Pizza Taught Me Everything I Know
by Shandon Fowler, posted on May 12th, 2010 in The Food Issue
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When I was almost 4 years old — not much older than my own son is now — my mom and stepdad opened a pizza place. They named it Free Wheeler Pizza because it was the first pizza place in Salt Lake City to offer free home delivery. They started out with a fleet of Peugot Le Cars, which were quickly and methodically taken out of commission by the high school and college students who were hired as delivery drivers.
I spent so much time there that I became a bit of a mascot. I got to ride along with the (trustworthy) drivers. I would “help” stack industrial-sized cans of tomato sauce and crates of mushrooms. I would hit the button on the giant mixer and watch as the flour, water, and oil were spun into massive mounds of dough. I also did plenty of things I shouldn’t have, such as play with the “steel” — the sword-shaped knife-sharpening tool that made a suitable light saber with which to poke holes in my sworn enemies — the 25-lb. bags of flour stacked in the storage room.
Best of all, I would make pizzas. My mom and stepdad taught me how to spread flour on the table and then press and even out the dough. They taught me how to toss it up in the air — my favorite part, naturally — at the proper angle and trajectory to make it round and thin, but not too thin. They taught me the spiral technique for applying tomato sauce and how to evenly distribute the cheese and toppings. Naturally, they handled the oven and cutting, but the rest was up to me.
In my memories, I am standing on a chair behind the counter. People walk by outside and see, through the plate-glass windows, a pint-sized pizza chef making edible works of art. They come inside to order a pie and say “I want that kid to make my pizza.” My pizzas have just the right amount of cheese. The pepperoni and bell peppers are spread with the effortless perfection of a Brooklyn pizza pro. The crust is golden-brown with the ideal balance of crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. When a customer’s order is up, he eats his slice right at the counter so I can see the satisfaction on his face. My pizza is the best he has ever tasted.
Of course, I never really made pizzas for customers. The ’70s were more carefree than now in the food business but not that carefree. My pizzas usually got eaten by me and anyone working that day who was brave, or hungry, enough to give it a go. But my memories, they remain glorious.
Two years ago, my wife Sydney and I were looking into daycares and pre-schools for our son, Spencer. One of our top choices was a school that taught according to the “Montessori Method,” which espouses self-directed learning over more group-oriented traditional daycares and pre-schools. A couple we know told us about their daughter, a student at this school who loved it. One of her favorite aspects of the daily routine was that the children got to participate in the lunch routine. They set the table and “cut” bananas and other soft fruit with safe utensils. They also clean up after themselves when lunch is over, including cleaning off and washing their plates.
Best of all, they got to make pizza. Granted, it was an amateur operation compared to my glory days as a toddler pizza savant, but it was still enough to convince me that this was the right school for our son.
I could wax philosophical about how pizza is the most harmonious food ever created; how, when made with the right ingredients, it represents the entire food pyramid in perfect balance; how it is molded into its shape — a perfect circle — by hand; and how it tastes best when prepared with the most primitive of tools — a stone oven and an open fire.
My experience with pizza, and the experience I hope to carry on to my son, is about confidence, independence, and knowledge. Spencer has become accustomed to cleaning up after himself at mealtime. He asks to butter his own toast, and always finishes it when he does. He pours his own milk. When his mom is baking, he gets to form the cookies himself. And, yes, when we make pizza, he gets to put on his own toppings. There are few moments around the house that are so equally balanced between pure utility and pure fun. Plus, whenever he has a hand in making what he is about to eat, he is far more likely to eat it all, no matter what it is.
Pizza chefs Nolan and Spence prepare the pie
Such pros seem so obvious when you think about it: food and water are the most common denominators of sustaining life. Yet we’re getting further and further away from the sources of both. More and more of our meals are presented to us ready-to-eat — all we have to do is pick up a fork and go for it. And more and more, that’s what people expect out of the rest of life.
By teaching our children early how to connect with food and make it their own, we are teaching them to live. My own food adventures didn’t stop with making pizzas — they started. The combination of curiosity, confidence, and independence that I gained from those first few pies have carried with me throughout my life and, I believe, shaped my personality and adaptability.
I can already see these strains with Spencer as well. When we serve him meals, he eats them dutifully, but rarely completely. Yet when he has a hand in creating his meals, he eats them fully and emphatically. Likewise, when he gets to assemble a puzzle by himself, or put together a train track, or even just put his toothpaste on his toothbrush, he is all the more excited about what he has done.
Surely not every meal can be a joint venture and not every meal has to be. But a lot of them can and should. Because by making food fun for our children and letting their imaginations run wild with the possibilities, we are showing them that there is as much joy in living as there is in a perfectly made pizza pie.
