On one of my first days of first grade, Mrs. Kozak asked each of her 21 students to draw a picture of our favorite food.

We all hunched over our posterboard, trying our best to shield our choice from everyone else. As we came to the front to show off our designs, a pattern started to emerge. Everyone had drawn the same thing: pizza. Of course, some kids drew different toppings. But at the end of the day, it was all pizza.

This is just one of the hundreds of pizza memories weaved into my childhood. We ordered it at least once a week. On Fridays, my mom brought home all the ingredients for homemade pizza and we spent hours rolling out the dough and mixing and matching toppings.

In college at the University of Maryland, I argued with the local pizza shops owners, saying their pizza just didn't compare to the Jersey pies I grew up on, to the insanely thin-yet-crispy crust found only at Park Tavern in East Rutherford. 

When I decided to stop eating dairy, pizza was a major concern. For the first few months, I still snuck it in (especially after late nights out in Hoboken.) Then I started to just peel off the cheese, still loving the crust.

As my tastes further transformed, I started ordering whole-wheat crust. I tried a spot in Maplewood that offers vegan pizza, but it just isn't the same. I no longer sneak in cheese or even peel it off—the oil irritates my now all-natural stomach to the point where it's not even appealing to think about regular pizza.

With family in town last weekend, I knew my parents would be ordering pizza at least one night. My aunt, who now lives in Minnesota, basically lives on Taylor ham and pizza when she comes back. Sunday night, as if on cue, my parents started taking orders for Annabella's in Parsippany. We had nothing in the house, so I had to decide between trying to find something on the Annabella's menu or running out to Pathmark to get something to make for dinner. I went with option No. 1.

I've recently been ordering individual pies with tons of toppings and no cheese—a style perfected at a little pizza shop in Hawaii. I wasn't sure if Annabella's could recreate it for me, but I figured it was worth a shot.

"But what are you gonna put on it?" my cousin Michele asked."How is it pizza without cheese?"

"I just have to go into it not expecting pizza. If you expect something and try to replace it," I explained, "it won't taste right. But if you just expect something else entirely, it's a lot more enjoyable." That seemed to convince her.

The man on the other end of the phone taking my order was utterly confused as I asked for a whole-wheat crust, fresh spinach, fresh mushrooms, tomatoes and fresh basil. First problem: Annabella's doesn't make individual pies. "The only size is large," he said, so I had to order an entire pie just for myself. That really annoys me.

"Do you want the spinach that, like, we put on salads?" he asked next. 

"Yeah, that sounds good. Are the mushrooms canned?" I asked.

"No, it's all fresh," he said. He lied. When I opened the box, shiny, canned, rubbery mushrooms smiled up at me. He also didn't have the fresh basil he'd promised, and had added a ton of roasted garlic.

It wasn't at all what I was expecting. The spinach was soggy rather than crispy and the mushrooms were slimy. The crust was good, a regular whole wheat, nothing fancy. The garlic was a nice addition, so no complaints there, but what if I'd been allergic? Garlic makes my dad nauseous, so if it had been for him, it would not have gone over well. 

I'm amazed that I don't miss pizza, in its traditional form, at all anymore. (I also don't miss the super-full feeling I used to get after eating pizza. I went for a run with my cousin Colleen after dinner. About two minutes in, she said she could feel the cheese sitting in her stomach, like a brick. I felt completely fine.)

If your family is ordering pizza, ask about creating a cheese-less pie. Any fresh vegetables will do the trick—the more, the merrier. I honestly don't even notice the lack of cheese. 

Another great option is a salad pizza. Just be careful—many salad pizzas (essentially a salad on a pizza crust) are sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. Ask for it to be left off.

Pizza night has taken on a new definition for me. It no longer leaves me in a food coma, and I don't wake up the next day still feeling full. Yes, I have to order my own pie, but that doesn't really affect the social aspect of pizza night. I'm still pulling dinner out of a cardboard box, folding it in half and devouring my slice of crispy Jersey tradition.