I went away for the weekend to a picturesque farm in Robertson, South Africa, with Russell and a great group of friends. It was an absolute paradise, set right beside a calm, beautiful lake.
Knowing in advance that the open-plan kitchen next to our sleeping cottages was equipped with a genuine, wood-fired pizza oven, we decided that night two would be dedicated entirely to homemade pizzas. Everyone was instructed to bring their absolute favorite toppings to contribute to the feast.
When it came time to prep, we laid everything out on a central table. My goodness, what a spread! It had every classic topping imaginable, alongside an incredible array of gourmet treats like caramelized figs, tangy blue cheese, sweet peppadews, and cured meats.
Standing before that glorious buffet, I was in absolute heaven. I simply could not find it in my heart to say no to a single ingredient. I kept layering and layering until my pizza base was piled so high it looked like a miniature model of the Himalayas.
Rob was on official oven duty that evening, carefully maneuvering the pizzas into the roaring fire with the wooden paddle and pulling them out when the crusts turned crisp and golden. When I proudly carried my creation over to him, he stopped in his tracks and stared at the towering mound of toppings in sheer astonishment.
"My God," Rob gasped, shaking his head. "It's not a veggie pizza. It's not a Hawaiian pizza. It's not a Meat Lover's pizza. It's not even a Deluxe pizza... It's a bloody Buddhist pizza!"
I looked at him, completely puzzled. "What on earth do you mean?" I asked.
Rob grinned and replied, "It's one with everything!"
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