Prompt: Tell us about the food of love. (Or your love of food, as the case may be.)

When Eric and I first lived together, in the basement of the house on Locust Street, we didn’t have much money, or much of anything except love. We would order two large pies from Big Time Pizza, one pineapple and canadian bacon, and the other pepperoni. They were two for $8 and would feed us for the next three days. We ordered at least once a week. When I called, as I explained what I wanted, they’d say, “is this Jill?” and they knew to come around to the back door (since we lived in the basement, that was our “front” door).

23 years later, married and living above ground, Eric makes us pizza for dinner every Sunday night. He even makes the crust from scratch. The toppings aren’t exactly the same, (although I still love pineapple and ham). We add basil from our garden when we have it, and sometimes I make a salad. So much has changed — Big Time Pizza closed a long time ago, we can afford to feed ourselves better, and Eric is a real cook. And yet, so much is the same — we still have more love than anything.