[WARNING: the following reflects the opinions of a highly biased former Chicagoan]
One night, I was stuck at home alone when a magical pixie showed up on my doorstep carrying a little star.
The poor little star had grown cold during the long train ride from the mission to Ocean Beach, so the pixie turned on the oven to provide it warmth.
The little star was filled with things I’m not used to finding inside a crust like that… in the land I am from, ricotta and feta are not found inside the crust…
But the crust of the little star was golden, and crispy and delicious, covered in stardust, almost like those I have become accustomed to in the land I am from.
But it is true that it was a *little* star. While the crust on the bottom was thick, the sides weren’t deep, leaving little room for the wonderful things a little star should contain. But what little it did contain was good and did not moisten the interior of the little star, which would certainly put out its glow.
And as the little star was good, we consumed it’s radiance, and diluted only with the nectar of the gods.
But then a monster appeared who tried to capture and torture the magical pixie. But luckily, the pixie fled in just the nick of time, leaving the monster to grumble with a rumbling belly – a belly that could not contain the radiance of the little star.
*stardust = cornmeal
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