I think that for most people who went to the college in the past 20 years, we have a Pavlovian urge towards takeout pizza when life gets stressful.
We were repeatedly conditioned for this non-homey comfort food. When things got stressful, it was time to order a pizza. Cramming for 3 exams at midnight? Call Domino's! Boyfriend done you wrong? Dial up Pizza Hut!
So now, as an adult, when stress hits, it's time for pizza. That was what happened to me the other night. I had a perfectly good soup ready to heat up for dinner, but after the stress of doctors not really making me feel better about Little Warrior's CT, I turned to The Husband and said, "I need pizza."
And it tasted terrific. Am eating cold pizza now, with hot coffee, one of the world's truly unappreciated breakfasts.
Granted, when I got this urge for pizza, I didn't know that it would result in 12 hours of stress and worrying about whether we should take LW to the ER.
Note: yesterday, as I was washing the "severe gastrointestinal symptoms" off of LW's butt, back, feet, hands and neck, I sent out a grin to Rev. Sean. And it still might be the tomatoes. Per our pediatrician: "Don't give her any dairy. And if you give her anything tomato and she reacts, don't give her tomato anymore."
Sometimes, low-tech is quite refreshing.