From the Editors

Now that David and I are working on our seventh year of marriage-that infamous "itching" year-I've started thinking about aphrodisiacs. I mean, any marriage can use a little extra pizzazz now and then.

Unfortunately, there don't seem to be any real, proven love potions. You can forget about green M&Ms. Despite the contemporary folklore, there is actually no scientific evidence that chocolate has a physical effect on a person's mood. And I don't see the appeal of those sparkling apple ciders that come in bottles with the fancy purple tin-foil wrap on the top. I can get the same effect by pouring Diet Sprite into my toddler's apple juice.

So I eventually came to the conclusion that aphrodisiacs must be unique to each couple, and it didn't take me long to notice what worked for me and David: Pizza.

I'm not talking about Little Caesar's (Pizza! Pizza!) or Pizza Hut (Wow! What a pizza!) stuff. I'm talking homemade, handmade pizza by my very own Italian-American husband.

The kids in our children's church class laugh when I tell them I married "Mr. LaPlaca" for his pizza, but it isn't all that far from the truth. I have great memories of those early days of courtship when I'd walk the three blocks from my house to his so he could make me fabulous dinners. (At the time I wasn't much of a cook, but I can make spaghetti sauce—complete with meatballs—like a real Italian mama now!)

So maybe pizza, which we have every weekend, just brings back those warm feelings of romance. Of course the pizza we make today is a bit different from those early days, having evolved over the years of our marriage. We now have a pizza stone and the wide, wooden paddle that goes with it. Anchovies are out (David likes 'em; I don't). Only half the pizza gets olives (David likes 'em; I don't). And when I'm pregnant, the Pizza Man goes easy on the onion and garlic.

We call David "the Pizza Man" after the title of a book some friends gave our daughter, Julia. It's a photographic journey through a day in the life of a pizza chef. These days, two-year-old Julia loves to "cook pizza with Daddy." She pats the dough into a big circle. (Okay, sometimes she pokes holes all the way through it. And sometimes Daddy forgets to wash her hands before they begin, but that sandy gravel from the backyard only seems to enhance the flavor.) Julia loves to "shake-shake" spices and parmesan cheese onto the big, white circle of dough.

My family and our friends like to come over for "LaPlaca Pizza." Having company around doesn't diminish the pizza's love effects, at least for me. There's a fresh kind of freedom about entertaining when someone else is doing the cooking. And when David helps clean up the kitchen after the guests have gone—look out!

I'm pretty sure pizza alone won't be enough to prevent the marital malady known as the seven-year itch. But David and I will keep experimenting with our pizza—and maybe even branch out with an occasional calzone or pan of lasagne. A "spicy" weekend is always something to look forward to.

Pass the pepperoni!

Copyright © 1996 by Christianity Today/Marriage Partnership Magazine.

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