Proustian Pizza.

Ah! So, I am very young, maybe 16. I have been invited to the home of a producer for my first original musical, "Surferboy." I know that when one has been invited out to someones home, one must bring something to the hostess. So I break out a box of Ritz crackers, some Cheeze-Whiz, and god know what-all assorted garnii from our pantry. My Apertif' are hooty at best.
I drive some where glamourous: Los Gatos, and present myself to my host, as well as to my beloved director, George Costa. George takes one look at my crumbling and gummy offering and pulls me aside. "Kid," He says, " Food needs to look good, as much as it needs to taste good." Then he pulled me into a half arm hug.
I thought of that today as I pulled a hideous pizza monster from my oven. I tussled valiently with the pizza stone and lost. Thus I made Calzone/Chone. So ugly, but so yummy, and so lovely to remember George.