Last Saturday was just like any other Saturday afternoon in Charlottesville. The white stuff peppered down on University Avenue and owners of the bestial Land Cruiser preened as their heads grew ten sizes while their 4-wheel drive careened through the snow with cocky declarations of "How do you like this SUV now!" And I (to be perfectly candid) was lying on the couch, my mouth watering at "The Naked Chef" -- Food TV's spastic Brit who is constantly firing things up for his oh-so-close knit circle of "rugby" pals.
You see, I was a tad bit hungry with this whole "blizzard" thing going on, but times were tough. I was living vicariously through network television food. "Why do you tempt me so?" I cried to the Naked Chef, who was piping some filling into homemade ravioli. What a seducer. "Why had I left Teeter empty handed on Friday the 14th?" I badgered myself, but then remembered running from the shelves, away from the herd of Don Juans grasping their single red rose and bottles of vino.
In my cupboard there was only a bag of Craisins, circa 2000 dorm room leftovers. The roads were rink-like and in my hungry haze I began to have these visions of an exotic sandwich. I dreamt of a food reminiscent of Mykonos, the Greek Island bordered by the aqua waters of the Aegean Sea. Oh what would I do for a pita -- the long-lost packed pocket of goodness! So braving the hypothermic conditions, I trekked out through the snow, foraging for the land of the pita, the Falafel, the Souvlaki or the Gyros. And if my Gortex failed (so help me), I would settle for the Baba Ganoush with a spread of Tazaki sauce -- anything to keep me alive.
And what, you ask, rose amongst the mountains of icy white as a safe haven for famished students slogging towards 14th Street in the mood for a taste of Greece? No, it wasn't a bottle of ouzo (the licorice-shy Greek liqueur), or a Hellenistic statue of Aphrodite. It was the celestial, all-knowing answer to our prayers -- The Pita Pit!
But upon entering, I discovered the eatery appeared as un-Greek as a carton of chicken fried rice. But it was pity all right. Perspiring students clad in armors of Patagonia Microburst Jacket (colors: Hot Lava or Viking Blue) or The North Face's Exodus Guide (Habanero Orange or Celestial Blue) atop Mountain Hardware's Monkey Phur Fleece (comes in Salsa, or Blue Moon) began to sizzle in front of the grill of steak and chicken. They were joined by the smiling faces of painted cartoon peppers, turkeys and hot sauce getting their groove on and dancing along the Pita Pit's kelly green walls.
What kind soul was responsible for keeping the Pita Pit open during the blizzard and for ending the pangs of hunger of students lost in snowdrifts?Do not "Blame Canada!" as Kenny and his delinquent "South Park" buddies might, but instead "Thank Canada!" Here's why...
Nice and full later that afternoon, my cabin fever led me to delve into a little intensive investigative research via www.pitapit.com, and let me tell you something, what I found was quite a shocker: The Pita Pit is not, as I assumed, some ingenious innovation dreamt up by a Charlottesville native hoping to spread pitas first to University students and then around the world. Instead it is a fast food chain, which began (here comes the kicker) in Kinston, Ontario. The majority of The Pita Pit's 130 locations can be found in other Canadian locales such as Moosejaw, Saskatewan, Winnipeg Manitoba or Red Deer and Medicine Hat, Alberta!
It is no wonder, then, why elated cartoon meat and produce dance on the Pita Pit walls. They are Canadian Cartoons! And if you didn't know, our neighbor to the north is a very joyful place: the Canadian government provides all health coverage, the trusting residents don't lock their doors, Canada has more donut shops per capita then the U.S. and Canadians consume more Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (the blue box please) then any other nationality on earth. What a land!
So, let's take a little hint from our arctic loving neighbors up north, who'd view our "blizzard" as a mere flurry. Love the snow and long live The Pita Pit.
Now, maybe we could get ourselves a hockey team.
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