Crappy little urban grocery stores, in the dairy section for some inexplicable reason, sell these sixteen inch pizzas double-wrapped in cellophane. Every store sells a different brand, but the brand is immaterial as they're always identical no mater what kind you get or from where. They're two for three dollars and come in 'five cheese' and 'pepperoni' varieties. The five cheese one is really one cheese dyed five different shades of white and yellow and sticks to your teeth in a really gross way, and the pepperoni ones are so greasy that the crusts soak through with oil. They're like cardboard covered in red paint and styrofoam and baked for fifteen minutes or until golden.

Stoner pie, as they are colloquially called, is awful. Unless one is intoxicated, that is (hence the name) in which case they're a delicacy on par with marshmallow fluff or granola bars or fruit-flavored tootsie rolls. They are the definition of guilty pleasure.

They do have one saving virtue, though - stoner pie is an excellent pre-bought base for real toppings, like mushrooms or peppers or ham or whatever - steam some veggies when you're preheating your oven, and spread them over the top of the pie before you bake it and they really do taste wonderful. Well, okay. Less disgusting.




I like all kinds of pie. I don't discriminate.

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