You’ll say you saw this coming, but I promise it’s an anomaly.
If I’m disciplined enough to avoid snacking, a normal pizza-day order stretches for three consecutive meals. However, I forewent the normal post-pizza-day breakfast pizza in favor of Work Friend Eric’s birthday bagels at the office, which meant three things:
1) Breakfast pizza became lunch pizza
2) Lunch pizza became dinner pizza
3) My macronutrient ratio for the day was 100% carbs, 0% other
And no, obviously I’d never actually heard of macronutrient ratios before I googled it twelve seconds ago, so, no, I obviously have no idea if I used it correctly. Get out of here.
Huge shout out to the word forewent, by the way. Thank goodness that if you’re pretentious enough to forego something, you have an even more pretentious way to tell people about it later.
Speaking of pretentious, let’s talk microwaves. More specifically, let’s talk people who say microwaved pizza is disgusting.
What are you even talking about? Where did these artificially high standards come from? If you’re involved in any sort of pizza-reheating situation, it means three things:
1) You ordered pizza the night before.
2) We’re not dealing with any sort of high-end, artisan, pizzapomorphic trust fund that might actually warrant thoughtful revival. You don’t get leftovers from twenty dollar, twelve inch flatbreads – you get leftovers from the coupon that says for just five more bucks you can get a third large two-topping
3) You’re reheating pizza. No matter the method, you need to expect at least a 30% dropoff in quality from the cheesy magnificence you were blessed enough to partake in the night before.
Acknowledge leftover pizza consumption for what it is – an almost-delicious fulfillment of the obligation to prevent food waste. Simple. Beyond that, though, I’d argue that the microwave might actually be the optimal choice for pizza rejuvenation, the exception being any thin crusts, which become a little too The Persistence of Memory’d. But for any slice with a sturdy base, all the perceived negatives of the microwave manifest as positives. Now, I’m sure there’s actual science involved, but as far as I can tell, a microwave is really just a venue wherein you exchange your food’s consistency and texture for warmth. After a few minutes in the microwave, everything reverts to what is, apparently, the base form of matter. Droopy, spongy, pliable. In other words, microwaves make things revert to a series of adjectives also used to describe the greatest of cheeses. Which is perfect. Sturdy crusts maintain enough stiffness to differentiate themselves from the almost-liquefied mozzarella, but the two blur together just enough to make your mouth wonder if you finally surrendered to the most pure of human impulses and just started eating a big ol’ slice of cheese. And that’s a good thing.
Meanwhile, toaster ovens don’t stop until everything is crispy. And that’s a bad thing. In theory, a crispy crust is both an admirable and an attainable goal, but a toaster oven demands too many sacrifices to make it worthwhile. You’re gonna lose moisture, the sauce somehow becomes a nonfactor, the cheese is going to develop crunchy brown spots. And where the crust of a microwaved slice profiles as a breadstick, the crust from a toaster-ovened slice turns to bark. The whole thing adopts a smoky, overcooked vibe that I frankly just don’t need.
And I’ll try to keep this from turning into The Neighbor Steve Report, but there’s some Neighbor Steve news to report. Specifically, news that his home was unlocked and empty again. So, first, yes, obviously I borrowed his sriracha, but then, post pizza consumption, I put some brainpower toward reasons for Neighbor Steve’s continued lack of presence and, you know, honestly he might be dead. Or at least milk-carton missing. Four days of an abandoned, unlocked apartment can only mean a few things:
1) Neighbor Steve met a girl who likes defined triceps and started hitting the gym every evening and is so hopped up on love juices that he rushes out without remembering to lock the door.
2) Neighbor Steve met a girl who cares not for defined triceps, and has taken her out on four successive dinner dates, each more extravagant than the last, and is so hopped up on love juices that he rushes out without remembering to lock the door.
3) Neighbor Steve simply went on vacation and rushed out without remembering to lock his door.
4) Dead.
Now, numbers one and two are absolutely within the realm of possibility. Neighbor Steve is a perfectly decent human being but also kind of a bore and definitely the type of person who would change his body or spend a month’s paycheck on a series of dinners if it made a pretty girl smile. It’s the unlocked door that doesn’t make sense. Unless there’s a whole level of lovestruck delirium I’m unaware of, lust doesn’t make you forget the most basic of home security rituals. So the real answer is probably that Neighbor Steve’s on vacation and experienced just a single lapse of concentration. Problem is his car’s still here. No problem, he must’ve Ubered to the airport. Problem is it’s a $70 round trip Uber and airport parking is only $8/day. No problem, Neighbor Steve’s gonna be gone for over a week. Problem is Neighbor Steve owns plants and plants need watering. No problem, he asked someone who isn’t me to look after them. Problem is that makes no sense, I live four meters away and I’m goddamn helpful. No problem, I’m actually very irresponsible and he knows it. So maybe he’s dead. I hate speculation.
#FindNeighborSteve
Burned and Bland 