Not long after Mr. Wild Dingo and I moved to Switzerland, we found a perfect pizza joint close to our house. By definition, this joint was homey, rustic, with plenty of miss-matching furniture, packed with locals and a friendly service staff. It even had home delivery and take out services. It seemed like the perfect solution for a post bike ride snack or too busy to cook take out.
It was crowded the day we investigated, so we tried it. We ordered some basic personal pizzas. I kept mine simple, with just cheese, while Mr. Wild Dingo ordered something more complex like ham and mushrooms. We dug right in when the order arrived. What I tasted wasn't spectacular, but passable. So I asked Mr. Wild Dingo how his tasted.
He leaned into the table and with the straightest face possible he whispered, "It tastes like luggage."
While I was pondering the logic of that sentence I asked, "Samsonite or American Tourister?"
I thought about it. But I couldn't come up with an answer. "So how do you even know what luggage tastes like? Have you actually licked a carry-on or chewed on a rolling suitcase?"
To my relief, Mr. Wild Dingo assured me he had not but he knew that if luggage had a taste, this would be it. I mean, seriously. Who could stay married to a spouse who noshes on duffel bags and suitcases?
But I had to know what luggage tasted like, so I took a bite. Sure enough, I discovered one does not necessarily have to eat luggage to know what it tastes like. In fact, one only need to take one bite of the pizza from this packed pizza joint to find out. It not only tasted like luggage, but on the scale of luggage quality, it wasn't even a good brand.
I really don't know how anyone can screw up pizza this badly, but apparently it can be done. I couldn't begin to identify the type of cheese or spices that were used. But they were just wrong. And the dough was the same quality of the crepe we once ate in downtown Morges, that we were certain was made from an Amazon.com shipping box.
We were sure there were plenty of other restaurants in our area that possibly had decent pizza, but neither of us dared to try. We never ate at another pizza since.
Until we were in Venice last week. There, we ate pizza every day for lunch. I'm not ashamed to say that I even bordered on gluttony. Seriously Internet. It's Italy. I haven't eaten a pizza in over a year. Do you think I'm going to let a little thing like gluten and wheat sensitivity stop me from partaking in all of Italy's finest foods? I threw caution to the wind and with help of a daily probiotic, the wheat and gluten didn't bother me too much.
Now that I'm home, I'm back to my wheat-free ways until our next trip out of Switzerland. Like I'm going to waste my wheat indulgences on luggage or Amazon boxes.
Some around here, however, have a different point of view.
"Pizza, luggage, cardboard, Dansko's. I'm not picky."