Pizza Face

My brother’s sixth grade teacher became a close family friend. He was someone the family could “count on” when you needed help. Dave invited us to meet his family and his mother and father went salmon fishing with my father once.

Years ago, in your typical grocery store, the state of Washington, only allowed the sale of “three-two” beer. Three point two percent was the maximum alcohol content in beer sold outside the state liquor stores. I am not sure if was because organized crime ran the liquor stores or the state was just greedy. They kept the good stuff for themselves.

But, in those days we didn’t have all of the “high-falutin” micro-beers. Dave had been at the liquor store. He brought my father a six pack of “Olde English 800.” It might have even been a “five-oh.” Dad never tried it, and the beer sat in the old yellow refrigerator in the workshop - for months.

When I was in college, and my brother was in high school, my parents went to Wyoming for vacation. My mother had made several pizzas and put them in our deep freezer for us to cook and consume after our daily jobs. As with any good mother, she watched out for her boys even when she was 1000 miles away.

I had been eyeing the “Olde English 800” for quite some time and the perfect opportunity was with a homemade, fresh cooked pizza while mom and dad were on vacation. I popped the pizza in the oven at 400 degrees, set the timer for 15 minutes and cracked an “Olde English.” Actually it was the “pop-top” where the aluminum separated from the can, and you could make beer and pop-top chains… however, I never did that – I had only heard rumors from others at college.

Back to the story… the oven timer had just gone off as I finished the first can of beer. The beer did not taste all that good – but it was cold. I was used to “Bud,” the “High Life,” “Animal Beer,” and “Beer Beer.” The most expensive beer I had was probably a “Colt 45.” I pulled the pizza from the oven and let it cool for a few minutes before slicing it with the pizza cutter. My wife likes to have salad with pizza. That would have been way too much work “back in the day.” Anything other than buying dinner at McDonald’s or Taco Time, was usually too much work.

I carried the whole pizza downstairs, setting it down on the TV tray which conveniently remained set up – right by the couch where I “vegged.” I walked to the workshop and grabbed another beer, popped the top and started chowing down on my first slice of pizza. Mom’s pizza is one of my favorites, and hunger made it all the better. I took a sip of beer, pulled another slice of pizza to my plate (balanced on the arm of the couch) and flipped the channel.

I don’t remember what was on that day, but I remember waking up about an hour later with nearly a full can of beer, one slice of pizza gone, and second one wedged between the couch and my face. I never finished that warm “Olde English 800.” I went to the fridge to get a cold one (but washed my face first).

-Craig