My Pizza Journey
Short story
I want to explore in my youth to evade the regrets of 'what ifs' that would comfortably linger around during my older days.
I was on a week-long journey to European countries with my husband.
Today, we have set up our base in a world-famous city — Rome.
The city is filled with tourists and ancient monuments narrating the stories of the mighty Roman empire. Each structure passionately depicts numerous historical events.
We visited the renowned Colosseum, pantheon, and grandeur fountains nestled in the city’s heart. We were enjoying the symphony of the ambiance while grasping the cinematographic scenery straight out of Hollywood movies.
Although the May sun wasn’t poking harsh, after wandering the streets for hours and taking photos, our empty stomach growled. It was a signal that it was time to look for food.
Since we are in Italy, we decided to have authentic Italian Pizza as one of our main goals.
Yesterday evening, we arrived at Roma Termini. Following our German friend’s recommendation, we chose to eat in Roscioli. However, it was not what we were looking for. Out of hunger, we enjoyed the cold pizza like a sandwich roaming here and there.
We had a firm determination to eat something original, not served for the crowd to fulfill their hunger but for the soul.
The next day, after some Google searches, reviews, and recommendations, we selected cafes a bit away from the city in Trastevere. We reached there after some walking, passing by St. Peter’s Square.
Ciao! As we entered the cafe, a waiter warmly welcomed us. He showed us suitable seats for our seating. I wanted to sit outside. But between aesthetics and comfort, I chose comfort that day. The waiter handed us the menu and left.
Now, amidst the array of Italian dishes, my husband and I wanted to taste everything. We decided to fill every nook and corner of our stomachs with the food, even if we skipped dinner tonight.
We ordered pizzas, different styles of pasta, and a tiramisu. After a while, all these delights were placed before us.
At that moment, everything felt complete in life.
Without delay, we delved into the food. As I took a bite of a thin crust Margarita pizza, I lost myself in the fresh basil leaves. The burst of flavors from cherry tomatoes and olive oil went straight from the mouth to the heart. Being an Indian, I’ve always found European cuisine bland and flavorless. However, I found myself speechless.
Savoring the moment, I am all thinking about my journey to this pizza that started years ago.
The journey began on a profound and nostalgic evening in India’s oldest city. It was the day when the first mall opened in our town.
I am a 90s kid. During my childhood days, I had seen children go crazy for potatoes, jaggery, and pani puris. However, the new mall was like some magical realm — a glittering, enormous building with a prominent red 'M' (from Macdonalds)visible from afar on the roofs.
There was a strong desire in the heart of every middle-class child to get a chance to explore it. But for parents, this glittering building seemed more like a machine to drain money. Despite countless pleas, our hopes get dashed with disappointment.
It is a tale of those days when it needed to be beyond our reach for something to be considered 'Cool.'
My cousin, about five years older than me, got to explore this place with his friends. That evening, all of us kids relentlessly followed him around.
He narrated the wonders inside the mall, and we listened, awestruck.
He told us that there was a shop named MacDonald’s where they were selling burgers. It was somewhat like sandwiches but much tastier. Another shop served a unique dish — placing chutney and vegetables on top of bread, but the game-changer was the rubbery material resembling paneer soaked in milk, known as cheese. Its taste transported you to a different world.
All these stories ignited a hidden spark in our hearts. Such a marvelous world existed in our city, and we hadn’t seen it yet!
We assumed all the ingredients were within our reach; if made it at home, it might be inexpensive, wondering how it would turn out.
That evening, all the kids at home vowed, ‘Today, we’re going to have pizza!’ After all, you only need to put tomato sauce, vegetables, and paneer on a flatbread.
All the kids pooled money from the piggy bank. We took flour and vegetables from our mum’s kitchen. I sent my brother to buy paneer and tomato sauce from nearby stores.
As there was a wedding in the neighborhood, every single adult was busy with preparations. There couldn’t be a better opportunity to cook our food.
It was the season of rain. As my brother brought the groceries, the electricity got cut off.
Unfortunately, there were no inverters in our home back then. My hands were covered in flour as I was kneading the dough. The others were still arranging bell peppers and onions.
My younger brother, who was relatively small, was scared due to the power outage with thunder and lightning. Before he could start crying and I had to call my mother from the neighbor’s house, I quickly washed my hands and lit a candle.
Everyone else’s enthusiasm wouldn’t diminish just because the light had gone out. So, we continued. Heated the iron pan and rolled out thin rotis. Spread various vegetables with the sauce brought and scattered pieces of paneer on top.
In the end, we cooked it over low heat in a pan. After a while, seeing the fumes of burning, I cautiously removed it from the heat.
The pizza was slightly burnt from the bottom, but there were no complaints about the effort we put into making it. Everyone enjoyed it in the candlelight with great joy.
It was the first pizza of my life. However, it tasted and looked different from today’s pizzas. Similarly, the paneer differs from cheese and roti from bread; the sweetness of the effort made it worthwhile.
After That evening, countless nights passed, but my love for pizza continued to grow. Along with the demands of age, there were improvements in the taste and appearance of the pizza. Paneer gave way to cheese and tomato sauce to marinara sauce, but the love for making pizza never faded.
Days kept changing, and that old city is now filled with such malls and cafes offering cuisine worldwide. Whether it’s Pizza Hut or a renowned pizzeria, my quest for authentic Italian pizza has persisted until now.
Who knows if I will find myself in Napoli one day!
For now, I am overwhelmed by the fact of having those delectable spread in front of me in Rome.
Being a desi at heart, I kept rhyming while finishing my tiramisu, the lines borrowed from an old Bollywood movie.
A Translated version,
Only my heart knows all these deep secrets,
Who knows how these dreams turned into golden hues?
These dreams, they are my own,
These shadows won’t drift apart, even when we meet.
Even when we meet.
Namaste! It’s nice to find you reading all the way to the end. I pour my heart into these short stories, serving them to you. Feel free to share your thoughts, and suggestions.
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