After a night enjoying the pleasures of Amsterdam's cafes, my sister and I began trekking home through a soft drizzle. Of course it would be far more accurate to say we were stumbling back to her flat entirely intoxicated, feebly attempting to shield ourselves from the downpour with a stolen umbrella of unknown origin. Less poetic, but far more true. There we were, at a time somewhere between three and five in the morning, wandering the streets of Amsterdam like too incredibly hot messes. Two - as it just so happens - hungry hot messes.
Passing closed bakeries and snack bars, our hunger drug us on a wild goose chase despite being cold, wet and tired. Nothing can separate a drunken person from food. Nothing.
Then finally we saw the light of an open store reflecting off the wet cobblestones in front of us. We hurried in from the rain to find ourselves in a New York Pizza. Yes, there in Amsterdam two drunk American girls ended up in a New York Pizza. Go figure.
But we didn't care. We were hungry and promptly ordered two huge slices of what I can only imagine was - by sober standards - the worst pizza ever. We eagerly handed over our money and reached for the plates in front of us when the man at the register casually mentioned that we should try their special sauce. Soon we learned that this sauce was so special that it couldn't be found anywhere except for this very franchise of New York Pizza. It sounded utterly magical and I was intrigued. How could I not say yes to a sauce so unique? I had to have the sauce.Thrusting my plate forward enthusiastically, the man grabbed a large, nondescript, red squeeze bottle from behind the counter. I watched his hand grip the bottle and anticipated the amazing substance. First a drip, then a pool settled next to my pizza. It looked totally amazing.
Finally, finding a table in the back, my sister and I dug into our pizza and cautiously dipped our slices into the special, one-of-a-kind sauce. It only took one taste. We looked at each other and both said the exact same thing:
"RANCH DRESSING"
I traveled half way around the world to try ranch dressing. And yes, I ate it all.
