When a fresh pan of pizza is presented to me, its skin undulating with subtle bubbles that rise and fall anxiously, my first impulse is to snag a slice at once and gorge myself with savage abandonment. The problem with this reckless act of gluttony is that pizza fresh from the oven possesses a self-defense mechanism to thwart its overzealous predators. This self-defense mechanism comes in the form of tongue burn. Insatiable as it is, fresh pizza does not want to be ravaged with desperate urgency. No. Pizza, like no other delicious food, demands a grace period of reverent appreciation and heart-pounding patience. Eaters who defy the respectful ground rules inherent in fresh pizza by wolfing down a slice with urgent rapture are punished with a scalding burn on the roof of their mouths. With the proper mindset, it’s obvious why pizza is my favorite food. Pizza shares so many correlations with the sort of beautiful woman who would take a chance on spending some frisky time between the sheets with a guy like me.
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