Pizza is magic. To me the
word pizza always conjured New York,
or at least escape from my life to the magical kingdom of my birth (and the
pull to return to New York was a life-long instinct).
I grew up in Puerto Rico
and back in the days I was living there, there were not a lot of pizzerias
nearby–not that I was allowed to hangout or eat junk food (and, certainly, my
grandmother would define pizza as “junk”).
I think the first slice of
pizza I ever had was from a shop in the Bronx and I was about five. I’m pretty
sure it was after a visit to the Bronx Zoo. That I remember it so clearly lends
credence to it being the precedent. The memory may have more to do with the
fact that I’d spend a whole day involved in a wild adventure with Mom. But the
memory is also very specific about the flaky crust, the tangy sauce and its
melodic marriage with cheese.
But I distinctly remember
slices of pizza from little Italy, from Coney Island, from the theater
district, from Wall Street, from the Yupper East Side and from El Barrio, from
the West Side and from Chelsea. Each slice heaven in its own right.
I have great memories of
pizza runs in Jersey City – where I almost relocated when I was 11 years old. One
of my cousin’s classmates worked at the pizzeria on the way to school, Journal
Square, McCrory’s, the movies, the roller skating rink, or even the record
store (if you veered a few times).
When I moved back to New
York, Brooklyn pizza loomed large in my social life because apparently there is
a level of freedom teenagers attach to their ability to hang out at a pizzeria.
You meet there after school, you take your dates there, and you wind down movie
night at the pizzeria. Pizza is a self-contained food group for growing high school boys!
In college, leaving campus
for a slice of pizza across the tracks from the Long Island Railroad was a
special treat. As students, we had to pool our limited cash reserves to meet
the munchies, and sometimes resorted to calling an order to non-existing rooms
or wings at the dorms so we could “grab” the “undeliverable” pizza at a
discount.
Then, when I started working
and we moved to Bay Ridge, I ended up in an area where you had a church and pizzeria
in almost every other block! In the city, I tried to taste pizza in every new
neighborhood I visited.
And yes, we visited every Ray’s Pizza, had a slice in
each, and danced back to each establishment for good measure (though in that
battle the true winner was John’s but that’s old news; you may read about that whole kerfuffle here).
I once had pizza in
Connecticut but I wasn’t impressed (somewhere in the vicinity of the naval submarine base). Though the first time I had pizza in Boston
it was awesome – delicious and magical, a white Christmas made better by a slice
that was a meal in itself! I had a slice in Vermont. It was okay. I think there was a quick slice in Rhode Island, but it was just alright. I had a slice
in Montreal and that one was pretty tasty (beat the heck out of Connecticut).
There are at least two
dozen pizzerias within walking distance and plenty more that deliver (not
Domino’s but mom and pop shops that have been part of our community). There is
a Papa John’s next door to a pizzeria that has been in the neighborhood over 30
years (how rude is that?!).
Now that we have a bread
machine, I intend to make my own pizza dough, and it occurred to me that I need
not be limited in pizza any more than I allow in other favorite dishes. My first
pizza has been on stand-by as we’re curtailing dairy for the moment. Instead of
the traditional red sauce, the planned pie included ricotta with spinach and
artichokes and sausage, Mozzarella and shaved Gouda.
Of course, I started
collecting some fun recipes that I want to try (alternate sauces to the
traditional, meat red sauce). I realize not all of you will have a bread
machine, so I have tried to provide variety in as many ways as possible (you
can use already made dough or improvise, create plant-based doughs, pizza
invites creativity). Go check it out! Let’s make pizza.
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