Pizza Party

One of the biggest indications that I am making a recovery is how quickly I want pizza. 3 days into my recent recovery, I was seeing triangular slices of mozzarella, tomato, basil and various other toppings dancing in front of my eyes. It seems that it is hereditary though and not medicinal.

I adore pizza. I won’t say it’s my favorite food but there is something special about it. It can be the most simple and satisfying thing to eat. It can also be delicate as well as complex. I’ve had a wild share of interesting pizzas in my day. One of the most memorable pizzas I’ve ever had was brimming with prosciutto, watermelon and arugula – the perfect blend of salty, sweet and bitter as well as hot and cold. Upon first seeing it on the menu, I know I made a face like I smelled a ruptured sewer pipe. But once I tasted it, I was awestruck. I welcome such surprises. Often it is with simple ingredients that one’s mind can be blown.

Anyway, I was saying it might be hereditary. My mom loves pizza. She may never admit it but she does. At least once a week you will hear her say “just order a pizza for dinner.” She will admit that at least once a week that will be on the menu because she just doesn’t feel like cooking. But it isn’t about it cooking, it’s about her pizza cravings. And whenever we pass by certain pizzerias, even if we’ve eaten a small country’s worth of food, she will say “Do you want some pizza?”

In past entries I’ve mentioned how my cousin would not eat anything but pizza when he was visiting last year. Honestly he eats pizza pretty much all the time when he’s in Italy. But part of why he was fixated on pizza was that it’s very hard to mess it up. He would rather have had a mediocre pizza than something weird like frog’s legs. I do think this is faulty logic but it’s ok. Sometimes there is nothing better than a slice of pizza.

When my husband first went to Italy, he wanted to wait until we got to Naples to eat a pizza. He wanted to have a pizza in the place of its birth. I told him he was making an enormous faux pas. Naples has fantastic pizza but many of the other Italian cities have phenomenal pies. In fact Rome is crawling with pizzerias that have pizzas that make you say “I can now die. I’ve eaten a piece of heaven.” One such place is Da Baffetto (Via del Governo Vecchio) in Rome. The waiters are the entertainment but the pizzas make you happy to be alive and are proof that a supreme being exists. My husband and I had their house special – individual thin crust pizzas with tomato sauce, cheese, mushrooms, salami and a fried egg. When the soft yolk breaks over the pizza, it is an exquisite dance of creamy sweetness blended with the salty salami. I took a breath so deep after eating it to verify that I was still alive. It was a pleasurable pirouette of playful textures prancing on my palate. I dream about this experience often. If there were a way to jet off to Rome on a moment’s notice, I’d be the first in line to take that flight just so I could have another pie!

Don’t get me wrong though. Naples also has some great pizzerias. I’m just too hungry right now to get into that discourse. It will have to wait for another day.