The place where pizza comes to be written about

The pizza and the damage done

It's a Neil Young reference, you see

There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to wake up and smell the coffee-flavoured pizzeria dessert item. For me, that time came this week when, as I showered myself down at Cashmore Acres one mild spring morning, I looked in my bathroom mirror and what looked back at me looked rather like that famous Baby Bird album cover. And, for those of you who are too young to remember who Baby Bird are – which I’m assuming is most of you – that album cover looked like this.

Me, yesterday

Yes, my slavish devotion to having a pizza every five days without fail has taken its toll on my otherwise perfect physique and I have become, in the parlance of the common man, a big fat fucking bastard. So I have decided to abandon the pleasures of the dough for a while in favour of wholemeal pasta and rice, chorizo and extra cheese will be replaced by chicken and fish, and chockarocka chunkychocka chockablocka chickachocka pie and all its variations will be replaced by two fingers jammed down the throat.

Of course, you can’t just expect a heroin addict to merrily descend into cold turkey with a smile on his face. It’s just not an option. So, last night I decided to enjoy my last pizza for a while, and enjoy it I did. I pulled out all the conceptual stops with this one, and went for  a chicken, spicy beef and jalapenos on a medium barbecue stuffed crust base with sun-dried tomato sauce from a local company who shall remain Dominos. And if you’re reading that back and thinking, “Criminy, that sounds rather delicious, actually!” then I can tell you that you are not wrong. It really was.

My idea of a two-course meal

As you can see from the above photo, I chased it down with a bottle of fancy Rioja that probably really isn’t that fancy at all, it just happens to come in a sack and so idiots like me think it’s posher than it is, and coincidentally, I am also knocking the wine on the head for a while too, mainly because I am participating in a rap battle next weekend (stop sniggering at the back – and indeed, everywhere else) and I want to do so with a clear head and functioning short-term memory, but also because I am moving flat next week and I’m not going to even be able to afford extra-long straws with which to slurp the pooling dregs from the bottom of bottle banks.

All this being the case, I would like to present this last pizza as the first, and maybe only, example of the Pre-Abstince Property Acquisition Pizza, or PAPA-P for short. PAPA-Ps can only be consumed when the pizza-lover is about to forego the object of his or her affection for a while, AND when he or she or they has just secured a fancy upscale new pad into which they must imminently move. Upon which subject, I need to hire one of these if anyone can recommend a local chap with reasonable rates.

I want one of these and a man to drive it, basically


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Pete vs Food presents… The Baguette Of Shame

This one's for you, Big Papa


So. As you all know by now, I love Man Vs Food. I love it a lot. And I love that I am still finding new episodes to watch, like the one I saw on Dave last night, which was in Florida. One of the features was about a sandwich joint in Sarasota (nope, me neither) that basically created subway sandwiches so stuffed with nutritional evil that they would… Well, make me want to make one.

And so I made one.

I was actually in a bit of a TTWOAPWD mood anyway, but I decided to forego the pizza in favour of something a bit more ridiculous. So I went out and bought: a large baguette, a tin of Fray Bentos meatballs in tomato sauce, a small tin of Heinz macaroni cheese and some mozzerella shavings. And with those ingredients, in the spirit of and in tribute to last night’s Man Vs Food, I composed what I am calling THE BAGUETTE OF SHAME.

The ingredients

And as you can see, the whole lot cost less than a fiver. Unless you are adding the wine, for the cheapness of which I can only offer my profuse apologies.

Step 1: Turn on your grill. Heat up half of the meatballs and the macaroni cheese in separate saucepans.

Step 2: Slice off, slice open and flatten down half of the baguette. Give it a liberal coating of tomato pasta sauce, which, if you are me, you already have in the fridge.

Step 3: Coast with the now-heated macaroni cheese.

Step 4: Add a layer of meatballs in tomato sauce.

Step 5: Sprinkle liberally with mozzerella shavings and season with (if you are me) red pepper sauce.

Step 6: Place under hot grill.

See this? This is what perfection in action looks like.

Step 7: Put saucepans in a bowl of hot soapy water to soak. DO NOT WASH THEM UP YET. Or else that defeats the point.

