I’ve got to be up front with you. There’s something I need to get off my chest. An inner voice says some things should just stay in the closet. Then another chimes in that I should spill it. Afterall, you deserve to know what a freak I am was. Over the next few weeks I’m going to work on lightening the karmic load by making amends. Not to my loved ones that are most deserving. That would be too easy. Nope, this shedding of guilt is strictly targeted at a few strangers that I encountered over the years. You’ve probably already read about the skinny dipping incident. Next up is Domino’s Pizza.
Now let’s think back to a simpler time. A time before Al Gore gave us the internet. Before cell phones and caller ID. Before the advent of Prozac and stalker laws. You remember, the glorious days of big hair and tight rolled, acid-washed jeans. Back then I ran around with a couple of girls that we’ll call Michelle & Priscilla. We’ve known each other since kindergarten, we grew up together, went to school together, and pretty much did everything together. But the thread that bound us most tightly was Neurotic Girlfriend Syndrome. Today the affliction can be controlled with medication. But back then you just had to tough it out.
The cause remains a mystery but it is commonly believed that the condition is exacerbated by junk food, lack of sleep, and jilted-girlfriend songs. And the condition could easily escalate to a dreaded case of Psycho-Ex-Girlfriend-From-Hell Disorder. We had Alanis Morissette egging us on. By the grace of God, the world had not yet been blessed with Carrie Underwood. A recording of “Before He Cheats” would have sent us completely over the edge. After her passionate tirade, a mere whiff of Polo could have pushed any of us into taking a Louisville Slugger to the front end of a Camero. And I was there when a certain someone carved her own name into an ex’s kitchen cabinet. But I’m rambling now…let’s get back to it.
We were in our mid-to-late teens. Old enough to drive and with way too much time on our hands. We either had boyfriends or boys that we assumed to be our boyfriends. Occasionally those boys may leave a scrap of paper lying about. The kind with 7 digits and no name. Together the girlfriends would huddle. “Does this look like a girl’s handwriting?” “What do you think?” “Maybe it’s just a guy he works with?” Of course your teenaged best friend is never going to point you in the direction of reason. She is positive that your man is two-timing! She has not a shred of proof. Only her super psychic best friend powers. But she’s a real friend and will make it her life’s mission to help you track down the floozy and get to the bottom of this scandal!
I think the idea first resonated with Michelle. Maybe she saw it in Lifetime Network movie of the week. It was golden and we loved her for it. A clever little accessory for our investigative handbag. Domino’s Detective Identification Service – find a number and order a pizza. Seriously. It’s so easy it boggles the mind. You see before modern technology killed it for us psycho-ex-girlfriends-to-be, a quick call to Domino’s went a little something like this…
Them: “Domino’s Pizza. Can I help you?”
Us: “Why yes, My number is 555-6666 and I’d like a large pizza with extra cheese.”
Them: “Yes mam, Mrs. Hungry Lady. We’ll get that right over to 123 Happy Family Lane.”
Us: “Thanks so much! See you in thirty. Can’t wait!”
Brilliant! We had a name & address. And you can trust that in 30 minutes or less somebody else had a piping hot pizza at their doorstep with an anxious driver ready to get paid. What’s that? Were we successful? Well no, I don’t recall ever actually catching anyone two-timing. But we dang sure tried. And it kept us busy and out of trouble. You know the old saying about idle time being the devil’s workshop.
Time marched on and technology advanced. To put it plainly, Caller ID ruined it for us. But we have far superior stalking tools now. Thank you, Al Gore! And I’m sorry, Mr. Domino’s man. I didn’t really mean to cause you so much grief. I’m sorry we used you so carelessly. For failing to recognize your need to feel appreciated for your invaluable service of fresh pizza in 30 minutes or less. As a grownup and the designated cook at our house, I now understand just what a feat that is.
So there, I feel a little better already. And a little hungry too. My childhood peeps and I still get together for a good pizza now and again. This recipe is my adaptation of a Pampered Chef appetizer. It is NOT a 30 minute or less meal. So plan in advance as it is vitally important that you THAW & drain that spinach. (So very sorry about that, Shari!)
Here’s what you’ll need and do:
prepared pizza crust
1/3 cup mayonnaise
1/3 cup sour cream
1 package (10 ounces) frozen chopped spinach, thawed and well-drained
1 can (14 ounces) artichoke hearts, drained and chopped
1 can (8 ounces) sliced water chestnuts, drained and chopped
4 ounces crumbled feta cheese (I like tomato basil, but what evs)
1 garlic clove, minced
1 small to medium red onion, sliced very thin
1 cup shredded mozzarella
Combine mayonnaise & sour cream in a large bowl. Drain spinach and squeeze out as much moisture as possible. Drain & chop your artichokes and water chestnuts. Add spinach, artichokes, water chestnuts, feta cheese and garlic mix well.
Rub about 1 tablespoon olive oil on your pizza crust. Spread spinach mixture evenly. Top with onion slices. Sprinkle with mozzarella. Bake as your packaged crust directs. (10-12 minutes or until heated through)