How bout when you're feeling ill, really hungry, and forced to feed yourself or brave the 93F heat outside for some soup noodles? Noodles? Nope, no way.
But then you realize you've got some pizza dough in the fridge, and some mozzarella, and some mushrooms and leftover tomato sauce. That's right, you got all of it. And suddenly, life seems sunnier.
So you take out your favorite empty-fish-sauce-bottle-cum-rolling-pin and get down to business. The oven's getting hot, you're slicing and dicing, and then you decorate the dough with all that leftover goodness. You're feeling pretty pleased with yourself in spite of your mild fever, so you snap a photo. And then disaster strikes. You've got a stuck up pizza on your hands. The kind of dough that, even though you dusted it with semolina, is stuck to your counter like bubblegum on a sidewalk. Motherf@#$%&r won't budge.
So you delicately peel this delicate mofo off the countertop, real gentle-like. Then you fold it in half and pinch the s#$t out of it. Then you grab a spatula, and pry the rest of that insolent bastard off before it knows what's happening. Then you toss it the oven with glee, knowing its stuck-up stickiness can't battle against your blistering-hot stone. Punk-ass pizza.
But when it comes out, and as you eat it, you realize it's much better than that innocuous pizza you began with. And after a few bites, you decide that maybe you shouldn't have been such a judgmental asshole; it's way better than soup noodles could ever be, for this sick cook in search of comfort.