12 Inch Pete Treat always reminds you of the human cost of food preparation

Step 8: Remove from grill when cheese starts to brown and bubble.

Oh, come on! Just look at that! Baby, you are NASTY!

Step 9: Eat the motherfucker. And drink the wine that you have close to hand, obvs.

Bermuda shorts: chef's own

This being a tribute to Man Vs Food, it would be remiss of me to say that I didn’t finish The Baguette Of Shame, it was a bit too hefty for me to put away in one go. But it would also be remiss of me to fail to note that it was ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY AMAZING. As, indeed, is anything that has meatballs on it. And yes, I know this technically has nothing to do with pizza. So sue me. 12 Inch Pete Treat is a blog that grows and evolves, verily like the bubbles that expand and pop on the top of a Franco Manca pizza.

Adam Richman,wherever you are right now and whatever you’re eating, this is my salute to you.

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Introducing the concept of The Time When Only A Pizza Will Do

I have come to realise in my time doing this blog, which continues to shock and provoke with every new entry, that there are some times when only a pizza will do of an evening. With that in mind, I have created an entirely new concept, that of The Time When Only A Pizza Will Do, or TTWOAPWD for short. It’s pronounced “tertwope-wudder” in case you were wondering.


I had one last night. I had a TTWOAPWD and so I indulged it by dialling up my friends in Streatham and ordering this…


The pizza that I ordered last night, who now lives in my stomach

…which is a medium stuffed crust from Dominos with chorizo, chicken and extra cheese, which I then dusted with Cajun spices because that, my nizzles, is how I roll. As I nibbled away at its cheesy finery, I expunged all doubts and feelings of dietary guilt from my mind. This, after all, was a TTWOAPWD – that pizza and its smooth transition into my digestive system was as inevitable as the coming of the night, the rising of the sun the next day, and the bottle of Shiraz that washed it down. What was I supposed to do on a TTWOAPWD? Make myself a tuna pasta bake?

So, what makes a TTWOAPWD? I would say that a combination of at least three of the following factors:

1) Personal or emotional upheaval. And there has been plenty of that recently – indeed, by the time the next instalment of this sporadic blog comes up, I expect to be writing it in a new home, as the delights of Tulse Hill grow worn and tattered before my very eyes. Call me a snob, but there’s only so much dogshit I can take.

A man experiencing personal upheaval, last night

2) A bad day at the office. A classic influencing factor in any TTWOAPWD and one that should be familiar to those members of what I call “la cosa pizza nostra” everywhere.

3) The desire to pamper oneself. Because what could be more pampering, more self-loving, then kicking back on a chaise longue, ordering a pizza such as the one depicted above, and getting gently pissed over a couple of episodes of Game Of Thrones? I can honestly only think of masturbation.

4) A general all-pervasive air of sadness. I have this all the time so technically every night should be a TTWOAPWD, but I just don’t think my heart would take the strain.


A man exhibiting an all-pervasive air of sadness, last week

5) Withdrawal. When I gave in to the call of the TTWOAPWD last night, it was my first pizza for over a week, including self-constructed ones, and well, it’s obvious that that kind of nonsense isn’t going to sustain itself.

6) Big Life Decisions playing on one’s mind. Sometimes, it’s nice to switch off the brain when it has much to occupy it, and give it some rest. Well, the simple decision to get a pizza is like providing the tired mind with a doughy, cheese-coated pillow on which to gain sweet repose, which should be one of the ultimate aims of the TTWOAPWD.

Well, by my reckoning I scored 4.5 out of 6 for the above criteria, which more than qualified me for indulging in a TTWOAPWD, and I’m happy to report that it was one of the very finest. I was slightly weirded out by the fact that I tweeted the Dominos UK Twitter account to ask them for suggestions as to what I should have and they got it exactly right though. That rather suggests that they are watching me and listening to my calls. They’re probably reading this. I’d better stop now. But before I do, here’s a picture from Game Of Thrones. You need to get on this if you haven’t already. As a last word, I’d like to send out a big shout-out to Ben Hughes, a blogger right up there with the very best of them. He reads this blog and I’m very proud to know him. 12 Inch Pete Treat is all the richer for his support. *waves at Ben*


He's frowning because pizzas haven't been invented yet

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