Friday nights are tough at the Sandwich house. Baguette is exhausted from the long week. We’re tired. We’ve learned it’s a terrible night to go out to dinner, because Baguette is just not up for it, no matter what restaurant we pick.
So we usually wind up scrounging. I’ll eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (or two). Mr. Sandwich will eat hot dogs or a quesadilla.
But this one Friday? I was too tired for that. I said, “What do you think about ordering pizza?” So we did. And that was good. And it got me thinking.
What about making Friday Night Pizza a regular thing? Not ordering it–I don’t want to spend $25 on a pizza every week, and even interacting with a delivery person seems like too much at that point.
So we started making pizza. Not entirely from scratch–we buy the crusts, and after a few experiments have settled on Boboli–but I make sauce and Mr. Sandwich grates mozzarella and slices pepperoni. Maybe I’ll cut up some vegetables, maybe I won’t. Sometimes we make our own small pizzas; sometimes we split a larger one.
And now it’s become something I really look forward to. It’s not fancy at all, but it’s something we do together at the end of a long week. It’s cozy. It tastes good. It’s nice.
It’s Friday Night Pizza.
