FROM “Notes of a Pizza Deliveryman:”

I will eat a slice of the stuff every now and then, but when I hear a child or adult say pizza is their favorite food, I cringe. They must have never had my grandmother’s lasagna, my grandfather’s beef roast, my mother’s London Broil, my neighbor’s elk steak, or my pastor’s grilled trout. Have they ever been to real restaurant? I don’t eat out very often, but when I do I prefer to visit an establishment that serves real food, and has a quiet and elegant atmosphere. In Denver I like the Briarwood, Simms Steakhouse (formerly Simms Landing), the Chart House (Genesee), and the Greenbriar Inn up in Boulder, to name a few.

Yes, they cost a bit, but even when my family was of very limited means I recall being taken to these places for special occasions. I would have to wear nice clothes, and could not act like a barbarian. These are some of the most magical memories of my childhood, the wonder of being taken to a special restaurant, getting to taste a special dish from the land of my ancestors or a local delicacy. The tablecloths, the multiple forks and utensils set at my place at the table, the dignified and well-dressed waiters, everything made the atmosphere special. Even as a little boy, I instantly recognized that these were places where ladies and gentlemen who are distinguished and have class go to dine! Sometimes the food was a little strange or not to my liking but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Unbeknowst to my little barbarian self my parents were teaching me to value quality over quantity, testing the good manners they were teaching me, and turning me into an adult! I never had an experience like that eating at Cici’s or Burger King.

So many people in my generation (I am 24), particularly the men, throw a fit when told they will have to be dining at a quality establishment or attending a fancy reception or banquet. Bereft of their flip flops or skateboard shoes, dirty jeans, faded T-shirt, and their loathsome baseball cap they moan and whine about having to wear dignified clothing, eat with utensils, and have to try to act civilized. They blast the atmosphere as being stuffy, pretentious, and fake. Sadly, the young females of my generation are not much better. They don clothing and shoes better suited to a streetwalker and equally absurd makeup, if you can get them out of their way-too-short shorts and flip flops in the first place.

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