Sherri Adams

Having talked about my children, it’s probably only reasonable that I now introduce my husband. If I’m to call the kids Ketchup and Mustard, I am sorely tempted to refer to my husband as hot dog. However for the sake of propriety, I think I shall instead call him Bun.

Bun is the owner of a local restaurant (well, I suppose we really own it together, but I’ve never worked there very often — only when it is very busy, or if we are certain that the guests don’t care what they eat that day. That’s a joke, honest!) It’s a pizza restaurant, and it’s a very good one as well. It’s more of a sitdown place, than delivery or take-away, although for some of our regulars we will occasionally deliver.

I love the pizza from Bun’s restaurant, particularly because he is one of the few pizza cooks who understands how important it is to have anchovies as a choice on the menu. To my great dismay, many restaurants no longer offer anchovies — somehow they seem to have gone out of fashion — which is a terrible loss in my opinion. A pizza simply isn’t a pizza without both anchovies and onions on it.

Bun used to have a wine list, but he realised that the kind of people who wanted to drink wine with a pizza were often the kind of customers that he least enjoyed serving. Instead, the only alcohol he now serves is beer and he takes pride in having some very good micro brews along with the more day-to-day choices.

I’ll write more later — Bun just called to let me know he’s gonna be running late tonight. So the boys and I are going to go and eat dinner at the restaurant. What are we having? Well, I can’t speak for the boys, since the only thing they seem to eat consistently is plain noodles, but I’m gonna be having a large pizza with anchovies and onions. And if you have a problem with that, I’ll come over and breathe on you.