In my heritage, I think there are possibly traces of Scottish, Irish, Anglo and American Indian - Cherokee . . . I am pretty sure there is no Italian as evidenced by the fact that my earliest recollection of pizza was from a box of "Chef-Boy-Ardee" (and what mother would name her son Boy Ardee!?).
Not until I was seven or so did I realize that real pizza had gooey cheese and not that powdery parmesian-looking stuff.
My mother always made ground beef pizza and served it up with navy beans or large limas.
For some time now, I have had a hankering for one of those pizzas - didn't even know if "Chef-Boy-Ardee" was still alive.
But recently I had grocery duty (a task that I sometimes secretly enjoy) and I found my old friend, "Boy" (we are now on first name basis).
So last Friday when it became apparent that Mom was going to be working a little late, the kids and I took on a new adventure and a new twist on Family Pizza nite. . .
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