Because we are clearly mentally challenged and unable of making sound and fiscally responsible decisions, my darling husband and I have
reluctantly eagerly decided to purchase a pizza joint. Because of course, the restaurant industry is clearly consistent and viable in today’s upward and stable economy.
Seriously. We did. I’m so not shitting you. We really pulled the trigger with another partnering couple and now we’re the semi-proud owners of one little tiny somewhat ghetto pizza joint in an abandoned strip mall on the South side of town over the river where (incidentally) the main bridge is already out for the next TWO years due to extensive repairs. What?
Now here’s the thing. This pizza is THE SHIZ. It’s that good, seriously. We make our own dough. We make our own marinara and pizza sauce. We make 3 of our 6 salad dressings in house. We use twice as much fresh and expensive ingredients as what’s the norm in the food industry. I will personally pit our garlic knots up against the Mr. Pepperidge and Mr. Farm assholes. This is the real deal, yo. Good fresh food served in a friendly warm place by folks that actually care about the food, and more importantly, that you enjoy it. Something that I think is lost sometimes in some of the bigger corporations.
Hometown businesses. Organically grown and locally bought products. Hand made food that is custom made for each customer. That’s where it’s at. Or at the very least, it’s where it should be.
If this doesn’t work, if this fails miserably, if Johnny and I lose our savings, well then, so be it.*
There’s something really honorable if not ridiculously cool (in my book, anyway) about feeding people good fresh food. It’s such a simple thing, food. But not really. Not if you don’t have any. We’re not going to save the world one pizza at a time but what if we could? We might not be able to save the world but I bet we could help a family. Or two. Or twenty.
I’m also willing to bet that people will pay for good fresh food served by happy folks in a warm atmosphere. There can’t be too much of that, right? Well, we’re banking on it. Literally. We don’t want to get filthy rich selling pizza although it would certainly not hurt my feelings if that exact thing happened, but here’s the deal…
I like people. Johnny likes pizza. I like talking to people. Johnny likes to cook pizzas for folks. See how this works?
You know what? We gotta try. Life’s too short. Come see us. Have some pizza. Drink an icy cold beer and remind yourself that sometimes it really is the simple pleasures in life.
A hot cheesy slice of pizza, a cold beer and some friends. What’s better?
* Don’t get me wrong, that will totally be an unfortunate turn of events. Back to stripping I go.