Here's What I Learned After Eating Nothing but Pizza for Seven Straight Days - Life in the Kitchen

Here's What I Learned After Eating Nothing but Pizza for Seven Straight Days - Life in the Kitchen
From The Kitchn - December 5, 2017

I was a college sophomore when I met my hairdresser. He was an up-and-coming salon superstar, a hair-show headliner with a nationwide fan base. I was a 19-year-old whose unfortunate interpretation of 'The Rachel' made her look like your least stylish aunt. He changed that, and he's the only reason why I no longer share a hairstyle with someone who could tell you where to buy a nice pair of slacks.

Since I never escaped the mid-sized Southern city where I attended school, my relationship with him has lasted well into my 30s, outliving the relationships I have had with everyone except my immediate family and Law & Order: SVU. It's an understatement to say that we have gotten to know each other well, so at my last appointment, when he spun my chair around and said "I have a serious question for you," I was concerned.

He took a deep breath, while I anxiously smoothed out the wrinkles in the bleach-proof vinyl cape I'd been covered with. "Okay, here goes," he said. "If you were stuck on a deserted island, and could only have one record, one movie, and one food, what would you take?" I was stunned into silence, not because of the question, but mostly because I was trying to figure out the logistics of finding electrical outlets on a remote island.

"Hello?" he said, interrupting my intense internal debate about whether the warmth of an original vinyl pressing would be worth the constant hassle of brushing sand off the record's surface.

"Okay, I'd take Ziggy Stardust, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and supreme pizza."

He was shocked. "Pizza?"

I nodded, because clearly it's the perfect food. A well-prepared supreme pie has all four food groups; it's the best possible combination of ingredients, and finishing one always gives me a sense of satisfaction that I assume people with athletic abilities feel when they manage to finish a bike race or make a complicated U-turn without pulling a muscle.

Here's What I Learned After Eating Nothing but Pizza for Seven Straight Days

Regardless, I left the salon determined to prove that yes, pizza is the perfect food and decided that the best way to illustrate that would be by eating nothing but pizza for a full week. Breakfast, lunch, and dinnerall pizza. I was excited and nervous, but not completely overwhelmed. You see, even on the best days, my diet is ... problematic; I live on a combination of frozen, pre-packaged foods, cereals with cartoon characters on the front panel, and Wendy's. Seven days of pizza? No problem.


I weighed myself before eating anything this morning, not because I am being ultra-scientific in this approach but because I have read all of the Bridget Jones books. I fully intended to start early, washing down a mouthful of cheese and cured meats with a mug full of coffee, but work and deadlines got in the way. So Pizza Week did not officially begin until lunch, and I had to go with the quickest, most convenient option: a pair of slices from Whole Foods. I told myself that I'd eat the pepperoni slice immediately and save the second until later in the day, but that approach lasted until I'd finished chewing.

For dinner, I called in an order for two lasagna pizzas (tomato sauce, ground beef, mozzarella, ricotta), my favorite pie from my favorite local joint. I'd spent the morning staring open-mouthed and heartbroken at the news reports out of Las Vegas and, several hours later, hearing that Tom Petty had died just added to the emotional achiness that I'd felt all day.

I walked to Burke Street Pizza under an impossibly blue sky, listening to Petty's Southern Accents and trying not to fall apart. I felt the weight of everything and, when it was juxtaposed with that dazzling early evening sunlight, I did not know whether to feel guilty for doing something as frivolous as ordering pizza, or to embrace the fact that I could.


When I woke up, my face was puffy, my mouth was dry, and my swollen hands both felt like catcher's mitts. All the pizza I ate yesterday might have been too much pizza. "You do not have to eat a week's worth at once," my best friend suggested, which seems like it should have been obvious, but I am also the dumbest animal in an Aesop's fable about self-control.

I decided to try to stick to an intermittent fasting-style eating schedule, which meant I'd eat all of my meals within one eight-hour window. (I stuck with this for one eight-hour window). Today's pizza was a rerun of last night's pizza, both reheated and straight out of the box while I stood in the cool triangle between the refrigerator door and my sad collection of half-finished condiments.


"You should make a breakfast pizza!" one of my friends enthusiastically suggested when I told her about my week-long plan. She's also the kind of person who roasts root vegetables for fun and owns clothing in a fabric other than sweat-pant material, so no, I should not. Besides, any pizza can be a breakfast pizza, so I had an entire medium thick-crust from Domino's.





Final Thoughts on Pizza Week


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