Once again I see in my morning paper this morning another article about a newly opening pizza. The article talks a good game. Even says it's a family recipe from an Italian grandfather back in New York. This just opens me up to look further into it.
My wife had gone online to read their website to see if they had a clue. She had the menu page open and it was there I saw it happened. WORM SIGN! The first hint of legitimacy. One of the holy key words any true pizza connoisseur knows.
SLICE
When ordering a pizza you
either order it by the slice or by the pie. Using any
other units of measurement are wrong. This will only
show your ignorance and that you wear black dress
socks with your sandals. You may rarely exchange
slice with the word piece. If you have to ask when
you may use it or how many times you may use it you
have already exceeded your lifetime supplies.
Fearing I'm tilting at windmills again I grab my
battered shaving bow... baseball cap this evening
heading to the car. I was going out to pick up a
movie, buy some groceries and bring home what is most
likely another soul crushing attempt of finding
manna. I called to place the order and was given the
standby "we're sorry, the number you are trying to
reach has been disconnected" voice message. Not off
to an auspicious start here.
I called up the Mrs and she saw I had dialed the
number to their other place. Instead of having me try
and remember the number while standing in the middle
of a drug store so I can call it hopefully faster
then I will forget it I asked her to call. Wives come
in sooo handy.
As I pull in I notice their across the street from
campus is also in walking distance of some local
bars. This prime location should serve them well. I
exit the car and was immediately greeted by a Mr.
Pavlov. My mouth waters as he takes me to the door.
It was there I saw a sign from above. The menu
hanging from the wall that is. The species of sign
that is native to an authentic pizza provider.
White background, sectioned off, ribbed to hold
individual letters that you place one at a time.
Here is an example of a well worn such sign. This for
the for those of you who can't read.
The first pies on display were not pizza. These thing
were, were... Oh, the hell with it, macaroni and
cheese pizza. There I said it. Can we move on now
please?
As I peered into the kitchen across the universe the
sharp crack of the seventh seal resounded throughout.
All you could hear was the silence so loud. With the
deprivation of the sense of sound the sense of smell
and sight sharpened to a preternatural level. My
expectations are being met.
My eyes beheld hand tossed dough being smoothed over
waiting for the crimson swirl of sauce to settle. As
my nose inhaled the pleasures wafting from the oven I
watched mozzarella feathering down accumulating as
snow on a cold December morn.
I made my purchase and started walking to my car. At
this point multiple things raced through my mind. The
wonder of the smell emanating through the air. The
goosebumps rising up and down my spine. Sharing good
pizza with my wife who travelled this journey with
me. The idea my child could grow up in a world with
pizza. Calling my old friend Al if I finally found
pizza that was worthy out here. To also tell a fellow
online pizza lover the same. Why did they cancel Dark
Angel?
As I pull into the car I sit there for a moment
enjoying the anticipation of the moment as my car
smells like a pizzeria. Steeling myself with a firm
resolve I leave the car.
I put the pizza inside the house on the back landing
securely on the shelf. I walk around to the front
door for the only allowable, no, wonderful diversion.
I knock on the front door so the dogs get all excited
and bark. The MNA pads over on all fours and barks
too. She was waiting for this.
It is time to eat.
I sit down at the table to test for the final
benchmark. I was eating pizza and it was glorious. It
was not as good as Enzo's pizza but no pizza ever
will be again. Compared to other authentic pizza this
was about an 8. I'll be able to give a legit rating a
few pies from now when the endorphins are not as
strong.
~The Dad
Written in the spirit of the Walter "Gib" Gibson, the
Godfather of pizza literature.