This night, I had pizza for dinner. It wasn’t made from scratch, nor changed into it from a neighborhood takeout restaurant. It becomes a boxed frozen pizza from the supermarket. The brand is not critical, as I don’t need to get into product endorsement, but it has a World War I flying ace at the box. As gourmand food is going, it’s missing a brilliant deal. It’s now not organic or all-herbal. It didn’t have any modern-day toppings on it. It had 4 types of meat, although I can’t do not forget which four meats they were.
It’s now longer steeply priced. It’s no longer award-winning. It is, however, scrumptious.
We take our pizza quite seriously in this house. I want to get adventurous with my pizza. I like a wide variety. I like the reasonably-priced frozen kind, even those you can get for much less than a greenback. I like pepperoni and sausage. I like bacon and red meat. I like peppers and onions and black olives and a bunch of different cheeses.
I like buffalo chicken pizza. I like white pizza, besides after they put tomatoes on it. I devour the white pizza to break out from tomatoes, and I wouldn’t say I like seeing them on a white pizza. I like skinny crust and deep dish. I like pan pizza and flatbread pizza. I even like that kind that has the cheese on the lowest and the sauce on top. I eat the crust, too—all of it.
This is where it gets complex. I am from Baltimore, in which we are recognized for our seafood. Our pizza isn’t terrible. However, it doesn’t come near the stature of seafood in my place of origin. I can consume pretty much whatever on pizza, and I have.
My spouse looks at me once I order pizza like I just ordered a success on Mary Poppins. How many want to do something so merciless as to devour some of the stuff I even have on pizza? It’s quite easy. I like the various matters, and I like pizza. Putting them collectively doesn’t sound so weird. Maybe mussels and garlic butter on pizza don’t seem good to you, but as they say, don’t knock it until you try it.
There became a place on Long Island that used to serve pizza with ziti on it. Imagine that, a whole Italian pasta dinner in your pizza. I assume that in case you order it, the ghost of Enrico Caruso seems and sings “O Solo Mio” at the same time as you consume it.
My spouse is much less adventurous than her pizza. In truth, you can say she could be very safe. She likes cheese pizza. No toppings. She’s from New York, so she’s a professional at pizza. Bad New York pizza continues to be better than the first-rate pizza from different places, she claims.
She eats her pizza in the New York-style — a big floppy slice, folded and shoved into the mouth. No knife and fork for her. Sometimes, she could consume her slices Brooklyn fashion, like John Travolta in “Saturday Night Fever” — one slice stacked on top of any other in a double-decker greasy, tacky delicacy.
You could fold the 2 slices if they had been thin sufficient, but a maximum of the time, they had been more like a huge, thick wedge of pizza. Where we stay isn’t the Pizza Capital of the World. My wife has critiqued the maximum of the pizza locations around here and has deemed them worth the New Yorker repute’s worth for pizza; it’s normally to this sort of place. We’ve been to different locations inside the state and feature experienced pizza that I have appreciated, and she has not.
She says it’s because I don’t recognize any higher. I’m afraid I have to disagree, as I have had masses of New York pizza that I no longer like. However, I will supply a shout-out to L&B Spumoni Gardens in Brooklyn as having pretty much the perfect pizza there is.
