My Vice: Pizza

I wish I knew how to quit you.

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.

One thought on “My Vice: Pizza”

  1. You’re not alone . . . . my best friend from high school has lived in Chicago and Denver and has yet to find a pizza as good as Ferrara’s.

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