I almost beat up one of my former voice students, Nic Sluss-Rodionov, today.
Actually, that’s not quite true. Anyone who knows the two of us knows that in the unlikely event that Nic and I would ever come to blows, he would have me flat on my back and in dire need of smelling salts – to say nothing of a first aid kit – faster than you could say “mismatch.” Nick may be a gentle, peace-loving soul, but he could break me like a twig if so inclined.
So no, I didn’t almost beat him up today.
But for a split second today, over the noon hour, I was tempted to try.
And it’s all because of pizza.
Right around 12:15, as I was heading past the art gallery and into the recital hall for voice studio, I passed Nic – and immediately detected the unmistakable smell of Domino’s Pizza wafting from the three boxes he was carrying. It turns out that Sarah Gorke, one of our adjunct voice teachers for whom Nic plays piano, was treating the students in her studio to Dominos Pizza for lunch. And I was instantly consumed by the sort of ravenousness that is usually reserved for very pregnant woman who go berserk over pickles. I would have sold both of our golden retrievers and every opera video I own for one of those Dominos Pizzas.
It was weird to react so potently to something which the whole world pretty much regards as utterly mediocre pizza – but I have had a weakness for Domino’s ever since my days in graduate school when it became my favorite late night indulgence. I knew full well that Valentino’s, the famous pizza chain anchored right there in Lincoln, served pizza that was ten times better. . . and I had it plenty of times . . . but there was something so irresistible about pizza delivered right to you- and cheap to boot ! I also remember the summer I spent at the Blossom Festival in Kent, Ohio the summer of 1984. I felt SO far from home that summer, and one of the things that made me feel a little less like I was on Pluto was the fact that I could order Domino’s Pizza- and it tasted just like it did back in good old Lincoln, Nebraska! You can’t imagine what a comfort that was!
And when I moved to Kenosha in 1986 and lived fofr five years in what I now refer to as my Bachelor Squallor, Domino’s became a frequent late night treat as well as a regular indulgence for Saturday afternoons while I worked at the radio station. (Back then, I did a Saturday afternoon classical music request show – except during the Metropolitan Opera broadcast season.) I would order a medium sausage pizza- eat it all by myself without batting an eye – and if I was really hungry, i would also get an order of breadsticks with garlic butter. . . and polish off the whole thing in less than ten minutes. (How I ever managed to eat like this without weighing 800 pounds, I’ll never know.) To this day, the scent of Domino’s Pizza makes we think of Verdi’s Rigoletto from all of those decadent Saturday afternoons at the station.
What’s really strange is that I haven’t had a Domino’s Pizza in ten years – not since I stopped working Saturday afternoons – but every so often I find myself LONGING for it, and I’ve never been gripped by that longing as powerfully as I was today. I know there is much better pizza in the world. . . Rocky Rococo’s is probably my favorite, if you don’t count Mabe’s Pizza in Decorah . . . but there is something about Domino’s. It takes me back to simpler days, I suppose. And there is something tremendously alluring about pizza that shows up, like magic, on your doorstep. (And once upon a time, it was guaranteed to get there in 30 minutes or it was free. If there’s anything I love more than food, it’s FAST food !) And like most people. I find myself especially loving whatever foods I can’t have. . . and as long as I am on this weight loss quest, pizza is off limits.
So if you don’t want to find yourself the target of these fearsome fists (which are registered as deadly weapons)
don’t walk past me with three boxes of Domino’s Pizza in your arms. You’ll never know what hit you!
pictured: the aforementioned Domino’s boxes, waiting to be thrown away. I was tempted to curl up next to these boxes and wallow in the leftover scent – but wondered what the art students walking by might think.