CHEESE: A POLEMIC Amare Biggers
When I was younger, I used to dread the thought of going to birthday parties, eating out with my team after my games, or simply just staying over at a friend’s house. It wasn’t because I was antisocial or that I didn’t like the idea of fun—whether I knew what would happen at each of these events: pizza would be served. Don’t get me wrong I love pizza, but I can’t say the same for that oddly stretchy, wet carpet smelling, greasy yellow substance on top.1 I would take a fork or knife or whatever was available to me and scrape off the cheese; and nevertheless, I was always looked at the same way. The way your grandmother would look at you if you dropped the f-bomb at the dinner table. After a while, one tends to get tired of having to explain themselves at every outing. Even to this day, I hate mentioning this embarrassing fact about myself to someone
Now I know what some of you are thinking, that I’ve never had good cheese or good pizza, and you’re right! I’m just kidding, I actually have had “good pizza.” When I went to visit the University of Columbia in New York, I was a junior in high school. By this point in my life, it had been years since a piece of yellow death touched my lips. With this being the case and me being in the most famous city in the world for pizza I figured I would give it one more chance. I went to Joe’s Pizza, the best spot for pizza in the whole city, confirmed by almost everyone I met at a bodega. Don’t believe me? Look it up. While eating Joe’s in the middle of time square I came to a conclusion: I have never hated the taste of cheese more in my life. The rest of the pizza was the shit though. 1
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