I discovered breakfast pizza when I was a brand-new mom living on the Upper East Side in New York City. There was this little Italian place across the street, and we had a lovely system wherein I’d get to sit down with a mimosa and peruse the menu while my ex walked the baby around (and around and around) the block trying to get him to pass out so that we could have something resembling a conversation.

(On occasion, it even worked. Hand availability for pizza consumption optional.)