I was honestly under the impression that I don’t want pizza often.  It’s not that I don’t like pizza.  It’s just that I can’t eat it all the time.  It could have been the weekly pizza night as a kid.  Or the fact that I have a kid and those things are like little pizza eating machines.  Whatever the reason, when the question “What’s for dinner?” is asked “Pizza.” is not the answer I long to hear.

But last night a late night pizza dinner was exactly what I wanted.  I had it delivered just like they did in the olden days so I could lay in bed watching movies and munching on the cheesy saucy sausagey goodness.  And it was… well it was okay.  The pizza was okay pizza which is what I was expecting but I thought since I was in the mood for pizza there would be some moment of cosmic pizza goodness in which my tongue and tummy rejoiced and praised the pizza lords for this meal on a crust.

Eh.  There were more interesting things going on.

But this morning??  THIS MORNING?!  It was like a choir of angels singing down from above as I delicately chewed each bite.  You should read “delicately chewed” as “ripped into”.  It was pizza.  It was breakfast.  It was glorious.  And now I have to contemplate some of my other breakfast faves.  Cold fried rice from the takeout container.  Re-heated soup.  Tacos.  And yes… corned beef and cabbage.

A light came on.  I do love pizza.  I DO.  But just for breakfast. It really does explain the appeal of brinner.