For the first few years of my life, my parents ran a pizzeria. After the divorce, Mom continued to run it herself for a while. Our babysitters, who were high school students, opted to call over to the pizzeria for our dinner as often as Mom would allow. The Brooklyn-style brick-oven pizzas Mom made, as taught by her FOB Italian first husband, still exist in my mind as the model of what good pizza should be like. And the calzones… I have had good calzone since then, but never anything quite comparing to the ones I had as a kid.
This addiction has taken many forms: good calzones at Huckleberry’s in Rock Island… Chicago-style stuffed pizzas from Papa Del’s and Primetime… barely edible $5 specials from Little Caesar’s… and many others.
Maybe one day I’ll find a slice that I can say no to, but that day has not come yet. That said, my first experience with anchovies a few months ago has shown me that anything’s possible.