Anchovies, Bell Peppers, and Other Modest Truths

 

Food habits have a way of settling in over time. In my case, one such habit is a preference for anchovies and green bell peppers on a substantial-crust pizza. For my wife and me, Track Town Pizza has long been the go‑to pizzeria, tied to Eugene’s athletic culture as much as to its menu. None of this is remarkable, but it has been consistent for years.

A few years ago, I wrote about my weakness for chain restaurants. That weakness (or rather, comfort) has always been there. What I appreciate, whether in a chain or at Track Town, is predictability. It is the ease of knowing what will arrive at the table.

Cooking has never been my forte. When we cook, we prepare simple meals, nothing elaborate. Food tends to function more as routine than expression, our meals dependable markers in the day rather than creative projects. Now that I’m retired, that routine is more apparent, but it isn’t different.

Places can take on a similar role over time. Certain restaurants, streets, and buildings become part of the quiet structure of daily life. They may not be remarkable in themselves, but their familiarity is reassuring. You know how they work and what they offer. Their steadiness becomes part of the background, a reliable element in the pattern of daily life.

Most people have a few habits that stay with them. Mine happen to include anchovies and bell peppers. They are not fashionable, but they are consistent. That kind of familiarity has always been enough for me. It is simply what I like, nothing more.