For the last few days, for some strange reason, I have had this hankering for a pizza. I will be having ‘pizza’ in our canteen at work today, but a pizza cooked in a proper oven is really what I’m talking about.
So, last night, I’m sitting at home, watching a film (King Arthur, if you must know) and the buzzer sounds, which is strange because we, generally, don’t get visitors just happening by.
So I answer it and, because we have a video entryphone, I can see the person who I don’t recognise. It is, in fact, a pizza delivery ‘boy’. He had the wrong number for the flat or, maybe, the wrong building?
Which got me to thinking. I remember when C came to our place in the country, in Herefordshire, for the first time. We suggested that, for dinner, we would have pizza. She seemed to think this was a good idea but was surprised when we got our coats on and drove 5 miles to Kington, went to the supermarket there and bought our frozen pizza. For her, living in the city, you ordered one and had it delivered. Or went to a pizza restaurant (and there were none in Kington at that time and I very much doubt if there are any, even now).
But my thinking was that, even though we live in the city of Milan, in a country that has exported pizza around the world, if we have ever decided to have pizza at home, we go downstairs, to the restaurant at the back of our place, and get our take-away pizza from there. As they know us, we usually phone in the order 5 to 10 minutes before.
And yet there are many pizza delivery companies. I even have the flier for one on my wall by my computer. I just never think of using it.
I guess I should try one to see how good they are, at least before I leave Milan or Italy!
In the meantime I am thinking that a pizza and a beer would be a really nice treat tonight. I shall make a call or two.