Chapter Twelve - The Eternal Doughbate

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Eternal Doughbate

THERE ARE TWO types of people in this world: those who pledge allegiance to Pizza Hut, and those who bow before the mighty blue and red Domino's logo. And somewhere, floating in the middle like a slice of garlic bread in marinara limbo, is me, torn between crusts, sauce drips, and late-night delivery nostalgia.

Let's start with Pizza Hut. Cold night. My first few days alive. Swaddled up like a chicken wing in a baby blanket, I made my debut at a Pizza Hut. The employees weren’t thrilled about a newborn braving the tundra for a meat lover’s pizza, but little did they know that this moment would imprint Pizza Hut deep into my genetic code. Like a greasy baptism. Red roof. Vinyl booths. The smell of melted mozzarella clinging to every fiber of your soul. Pizza Hut was the experience. The dining room. The lamps. The buffet. They didn’t just serve pizza, they served atmosphere. Pizza as God intended: under dim lights with the soft hum of an arcade machine in the distance.

And then there’s Domino’s. A quiet legend. Domino’s never needed all that ambiance. It was a moment. My dad would come home late, tired but victorious, with a deep-dish pepperoni and sausage in hand. A silent ritual. Just us. Pizza and peace. Domino’s hit like a secret handshake, one you didn’t talk about, but never forgot. Their sauce? Aggressive. Bold. It stains like betrayal and tastes like childhood. The cheese? Goopy in the best way. Like it melted just for you. The crust? A crisp handshake from your inner child.

Let’s not forget the marketing chaos. Remember when Pizza Hut teamed up with Subway? What was that about? You’d walk into a sandwich shop and be offered bread or dough. Confusing times. But we survived. Because the truth is: we don’t discriminate against warm cheese and sauce.

So which is better?

Wrong question.

The real answer is joy.

Because no matter who rings that doorbell, whether it's Pizza Hut in their iconic red hat or Domino’s with that weird heat-sleeve satchel, you open that door and you smile. Because you know it’s gonna be a good night. Probably greasy. Possibly transformative. Definitely worth remembering.

Some memories are thin crust.
Some are pan.
All of them are permanent.