When I was little one of my favorite occurrences was free pizza samples at the grocery store on a Saturday morning. I’d be grocery shopping with my Mom and luck would have it our cart would roll by a little old lady tending a metal pizza oven, serving up tiny squares of piping hot pizza on little paper napkins.
For me, that memory is filled with mystique and a tinge of longing. That’s nostalgia.
Nostalgia is that warm, happy place that lives in our memories. It’s the emotional feeling I get when I see that Pizza Hut commercial from the early 90’s with the kid’s playing baseball (The one before Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on VHS). It’s that sentimental state I get into when I think about staying in on a rainy night, popping in a frozen and getting cozy on the couch with a movie.
It’s my yearning for Rocky Rococo’s $1 slice Tuesdays when school let out in 8th grade; knowing I didn’t have a care in the world. The thrill at 2 a.m. in college to have a grease soaked cardboard box with something that resembled pizza in it. And how my Mom knew that I wanted squares and Jeff wanted triangles when she divvied up our frozen pizza growing up.
Nostalgia provides euphoria in the good times and can console us in times of loss. I’ve often turned to the fuzzy feelings of nostalgia when times get dark.
Fond memories and an oven preheated to 425˚.
I’m not one to get hung up on celebrity news and fanboyism, but I felt an immense sadness by the passing of Anthony Bourdain. He got me excited about exploring the world through food and writing about it. He was a voice of reason. Though I don’t know the guy beyond reading his books and watching his TV shows, I felt like I lost an old friend.
Maybe that despair comes from the realization that all things grow and die, or that everything changes and that’s scary. Maybe it’s witnessing an icon fall, and knowing those we look up to have their own weaknesses that can ruin them. Either way, I do believe recounting the beauty of our past can aid in that pain, so we can move forward. In homage to my fallen anti-hero, I spent my last pizza night revisiting the first season of No Reservations circa 2005 in which Anthony kicks off the show in Paris, France. It brought me back to a better place after a rough week.
What pizza taught me:
Moments are fleeting, but our memories are not. Nostalgia can help us look past our current problems and see the bigger picture; the reasons why it’s worth getting up, dusting off and pushing forward. When the world gets dark I’ll recall strolling down my favorite aisle with my Mom and find solace in that little old sample lady and the tiny slice she served.
What I’m eating: Tombstone Original Pepperoni, cut in squares on a paper napkin.
What I’m reading: Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life Anne Lamott