Means with other word
„when My Scooter became a Pizza Surgeon.“
Another Story from the delicious, Kitchen of a beerlover
I need to tell you about the pizza I made. Not just any pizza. THE pizza.
Three hours of work. Hand-stretched dough that took 48 hours to ferment. Dreaming about „San Marzano tomatoes crushed by my own hands“ while opening the can. „Fresh mozzarella from the Italian deli“ rum, from the Discounter around the corner. „Mushrooms sliced paper-thin“ from the can out of the same discounter. Bell peppers diced with surgical precision. Every ingredient placed with the care of a Renaissance painter.
It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was about to meet its doom in the most ridiculous way possible.
Enter: The Red Scooter of Destiny.
The moment before everything went wrong (or perfectly right?)
Let me introduce you to the assassin.
This isn’t just any toy scooter. This is a bright red plastic menace with:
The wheels on this thing are like miniature pizza cutters. Not the weak, wobbly kind you get at IKEA. I’m talking professional-grade cutting edges that could slice through cheese, dough, and dreams with equal efficiency.
Nobody knows why the manufacturer made the wheels like this. Maybe it was intentional. Maybe it was a happy accident. Maybe somewhere in China, there’s a toy designer laughing maniacally, knowing that one day, someone would use their creation to absolutely devastate a homemade pizza.
That someone was about to be me.
It started innocently enough. My kid grabbed the scooter. The pizza was cooling on the counter. And then, in what can only be described as a moment of pure chaos, the scooter made its first pass.
VRROOOOM.
Diagonal, lower left to upper right. The wheels bit into the pizza with surgical precision. Cheese parted like the Red Sea. Toppings scattered. The dough surrendered immediately.
One perfect diagonal cut across my masterpiece.
“Did… did the scooter just cut the pizza?” my wife asked, staring in disbelief.
“I think it did,” I replied, watching melted cheese slowly ooze from the fresh wound.
The family gathered. We stared at the pizza. We stared at the scooter. We stared at each other.
Someone needed to say it: “Do it“
The razor-sharp wheel in its natural habitat: destroying my pizza
If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.
The scooter lined up for its second pass. This time: perpendicular to the first cut. Lower right to upper left. Creating the classic “X” pattern that pizza boxes worldwide dream about.
VRRROOOOOM.
The wheels carved through the pizza like it was butter. Mushrooms parted. Bell peppers relocated. The mozzarella stretched and snapped with that satisfying cheese pull that food bloggers spend hours trying to photograph.
pic by peels
Four quarters. Four perfect, symmetrical quarters.
“It’s beautiful,” my daughter whispered, like she was witnessing art being created. Which, honestly, she kind of was.
But we weren’t done.
“What if we cut each quarter in half?” my son asked, his eyes gleaming with the same manic energy I imagine the toy designer had when creating those wheels.
“You’re a genius,” I said, handing him the scooter.
Pass Three: Northeast diagonal.
Quarter one becomes two triangular slices. Cheese casualties: minimal. Structural integrity: compromised.
Pass Four: Northwest diagonal.
Quarter two submits to its fate. More cheese displacement. The oyster in the background watches silently, judging us.
Pass Five: Southeast diagonal.
Quarter three never stood a chance. The mushrooms at this point have given up trying to stay in place.
Pass Six: Southwest diagonal.
Quarter four completes the massacre. Eight perfect pieces. Eight pizza slices created not by human hands or traditional cutters, but by a toy scooter with delusions of grandeur.
The kitchen fell silent. We had done it. We had used a child’s toy to butcher—no, to engineer—perfect pizza portions.
Here’s the thing about using a scooter to cut pizza: the wheels don’t lie.
Traditional pizza cutters? They wobble. They skip. They create uneven slices that cause family arguments about who got the bigger piece.
But razor-sharp plastic scooter wheels traveling at the speed of a determined toddler? Perfect. Every. Time.
The eight slices were so symmetrical, they looked computer-generated. Each piece had:
It was like we’d used a laser cutter. Or a very tiny, very enthusiastic samurai. But no—just a €5 plastic scooter with questionable safety certifications.
