I Couldn’t Consume Pizza and Beer Together.
Larry and I did not eat much. He was very thin and I – also malnourished – subsisted mostly on beer and whatever nuts were in that bowl on Barry’s bar. We often had burgers. There’s something about a cheeseburger that makes it really easy to eat, even if it has to be done with beer.
Occasionally we would splurge and get a pizza. While I loved pineapple on my pizza, Larry would have none of that silly fruit mixed with his pizza.
Larry liked mushrooms and pepperoni, so we got that every time.
I learned to love mushrooms and pepperoni on my pizza, so much so that I will now order these toppings when I am seeking a comfort food (as if pizza weren’t already enough of a comfort food).
And cold pizza in the mornings was one of my favorite breakfast foods. I loved reaching into the tiny fridge and pulling out a giant pizza box, folded over twice so that it fit inside, and pulling out a slice of hardened pizza for breakfast.
Mushroom and pepperoni pizza also takes me back to the few moments of the day when I didn’t drink beer. I couldn’t consume pizza and beer together.
At some point, after drinking too much beer while trying to eat pizza – or eating too much pizza while drinking beer – I realized that I was getting sick. Rather than recognize any kind of lactose intolerance or gluten problem (which I had later in spades), I just suffered every time I ate pizza.
I really wanted to eat pizza while drinking beer. Everyone said pizza and beer were a great combination; I wanted to believe them. They sold beer right there at the pizza place, and Larry really enjoyed pizza and beer together, and everyone else seemed to be fine. But I wasn’t.
I just couldn’t pull it off. I got sick every time. Even at college, I had to keep my beer and pizza separate. At college, I mostly kept my meals separate from my drinking. With Larry, I was drinking all day long, so there was not a lot of room left for food.
Eating pizza while drinking beer made me feel like a waterlogged hippo.
I had not yet learned the fine art of vomiting when I felt sick. I just suffered. I guzzled the beer, then shoveled in some pizza, then guzzled more beer, and more pizza. I ate as much of the pizza as I could possibly consume, leaving a couple of slices leftover for morning.
Later in my drinking career, I learned that if I felt sick – even for a second – I could go somewhere and vomit, then come back and drink more. This was a huge relief to me. I was able to drink for many, many more hours this way – vomiting sometimes four or five times a night.
But I never vomited after pizza. A precious commodity like mushroom-pepperoni pizza cannot be wasted in such a manner.
I was almost 30 before I realized I had trouble digesting dairy – which includes cheese. To be honest, by then it was just a relief to know.