COLD PIZZA • by Peter Wood

The President of the United States extended his hand to the Canadian ambassador. “Ambassador Mackenzie, so nice to see you.”

Mackenzie, a burly bearded man, resembled a lumberjack. His fiery red hair almost matched his maple leaf lapel pin. He did not accept the President’s offer. “No, you’re not happy to see me.” He dropped a steaming pizza box on the desk in the Oval Office.

The President had been dreading this meeting ever since the Canadians revealed their freeze ray during the seventh game of the Stanley Cup. They could send any city into a mini ice age or instantly freeze planes and missiles out of the sky.

They had the U.S. right where they wanted them.

“Sorry the Canadiens lost,” the President said. “Quite a game.”

Mackenzie glared.

The President cleared his throat. “Thanks for the gift. I love pizza.”

“It’s not for dinner, eh,” the ambassador said. “Open it.”

The President lifted the lid. “Ham pizza?”

“It’s not ham,” the ambassador thundered.


“You call it Canadian bacon.” The ambassador picked up a tiny piece of what resembled dried-up luncheon meat. “God knows why.”

“Never order the stuff.” The President patted his stomach. “I like meatballs and extra cheese.”

The ambassador slammed the lid shut. “Nobody in Canada orders it either. There is no such thing as Canadian bacon. We have real bacon, cured with the best maple syrup on the planet.”

The President kept his opinion that Vermont had the best syrup to himself. He forced a smile. “Well, how can we help you, Mr. Ambassador?”

“This so-called Canadian bacon is a cruel joke. Nobody would order a pizza with diced bologna. Either your country stops marketing the culinary lie or Washington D.C. becomes a block of ice.”

“Consider it done,” the President said.

“You better stop it, eh!”

“Yes, sir.”

The ambassador stomped towards the door and then turned around. “Oh, and the Premier of Quebec has a request as well, s’il vous plaît.”

The President blinked. “Yes?”

The ambassador reached into his suit coat and pulled out a bottle of French dressing.

Peter Wood is an attorney in Raleigh, North Carolina where he lives with his very patient wife. He has been published in Every Day Fiction and Asimov’s. He grew up in Ottawa and thinks it is high time somebody did something about this American travesty called Canadian bacon.

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