And then, the moment of truth.
“Can we eat it now?” my daughter asked, eyeing the perfectly massacred pizza.
“Yeah,” I said, still processing what we’d done. “Yeah, I think we should.”
What happened next can only be described as a pizza apocalypse in reverse.
pic by peels
Second 1: Four hands reach for pizza simultaneously.
Second 2: The first slice disappears into my son’s mouth. He doesn’t chew. He inhales it.
Second 3: My wife grabs two pieces, one for each hand. Strategic planning at its finest.
Second 4: My daughter discovers that pizza cut by scooter wheels somehow tastes better. Science can’t explain it, but it’s true.
Second 5: I grab the last piece, but it’s already too late. The family has formed a perimeter around the remaining slices like wolves around a carcass.
Seconds 6-10: The sound of chewing fills the kitchen. Cheese stretches. Mushrooms are consumed. The oyster in the background continues its silent vigil.
Second 15: It’s gone. All of it. Eight perfect slices, distributed with the efficiency of a military operation, consumed faster than it takes most people to decide what they want for dinner.
Three hours to make. Fifteen seconds to destroy.
The scooter sits on the counter, its wheels still glistening with olive oil and cheese residue. A hero. A legend. A pizza cutter that nobody asked for but everybody needed.
My wife looks at the scooter. Then at me. Then back at the scooter.
“Thank you,” she says, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or the toy.
My kids chorus: “THANK YOU, SCOOTER!”
Even I have to admit it: “Best pizza cutting method ever.”
The scooter says nothing. It doesn’t need to. Its work is done. Eight perfect slices. Zero complaints about uneven portions. A family fed in record time.
Somewhere, that Chinese toy designer is smiling, knowing their creation finally fulfilled its true purpose: not to transport children, but to massacre homemade pizzas with terrifying precision.
The next day, I tried cutting pizza with a normal pizza cutter.
It felt wrong. Inefficient. Boring.
“Can we use the scooter again?” my son asked.
“Always,” I replied.
Because here’s what I learned: sometimes the best tools aren’t the ones designed for the job. Sometimes they’re bright red plastic scooters with accidentally razor-sharp wheels that turn pizza cutting into performance art.
pic by peels
The Scooter’s Stats:
pic by peels
Lessons Learned:
Next Steps:
The red scooter now lives on the kitchen counter, next to the knife block. Where it belongs. Among the other cutting implements that could never match its precision, its speed, its absolute commitment to symmetrical pizza distribution.
Three hours to make the pizza. Seven scooter passes to cut it. Fifteen seconds to devour it.
That’s not just dinner. That’s efficiency. That’s art. That’s the story of how a toy scooter became the greatest pizza cutter I never knew I needed.
| Shop | Product Description (Example) | Price (Approx.) | URL |
|---|---|---|---|
| Amazon | Vespa Pizza Cutter / Pizza Scooter | €8 - €15 | Amazon Search: Vespa Pizza Cutter |
| L'Osteria | PIZZA-ROLLER VESPA | €12.90 | L'Osteria Onlineshop: PIZZA-ROLLER VESPA |
| Winkee Design (Galaxus) | Winkee Pizza Cutter - Scooter | ~€14.90 | Galaxus: Winkee Pizza Cutter - Scooter |
| Pappnase & Co. | Scooter Pizzaschneider | €11.90 | Pappnase & Co.: Scooter Pizzaschneider |
| Geschenkebuddy | Scooter Pizzaschneider | €14.90 | Geschenkebuddy: Scooter Pizzaschneider |
| Stoffis Garage | Vespa Pizzaschneider (Various Colors) | €9.90 | Stoffis Garage: Vespa Pizzaschneider |
So, here you get your scooter to cut your pizza. Maybe a cool present for some friends.
Sorry, I was not able to do pics during pizza eating as I would loose my parts of it due heavy „hungry family traffic“
pic by 
@Detlev loves HIVE
