There’s something about the way people talk about their favorite things—whether it’s a food, a hobby, or a piece of music—that immediately gives it away. The excitement in their voice, the glimmer in their eyes, the little details they go into when describing it. You just know it’s their favorite. And for him, there was one thing that always stood out as the true star of his world: pizza.
You could say that pizza was more than just a meal to him; it was a ritual, an experience, and a symbol of happiness. It wasn’t just any pizza, either. No, it had to be the perfect combination of crispy crust, gooey cheese, and just the right amount of toppings. And when it came to toppings, well, that was where his true passion came through.
Every Friday night, without fail, he would call up the local pizzeria and order the same thing. The staff knew his voice by heart, and when they answered the phone, they’d greet him with a warm, “The usual?” He’d chuckle, say “You know it’s my favorite,” and confirm the order. The pizza wasn’t just any regular order—it had to be extra cheesy, with pepperoni, mushrooms, and a dash of olives. No substitutions, no compromises. It was his signature choice, the one he’d been ordering for years, and he never grew tired of it.
The funny part was that you could almost see his entire mood change the moment that pizza was on the table. It was like watching someone’s entire week come to a satisfying climax. He’d sit down, take a deep breath, and admire the pizza as if it were a piece of art. The way he’d carefully slice each piece, ensuring the perfect cheese pull, made it clear: this wasn’t just a meal—it was an event. Every bite was savored with such genuine pleasure that it felt like watching a child open a birthday present. Pure joy, unfiltered.
What made it even more amusing was how predictable he was about it. It wasn’t just the pizza that was his favorite, but the whole experience surrounding it. He had his favorite chair in the living room, the one that faced the TV just right, with the perfect view of the window. He always chose the same movie to watch, some classic comedy he’d seen a thousand times, but it was part of the ritual. And no matter how hectic or stressful his week had been, that Friday night routine was sacred. You just knew that if there was one thing guaranteed to bring a smile to his face, it was the thought of that pizza and the small, comforting routine that came with it.
And you know it’s his favorite because even on rare occasions when he was away on a trip, he would find the time to FaceTime or text, saying, “Wish you guys were here—just got the best pizza.” It didn’t matter where he was; the craving for that perfect slice of pizza was always a part of him. His love for it was so deep that it didn’t need to be explained. It was in the way he talked about it, in the way he anticipated it, and in the joy he got from every bite. You just knew it was his favorite because it never changed.
Sometimes, the simplest things in life hold the most meaning. For him, it wasn’t about being extravagant or seeking out new experiences. It was about enjoying the little moments that made him feel content. And pizza? Well, you know it’s his favorite.
