I Have Poor Impulse Control: The Spaghetti-O's Pizza Story
As any of my friends, family, and former romantic partners can attest, I have poor impulse control. Sometimes that means I get a wild hair to go drive across the state to drink with old friends. Sometimes it means deciding to organize impromptu amusement park visits. And sometimes, it leads to thing as unspeakable as what I did on Monday, December 8th 2014.
Sometimes, it lead to things like the Spaghetti-O’s pizza.
The weekend prior I had to go to a storage unit to pick up my Christmas decorations, so while I was out I decided to go all the way to Fort Worth for my favorite Mexican place. While I was driving across the metroplex, I listened to the Unpopular Opinion podcast, specifically the one about the McRib. As an already devoted McRib lover ( I apologize for nothing!) I thought it was funny as usual. Then, amidst the discussion of garbage food, comedian Jeff May offhandedly mentioned that he once made a pizza using Spaghetti-O’s instead of pasta sauce. Like many of you reading this, my first thoughts were ones of revulsion. Then, curiosity set in. I liked both of those things… what would it be like to combine them?
With that, the seed was sown, and days later I was picking up the ingredients to try this culinary marvel for myself.
There are strange questions you have to ask yourself when buying ingredients for a Spaghetti-O’s pizza, shit you probably never expected to deal with. What kind of toppings go best with this? Do I buy the regular kind, or the shit with meatballs? Should I spring on an expensive crust?
Ultimately, I settled on basics, because who the fuck am I trying to fool with this noise? Once the components were assembled, they seemed to gravitate toward one another, as if they could sense the diabolical machinations I had planned for their future.
With everything assembled, I turned my oven up to 400 degrees and began to put together what I could only pray would be something that didn’t send me screaming to the bathroom after a single bite. At each step along the path, I documented the process, perhaps for posterity, or perhaps so that the police investigating my bloody death would know at exactly what point the food achieves sentience and turns on its maker.
My hands shook as I took it from the counter to the over, where I sealed the door and allowed the dark ritual to conclude. Fifteen minutes later, I removed the finished creation and set it down to rest. While it cooled, I washed myself in blessed waters and made peace with any god who would have me. At long last the time had arrived.
The first piecing of the pizza cutter into my creation told me that I was in for a soupy pizza experience. I pushed on, doing all I could to keep them as true slices. It was a tiresome endeavor, but I persisted.
Once it was sliced, I moved the pizza slice to a bowl, then tentatively reached down and pulled it toward my mouth. It was heavier than expected, though whether that was due to the Spaghetti-O’s or the thousands of souls in the afterlife trying to push it away from my mouth, I have no idea. I opened wide and bit down, allowing the pizza to enter me.
No picture available, because I'm grown ass man and no one needs to see the looks of quivering terror I was giving off.
It was… actually not all that bad. I like a sweeter pizza sauce, so I found it altogether a decent meal. Pepperoni was way better than cheese though, so that’s pretty much the side that got eaten. Honestly, my only regret was that I didn’t buy a better crust; that was easily the worst part of the pizza. I won’t be making it again anytime soon, but now I know, and I’ve become one of what I have to imagine is a small group of people who have made and consumed a Spaghetti-O’s sauce pizza. This time, the impulsiveness went over alright, and my urge for craziness is sated.
I’ll just have to cross my fingers that my next wild urge won’t be the one that takes me over the edge. Considered that foreshadowing for next week’s (also food-related) blog.