I saw her across the room, and believe me, she was hard to miss. There was something about the way the light was reflecting off of her that was mesmerizing. Her scent was strong and sweet, and it wafted through the air as if it was in slow motion directly to my nose. I was completely taken by her from the start.
Between her and I was a table covered in flour, with dough being spun, sauce slathered and cheese dropped. I waved my arms, frantically trying to get her attention through the haze of flour that had begun to rise up into the air as the work day started at the local Romeo’s Pizzeria.
As a red potato, I grew up hearing the tales of my kind being paired with hers in a perfect matrimony of salty and sweet. I never quite understood the allure of the idea. I blame that mostly on being too young to grasp the concept of wanting to settle down, but that day something inside me changed.
All the stories of caramelized onions and roasted red potatoes being served, glistening under the light fixture above the table made sense. It seemed so right like it was meant to be and alas… I was destined to be in a pizza shop. There was no hope for me as anything other than a side.
“Potatoes don’t belong on pizza”. The simple heckles I heard day in and day out from the pepperoni, peppers, and mushrooms in the bowls which surrounded me had never impacted me in the slightest… but now as I see the other caramelized onions laid onto the bed of cheese and sauce, this heckle seemed to be the cruelest sentence ever constructed. This world was against me, and it wasn’t fair.
I had to be with her no matter the cost. I had seen a lot of other toppings in my day get paired together that no one suspected; pineapple and ham being, of course, the most controversial. The other potatoes seemed to take notice of my staring and began to scoff and chatter. It didn’t matter much to me anymore as I knew now that I belonged on a pizza even if no one else did.
I began to formulate a plan. It was a treacherous route to try to make it across the table as knives sliced vegetables in preparation for the next order, and dough fell heavy on the table as the pizza makers kneaded the fresh dough to the perfect shape. I could easily be cut, or mashed prior to making it anywhere near the bowl which she sat.
I knew I would need to act quick. Today was serving day. The day that all potatoes, vegetables, and toppings look forward to as we are prepared for our grand finale. Normally, this is a day highly celebrated, but If my plan didn’t go perfectly, I would never end up with her.
To be continued… Part 2