Week 4

Down 3.4 lbs (9.2 total)

The Gods are mocking me. Seriously.

Around the corner from me, two short Fairfield blocks, is Pizzeria Prima Strada, and apparently:

An expert pizzaiolo from San Francisco is training the kitchen staff in the proper art of making Neapolitan pizza. The wood fired oven is working, the doors are open and the owners are very welcoming.

I can attest to the open door. My bus stops right in front of it. At 5:00 pm every evening I will get to step off a bus, hungry, tired, and uninspired to the smell of a brick pizza oven.

Pizza is my bete noir, my saviour, my best friend, my anti-depressant, my demon. All other food is weighed against it: Moules et Frites? or Pizza? Cassoulet? or Pizza? Eggs Benedict? or leftover Pizza? 6 point frozen Weight Watcher Pasta Alfredo? or Pizza.

I know I will succumb, so I have to plan and I have to make that pizzaiolo my friend. I'll have to get a 20 point pizza worked out so that I can use my usual 10 points at dinner plus use 10 points from my weekly stash, and I'll make it an event. I cannot exclude this food from my life or I will feel deprived and eventually, defeated and depressed, I will crave it so strongly that I will eat it 4 times a week, with full Italian sausage and extra cheese.

P.S. Susan, I love you, get well, get strong, see you soon.