Thursday, June 2, 2011

Can I Get a Slice?

When you grow up in Manhattan, you come to expect certain things from your pizza: A sweet sauce, a crust so crispy and thin you're forced to fold it in half, and just enough grease sliding out from the bitten end that your paper plate becomes transparent. AND - a pie is cut into triangles, not squares. No, no. Shhh... Your argument is invalid.

When you leave the Metropolitan Area, you quickly learn that you will not be eating real pizza for awhile. I love and adore you, Chicago, I really do, but that is NOT pizza. It is a fabulous, delectable, and delicious Cheese Pie, but not pizza. Call it something else, and we can end this seventeen year debate, you and I.

My first month in Chi-town, my roommate, the Juggernaut as I like to call him, came home to find me on the phone discussing the merits of NY Style with a FedEx agent. I'd called them hoping to find a way to ship myself a pie from NYC, but in 1994 it just wasn't happening. But the agent and I had a lovely, thirty minute conversation about pizza. To this day, The Juggernaut likes to make fun of me for that desperate attempt to acquire a slice when I was surrounded with "pizza" in the land of Deep Dish. Whatever. He'll never understand. Unless he saw last night's Daily Show.

I Eat Cannibal

I talk about the cheese-to-sauce ratio 
right there

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