How it all began

Elyssa says it really all began with "The Story of the Pizza."

The story of the pizza began when we were out at a local pizza joint with our two kiddos one evening. We had waited a bit too long to decide what to do, and, of course, once we decided, we picked one of the most popular restaurants in town. The wait was long, the kids were antsy, and we had just about had it even before we sat down at a table. Then we ordered-- pizza for everyone-- and the kids were bouncing off the walls.

So I decided, in a fit of either inspiration or persperation, to tell The Story of the Pizza. And it went something like this:

You know why the pizza is taking so long? Because the chef had to fly off to Iowa in his supersonic jet to pick the wheat for the dough. Then he had to bring it back here to the
restaurant, mix it with yeast and water, and let it rise for an hour or so before he could make it into pizza dough.

While the dough was rising, the chef jumped back in his jet and flew off to Wisconsin where he milked a good old Holstein cow. He took the milk to Rudolph, Wisconsin, where they made the milk into cheese. Then the chef jetted off to Florida where he picked some vine-ripened tomatoes for the tomato sauce. He brought it all back here, threw it all together and just on cue here comes the waitress with the pizza! alakazam! He made the pizza!

Telling the story of the pizza got me thinking a lot about where our food comes from-- really. Before it gets to our table. Before it gets to A & P or Shoprite. As Jews, we thanks God for what we eat before we eat it. It seems to me that being aware of the story of the pizza might just be a kind of food ethic I'd really like to live by.