JANUARY: No pizzas in this picture. Instead we have a beautiful, snow-dusted ski resort in the Alps, a beautiful, a snow-dusted vintage mustard-yellow Cinquecento, and a close-up of spaghetti with meatballs that's similarly dusted with grated Parmesan cheese as if it were freshly fallen snow. Surprisingly elegant.
FEBRUARY: A postcard picture of a Northern Italian city in wintertime, check. A detailed cross-section of a lasagna, check. A giant piece of Parmesan cheese that Caravaggio couldn’t have painted a better picture of, triple check. Really good month.
MARCH: Hmm, this is definitely the weakest month so far. Only two pictures? Some parked mopeds on a gray day? A close-up of soup? I guess every calendar has its filler months. I’ll allow it.
APRIL: Don’t call it a comeback! A multi-meat submarine sandwich, gondolas floating in an almost tropical-looking Venetian lagoon, and … oh God … a close-up of prosciutto. Are those those balls of Bocconcini cheese garnished with basil hiding in the corner?!?! This calendar is approaching Pirelli-levels of erotica.
MAY: The image-juxtaposition becomes increasingly deliberate. A close-up of fried calamari and a magic hour shot of the Roman Colosseum. In order to make the images more symmetrical, I think I should take gladiator-sized bites out of the calamari.
JUNE: A fettuccine Alfredo paired with the Trevi Fountain. Classy touch.
JULY: The Gregorian calendar took about 350 years to be adopted by much of the Western world. It is used in countries as diverse as Canada, Turkey, and China. However, my pizza calendar makes a compelling argument that our year should only last seven months, as there is no reason to continue past July. Why would we even bother after July has given us images of the leaning tower of Pisa, a caprese salad, and gelato with raspberries? What beauty can we possibly wring from the remaining five months? Are we so bold as to think that there are things to look forward to after a July such as this?
AUGUST: Okay, we’re back down to earth for August. And that seems to be the motif here: earthy, rustic, textured. We’ve got a lovely, isolated Tuscan villa, artisanal biscotti dotted with almond and pistachio, and a grilled panini paired with a cappuccino. Bonus points for the cyprus trees looking like biscotti.
SEPTEMBER: A fishing village on the Amalfi Coast, tomatoes and basil, and bruschetta. September gets an A+ and a smiley-face sticker.
OCTOBER: This sun-dappled close-up of wine grapes could have been b-roll from Sideways if it were shot by Terrence Malick. Risotto with chicken and mushrooms? October is only spooky in how it manages to know what I would like to consume.
NOVEMBER: We return to the Alps as the winds grow colder. November seems to be phoning it in with yet another fettuccine Alfredo (even though this one adds chicken) and my least favorite Italian ingredient: sun-dried tomatoes.
DECEMBER: This month we’re treated to snow-like dustings of cinnamon and chocolate instead of parmesan. Appropriate, as December is the dessert of the year.
And with that, I have stretched my food analogies to their breaking point.
2012 is going to be a food year! I mean, a good year.
By day, Daniel Reis is an assistant editor at a commercial post-prodcution house in Toronto. By different time of day, he's still editing but as the President of the A.V. Club at WORN Fashion Journal.