dog, and we had two. This meant that my dog Fluffy had to stay with my Aunt until we could find a house because our other dog, Cujo, was old and a much smaller dog.

I was destroyed, but our house had already been sold, our bags were packed, and the new apartment was awaiting our arrival. I trudged through JFK as my family, consisting of me, my mother, my father, my cat, and Cujo. We all got onto the plane, the cat being my carry on, and the dog taking a fun trip through the cargo bay. Hours later, we had arrived at our new home for at least the next few months, and I immediately felt alone. No more friends, no more Fluffy, and a brand new environment completely out of my element.

Even the apartment was empty; the moving trucks were delayed by the approach of Hurricane Frances. I was tired and hungry, and I just wanted to sleep until everything was back to normal again. Then, my father picked up the phone and ordered the one thing that could make me feel at home, a pizza from the local pizzeria. It was run by New Yorkers, and claimed to have the same taste. I was excited by wary of the claims, knowing that they could be simply lying. But once that door bell rang, and the door opened, that crazy good aroma wafted into my lungs and I knew it was good enough. We had ordered two pizzas, and between us, none was left. I finally found a reason to be content, to accept this place as my own, all thanks to my favorite comfort food from my home city.

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