Grease is the word

In an effort to be less insufferable today, I turn to an entry about food. My recollections on Rax have netted more site traffic than many entries and are apparently the subject of someone's Facebook page, not that I can see that conversation.

At a work event tonight I had some pizza from a place that was the favorite from my college days because it was cheap, it was tastier alternative to the dining hall, and delivery was free. I hadn't had any in awhile--maybe a year--but with that first taste I was ready to devour an entire pizza.

I restrained myself, of course, but what a powerful experience to taste that food again. I hold no illusions that it's not objectively good pizza, but there's something very appealing about it. So what's the key to making it so addictive? My college friends and I determined that it must be the grease.

The joke among my circle was that they didn't make these pizzas in ovens but that they dunked them in deep fryers. The little pools of grease in the pepperonis were proof positive that these things were soaked in the stuff. Oh, delicious, delicious grease. Strangely, extra grease was not on the ingredients list.

The size we would get depended on how many of us chipped in, but an extra large was pretty common. It was so common, in fact, that it earned its own name. I believe I'm the one who dubbed it "The Bastard". From then on we rarely referred to it no other way. Legend has it that one time it was even ordered under this name.

The extra large pepperoni from this establishment earned its illegitimate name because of how it treated the digestive tract. If it was eaten at late hours, which it often was, the inevitable result was being rudely awakened in the middle of the night with intestinal distress.

Eating this pizza again brings back memories of late nights hanging out in the dormitories. Let's hope that's all that returns this evening.