I am crusty about pizza

One of the major advantages of having grown semi-adult children is that I no longer have to eat a lot of pizza. It's not that I dislike pizza. In fact, I'm strongly in favor of it, unless it has pineapple on it, in which case I'll only eat it if it's the last slice left in the fridge.

But, here's the thing: When you're a parent, especially a single parent like me, you're confronted with rampant pizza uncontrolled every nine seconds, everywhere you go. Unless your kids are not involved in any activities whatsoever, which means you're only forced to deal with it at birthday parties.

Soccer events. Baseball events. Scouting events. Campfire events. Church events. You name it, there's a pizza for it waiting in your future, almost like it's required by law. If you're really, really lucky (and I'm being entirely facetious here) you can go to Chuck E. Cheese and eat their Styrofoam pizzas, while listening pleasantly to the horrendous sounds of endless jingling machines. Occasionally, parents who were supposed to bring snacks to team games would just order a pizza, which was always a big — albeit expensive — hit with the kids. There were times when we actually had double-pizza days, when both of the rug rats had events at once.

Now, I get the whole concept of pizza, and I didn't even have to go to Italy to grasp it. There couldn't be a simpler way to feed a passel of ravenous young 'uns. You order it. Strangers magically show up with cardboard boxes, so you don't even have to provide plates or silverware. The kids grab it right out of the box and gobble it right down — although there are those recalcitrant types who won't eat the crust. Most people like pizza, so you can ignore the finicky factor. (I say most people, because my friend Kathy doesn't like it, even though she's Italian. I think they might throw her out of the Italian American League for that.) And all you have to decide is whether to get the cheap stuff or pies that are actually good.

Think about it. In the pantheon of easy delivery options, Chinese food definitely requires at least chopsticks, even if you eat it straight out of the container. Since your average kid doesn't know how to use chopsticks, this is a problem. Hamburgers would work, but then you get to the tricky issue of condiments. My daughter, Curly Girl, for example, will carefully remove anything that threatens to be healthy off her burger, if the restaurant even dares to put lettuce, tomato and pickle on it. There's also the mess factor. I can say without fear of contradiction that never have I managed to eat an entire burger without spilling some of it on my shirt.

So, as you can see, pizza is the logical solution. My daughter knew this personally, because she used to work at Straw Hat Pizza, which might be the world epicenter of kids' pizza parties. That particular Straw Hat doesn't have any fans around our house, because that restaurant always kept its servers' tips on the theory that the money would be used for an end-of-theyear party, but since Curly Girl didn't work there that long, she missed out.

However, if you have children, you have possibly been to one or more Straw Hats in your lifetime, as an end-of-the-season party, or to celebrate a coach, or just to eat pizza while gazing at an anemic salad bar with iceberg lettuce.

Most pizzas seem to be pepperoni, with the occasional oddball who wants cheese only. Kids never want “the works” because those include toxic elements such as actual vegetables. This can work in your favor if you're forced to attend a pizza party, because you can pretty much assure you'll have a veggie pizza all to yourself. Especially if you put olives on it.

Apropos of nothing, whenever I think about pizza, I'm always reminded of my first trip to Europe. I had read guidebooks claiming that Italians don't eat the kind of pizza we do in America, so I was expecting something unique once I got to the continent. But my first view of continental Europe was when I got off the ferry across the English Channel, and walked up into Belgium. My very first view of Belgium was of ... a Pizza Hut. Seriously. Not kidding. I felt vaguely outraged, because I had yet to learn the extent that American culture has spread around the globe.

Later, I realized this more completely, such as eating in a McDonalds in Varanasi, India, after watching the dearly departed being cremated on the banks of the Ganges River (They didn't have hamburgers, because Hindus worship cows, but rather you could eat a spinach-and-corn burger. Yum) Later in New Delhi, I went to an American-style mall where they not only had a Disney Store but also a Taco Bell. Why anyone would want to eat at Taco Bell when there was a delicious Indian restaurant next door was beyond me, but apparently they did.

These days, now that my kids are grown, my life includes very little pizza. Maybe it will again, when I'm taking my grandchildren somewhere. Meanwhile, the only time I eat it is when my kids leave leftovers in the fridge. It still makes a nice non-fattening midnight snack.