fiat or take and bake

Pizza is an acceptable form of tender for settling debt, both public and private, a court in Padua has ruled. A divorced chef may pay alimony to his ex-wife with the equivalent of three hundred euro worth of pizza per month, the judge decided after examining the husband’s income. This would have been a funnier story if the alimony did not include child-support and the pizza chef was just exacting revenge on an avarice ex-, but at least the man is making the effort to ensure that his family is provided for.

casual dining

Heard on National Public Radio, I learnt of this quirky and humourous blog project to document the demographic shift in fast-food culture by charting the demise and repurposing of one of the more recognisable architectural follies of a certain franchise. The standard blue-print of a Pizza Hut with its distinctive mansard roof is hard to hide once the former proprietors vacate the building and it is masked by new tenants, ranging from other fast-food restaurants, chapels, car-rentals, to mortuaries.

It’s certainly strange to consider how the failure of one market can be mapped due to the figure it limns—though most new franchises are installed in non-custom places now, and in part, I guess the lovely ruins are testament to the shift in diners’ taste, preferring to order-in rather than dining out. Also, while the popularity of pizza is not exactly on the wane, I suppose people are more health conscious—or at least make the requisite noise to pretend to be—what with the campaign against gluten or the reversal on fats, eschewing buffets, etc. and that’s a factor as well. Though it’s far too late for these transformed huts, with charging awareness and created taboos, there also seems (of late at least) a certain degree of fetishising the forbidden that one sees in the deep-fried anything and everything, the glutinous portmanteau of the cronut or making vaping something fashionable but maybe such fixations will make for a neo-classic revival for such red roofs.

hors d'oeuver or hors taxes

There is an apparently flourishing business for pizza and for others in the meals on wheels service on the German side of Swiss borderlands.

This scheme, however, is threatened by a new requirement to electronically file customs declarations for cross-border deliveries. It was already worthwhile for those kitchens and customers positioned to do so to comply with the tariffs, saving some ten francs or more compared to domestic fast-food and a system for collection was already in place but to force bankers' hours on an industry that's spontaneous and relies on people's sloth and failure to plan many times could prove disastrous for some opportunists. Diners and delivery personnel would be treated like smugglers. I wonder what kind of antics might ensue to keep up with demand and I wonder how the official assigned to that toll-house might feel about his or her job.

what do you want on your tombstone? pepperoni and chease

I know that selecting a heavily processed frozen pizza makes could call ones judgment into question to begin with, but usual foregoing the American shopping experience—at the company-store, and opting to mostly buy groceries on the so-called “economy,” I was a little aghast and amused with the detailed, cradle-to-grave instructions on the packaging. One has to wonder what sort of horrendous lawsuits prompted such directions. Every once and awhile, it's worth it to have the reminder that there are far superior alternatives, readily available and even with the premium of far fewer special ingredients, unless one insists on a taste of home. Naïvely, I used to believe that such fortification with preservatives was a result of some rigourously honest admission and was required to maintain freshness for a long journey overseas, but now I think otherwise—especially considering the re-imported items on the shelves. I refused to believe that German beer, brewed hereabouts, was actually sent to the States, only to be sent back and sold at a discount, denominated in American dollars and with no visible taxes, to someone.
Just before the holidays, I noticed an expanded assortment of champagne, prosecco and Sekt, and I thought it was to supplement demand at first—that is, until I noticed this label (with mandatory warnings) on a effervescent beverage produced and bottled quite literally just around the corner. Lured by a bargain, I am now finding this more than a bit unconscionable. Though I am glad that there's an export-market for goods that seem very local, this indirect route to pass the savings along to you seems rather wasteful—whether or not specially outfitted for the journey.

sticky fingers or mother’s little helper

Not that we only make store-bought pizzas, but this little spoon rest that my sister sent me as a gift would come in handy then too. When not in use (and I’m one to clutch on to something rather than put it down in some place where it might be in the way or make a mess) I could hold it up to my mouth and sing Brown Sugar and She’s so Cold or “I’ll never be your pizza burning.”