I’m sure there is pizza in Heaven. There has to be. I mean, how can there NOT be?
After a quick trip to my garden the other afternoon, I came back with whole lot of basil and our first sandwich tomato. I ran into Sean’s office and demanded he touch, demanded he smelled, demanded he get as excited about it as I wasn’t. Spoiler alert: Sean’s calm demeanor translates excitement very differently than mine. So, I settled for him smiling at me and ran (literally) into the kitchen to get started on supper.
I was going to put my garden finds on a tortilla, but I decided to make a garden fresh pizza instead, because even though I love things on tortilla, I love pizza a little bit more.
Then I ate it. A lot of it. And I didn’t regret one bite.