Pizza: there’s only one thing to do
On a few occasions I’ve found myself interacting with food in ways that some observers might label masochistic (you know, beyond the baseline masochism that is this entire experiment). Like browsing through Hulu and settling on a dozen clips in a row from the Food Network. Or reading blog posts about upcoming food festivals and newly opened restaurants, neither of which I can reasonably visit. Worst of all, allowing myself to remember that pizza exists.
And how could I possibly forget? My other half is a pizza connoisseur (he knows his stuff, but that’s also the loving way of saying that without intervention he’d eat it every day) and we live in close proximity to many truly wonderful makers of it. With rising pizza star Motorino just down the street, I can hardly walk anywhere without the food at least crossing my mind, if not invading it, before I can repress its memory.
Sometimes you just have to face down your enemy. Last night, Dan and his longtime friend and fellow pizza expert, Chris, decided to venture to L&B Spumoni Gardens in Bensonhurst, renowned for its Sicilian slice. I assured the guys that making me watch them eat pizza does not legally constitute torture, and it really wasn’t that bad; I was just happy to be out of the house and afterward even treated myself to an enormous spumoni shake. But on the ride home, the leftover pizza started calling out to me from the backseat.
All that sauce. And two kinds of cheese! Quite frankly, I’m getting a little sick of dairy; but oh, how I miss cheese. There was no way I could delay gratification for a wire-free trip back to Bensonhurst in August. There was only one thing to do when we got home.
The generous helping of sauce and thick, soft crust really helped it blend (although when I can chew, my preference is minimal sauce and thin crust). It thinned out to a nice consistency with about 1/3 cup of chicken broth. Dan took one sip, just to try, and said, “I’m so glad my mouth isn’t wired shut.”
And the connoisseur was right. It’s no substitute for pizza, despite being made from pizza. Yet I drank the whole thing. The masochist was hungry.
