Also, thanks to the cold call in the middle of dinner the other night, I will not be purchasing pizza from Round Table anytime soon. I rarely ever did in the first place, but really, a pizza sales call?
In Salida, Colorado there’s a little place called Amicas that does wood-fired pizza and has their own little microbrewery in back. Their “Vesuvio” pizza (artichoke and red pepper and mushroom and spicy oil and …?) is great.
I don’t really care for pizza. It’s messy. It tempts people to ridiculous combinations, like goat cheese and pineapple (I was with someone who ordered that once). It fosters culinary laziness. “What do you want to eat tonight? I don’t know, let’s just order pizza.” When no one really wants pizza at all, they just don’t want to think about or do anything about dinner.
I do live with two pizza fanatics, however. They argue about it extensively, crust, topping, what have you.
I am all about dining freedom of choice, Derek. But when my friend asked what I liked on pizza and I said you choose, she ordered goat cheese and pineapple on the entire thing when I was away from the table. She was being “cute,” encouraged by the server. She didn’t even like it. Pizza just invites that.
My husband’s friend and wife served some pizzas they had just made from scratch at their big Iowa farmhouse a few years ago. Goat cheese and shrimp, leeks, this and that. We had our children there (our boy and their girl) and the host, a musician and lifelong comedian in his own mind, put on Prokofiev, the Romeo and Juliet suite, as the toddlers sparred over toys, spoons, swings, everything they encountered.
You bet. The thing about pizza is that, well, you said it already, Carole. In its Americanized incarnation, anyway, it breeds both laziness and cuteness.
(That much said, the pizza at the Chicago place whose name I forget — my old neighborhood place there at Wrightwood and Wayne Avenues . . . now that is good. Thin, delicious, and fairly subtle — for pizza. But their salad concoctions are even better. Conical mounds of dark greens and interesting vegetables and just-right dressing.)
Traditional thin crust from Chicago Fire.
Or, thanks to Andrew, cheap cheese pizza (costco) with hot sauce (Cholula).
Also, thanks to the cold call in the middle of dinner the other night, I will not be purchasing pizza from Round Table anytime soon. I rarely ever did in the first place, but really, a pizza sales call?
canadian bacon, jalapeno, thin crust.
Pepperoni and Pineapple. Heavy on the pineapple. Buttermilk ranch on the side.
Margherita–thin crust, good sauce, fresh mozzarella, fresh basil
I also love any cheese pizza dipped in salsa or marinara. Even better with some pickled jalapenos.
Papa Murphy’s (take and bake) 1/2 chicken artichoke, 1/2 meat lovers (it’s so bad but so good.
)
nice catch, Rick
burnt cheese
In Salida, Colorado there’s a little place called Amicas that does wood-fired pizza and has their own little microbrewery in back. Their “Vesuvio” pizza (artichoke and red pepper and mushroom and spicy oil and …?) is great.
Chicken and Bacon with hot sauce.
Absolutely nothing beats a *good* Chicago style deep dish
I don’t really care for pizza. It’s messy. It tempts people to ridiculous combinations, like goat cheese and pineapple (I was with someone who ordered that once). It fosters culinary laziness. “What do you want to eat tonight? I don’t know, let’s just order pizza.” When no one really wants pizza at all, they just don’t want to think about or do anything about dinner.
I do live with two pizza fanatics, however. They argue about it extensively, crust, topping, what have you.
I must admit for many years i loved jalapeno & pineapple pizza at Z’s in Tucson. In Brooklyn, I’d say Gramaldi’s. In Rome, Il Forno in Campo d’Fiori.
Deron, you’d appreciate this. I just touched the tent that Reinhold Messner used to climb all 14 8000 meter peaks…
dang.
I am all about dining freedom of choice, Derek. But when my friend asked what I liked on pizza and I said you choose, she ordered goat cheese and pineapple on the entire thing when I was away from the table. She was being “cute,” encouraged by the server. She didn’t even like it. Pizza just invites that.
My husband’s friend and wife served some pizzas they had just made from scratch at their big Iowa farmhouse a few years ago. Goat cheese and shrimp, leeks, this and that. We had our children there (our boy and their girl) and the host, a musician and lifelong comedian in his own mind, put on Prokofiev, the Romeo and Juliet suite, as the toddlers sparred over toys, spoons, swings, everything they encountered.
I really loved the pizza that day.
Note to self: if Carole says you choose, don’t.
In Russia, pizza chooses you.
We paid a king’s ransom for that uneaten pizza.
Uneaten pizza may result in a $50 fine.
And the person who orders it, pays it.
You bet. The thing about pizza is that, well, you said it already, Carole. In its Americanized incarnation, anyway, it breeds both laziness and cuteness.
(That much said, the pizza at the Chicago place whose name I forget — my old neighborhood place there at Wrightwood and Wayne Avenues . . . now that is good. Thin, delicious, and fairly subtle — for pizza. But their salad concoctions are even better. Conical mounds of dark greens and interesting vegetables and just-right dressing.)
Were it not for pizza, I’d probably starve to death.
Shelia, I know I’ve said this but one of my favorite Italian restaurants is Coco Pazza on Hubbard. I love that place.
Andrew, son. You need to change your evil ways.