"Sometimes a pizza is a pizza. But sometimes, a pizza is more than just a pizza."

Whenever I get down about the fact that the major part of my written opus seen by a public audience consists of articles written on bird cage liner about things like airshows or festivals honoring produce or the same freaking tired musical with references to gossip columnists from the 30s playing at no less than three different local theaters over a single season, I read the grocery store flyer and feel better.

There is a chain of grocery stores, the local version of which I frequent, that offers certain alternatives to most chain grocery stores and that publishes a monthly flyer with descriptions that rival the L.L. Bean catalogue. (I'm going on memory and reputation when I say that of course, since I haven't read an L.L. Bean catalogue, I'm happy to report, in a very long time.) It's like the edible L.L. Bean. If you could eat your polo shirt, this would be the place it was written about.

There is someone whose job it is to write three substantial paragraphs about Pecan Sticky Buns and BBQ Blue Cheese Chicken Wings. There is someone who has chosen a career in which the birthing of phrases like “Something frozen this way comes...” earns them high fives at the water cooler and commendations in the board room. There are people, people like you and me, with families and hobbies, who welcomed a new day, fought the commuter traffic, grabbed a hot mug of joe and sat down to compose “One of our favorite condiments at the moment is our Wasabi Mayonaise. We carried this product for a number of years before discontinuing it to make room for newer items. Wow, was that a mistake!”

I believe the phrase I'm looking for is “But for the grace of god...”