While running errands with my teenage nephew Cameron yesterday, the Army Dude and I became conscious of a hollow feeling within. To wit: the need for sustenance and a lot of it. The Army Dude suggested we go to West Main Pizza, a place known for its delicious whole-wheat crust and inventive topping combinations.
While we were driving, Cam and I discussed our favorites on the menu and what we wanted to order. We decided on the All-American, a combination of Russian dressing sauce, chopped pickles, chopped meatballs, and sliced onions. The Army Dude was very skeptical, but Cam and I had decided and even fist-bumped, so he had to go along with us. But as we know, gentle readers, the Dude is not just strong, he's Army Strong. He faced the meal with the "lean forward in the foxhole mentality" for which he has been justly honored.
Of course, it was awesome and he loved it. We all did. For the space of perhaps half an hour, silence reigned at the table. We scarfed down the entire large pizza as if we hadn't eaten in weeks. Vultures would have watched us with awe. The All-American Pizza is a strange combination of ingredients, but it's genius on a plate. Delish and highly recommended.