While you wouldn’t necessarily think so, there are few things more American than the local pizza place. Whether it’s a pizza parlor, a pizza joint, or a pizza restaurant, you can be assured that every town has that one place that everyone goes for pizza.
Some stand alone, some are in malls and some are in a shopping center. I went to one a few years ago that worked out of an old bus. You’d board the bus in the front, pick up your pizza and exit through the rear doors. It was quick and easy and if you felt like it, you could drop a quarter in the coin box for nostalgia’s sake. I never bothered to ask what they did with the quarters, but I’m sure it was something worthwhile.
I knew a place in Manhattan that didn’t even let you come inside. You just walked up to the window and got your pizza. It was easy and cheap. I knew some other things in the same neighborhood that were also easy and cheap, but it was the pizza that kept bringing me back.
My wife and I eat a lot of pizza. It’s not that we don’t like other things, but it seems like our whole relationship has been based around pizza. When we first met, and I was, well, broke, my wife-to-be would show up with pizza and we would have a fantastic meal. We went through a Pizza Hut phase when we first got together, but we really preferred the real thing and not chain pizza.
One weekend, she took me to “her” pizza place in her hometown and that was all she wrote. I knew then I was gonna marry this woman. I’m probably going to name drop some pizza places this week, so if you are ever in Huntington, New York, Rosa’s Pizza is the place to go. At least it was 20-odd years ago.
While most pizza places are decorated like Italian villas or Roman ruins, they are definitely American in feel. Most of them are patronized by families, who can eat a lot of food for a little bit of money. Mom and Dad get a pitcher of beer and the kids a pitcher of soda and the whole family splits a pizza pie or two. Most of the time, the kids don’t get anymore adventurous than pepperoni, but I see a lot of the parents go for the supreme styles piled with toppings. Only the hearty go for the Sicilian style with a lot of toppings. A slice of pizza should not weigh 30 pounds. The only Sicilian pizza I like is from L&B Spumoni Gardens in Brooklyn. I get the pizza and not the spumoni because I like pizza and I am still not sure what spumoni actually is. I worked with a guy a few years ago who would bring a pie home from L&B and he would call me into his office for a “meeting” and would close the door. Our meeting consisted of us shoving pizza into our faces.
Some friends asked us once if we knew where the best pizza in our town was. I replied that they should not ask me, because my wife was the pizza authority.
“I’m a fat girl from New York,” my wife said, “I know pizza.”
A quick note for those of you concerned about me calling my wife fat in the newspaper. She gave me her blessing and confirmed the quote. I would not arbitrarily call my wife fat. I might not be the smartest columnist around, but I certainly am not stupid. Besides, she’s bigger than me and can pound me into sand.
Every Friday night, we go out for date night. Of course, date night involves pizza. We go to the same place every week, get basically the same thing and we sit at the same table. We have become friends with the owners and it’s pretty much a given that we will be there the same time every Friday and if we aren’t, we better have a good excuse.
Our pizza place is in our local mall. There is not much to our little mall, but I assure you the best pizza in the area can be found there. Lately, I have become the guinea pig for some of their newest creations. I’m okay with that. So far, every test product has been just perfect. I don’t bother ordering off the menu any longer.
There is something comforting about a pizza place. I have never been to one that has seemed unhappy. There is always something going on. Someone is tossing pizza dough, there might be music playing, and who doesn’t feel happy when eating pizza? I know a guy in Maryland who owns a pizza place in my hometown and when we go back home, we gather all our friends and meet at the pizza place. We take over the second floor and have a great time. If you are in Bel Air, Maryland, stop in and see Richard and the gang at Buontempo Bros. They’ll take care of you and then some.
If ever you are in New Bern on a Friday night, stop by Big Apple Pizza in the New Bern Mall. It’s the best in town, the folks there are as good as people can get and you might just see a newspaper columnist sitting in the back eating pizza. He’s the one with the fat girl from New York.
Joe Weaver, a native of Baltimore, is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he writes on the lighter side of family life.
