All I want is a decent slice of pizza!

     I almost got away with it.

     After polling my remaining two kids (the oldest is in college), we decided on the night's menu:  Pizza!  Two different types, one Pepperoni, one Supreme.  I was almost out the door when my wife caught me.

     "Well, why don't you go to Hungry Caesar's Pizza John?" she asked [I scrambled the names here intentionally].

     "I don't want to go there" I answered.  I wanted to try a local, non-franchise place recently opened by some guys from New York.  But as a dutiful husband I was willing to compromise (i.e., get neutered).  "Do you have any suggestions?" I asked.

      "How about a Chicken Alfredo Pizza?  Or perhaps Margarita?"

     To an old fashioned New Yorker like me, the thought of white sauce or fruit flavors on a pizza is an abomination.  Fashionable foodies and health-conscious people like my wife may see these as interesting alternatives.

     To me, they are circles of vomit.

     I haven't had a decent slice of pizza since I left New York.  This is not meant as a sleight to other cities; it's just that my encounters with non-Gotham pizza have been horrendous.

     In Nashville, TN. (1979 to '83) my college served rectangular pizza that wasn't remotely Sicilian.  When you bit into it, the carpet of processed cheese and sausage slid off the bread and dangled from your chin.

    In Savannah, GA. (1980), the Riverfront is fantastic.  But at one spot I had a pizza whose crust was so hard, that all we could do was scrape off the cheese and eat it with a fork.

    In Binghamton, N.Y. (1983 to '86), several of the convenience stores sold cold pizza next to the cash register.  Just lift the Saran Wrap and give the cashier a dollar.  Free flies with every purchase.  Of course, I didn't buy any; besides being repulsed, I was in grad school and couldn't spare the dollar.

     And now I sit in Florida, fantasizing about authentic delicacies from their namesake cities:  A Chicago-style dog, a Philly Cheese Steak, a Nathan's from Coney Island.  Once again, this is not a slap against restaurants in other cities that serve knockoff versions; rather, this is a commentary on how commercialized, nationally produced food has lowered the bar.

     My perfect pizza is more than a recipe; rather, it is determined also by location, artistry and its effect.  For me, it comes from Jamaica Avenue and Guy Brewer or Sutphin Blvds. or from Parsons and Hillside, all in Queens, N.Y.  For me, it is the guys twirling the ever-widening disk of dough in the air, tossing it on their fingertips.  This is the pizza that compels men and women in expensive suits to eat while running to their next meeting.  This is the pizza that pigeons aggressively demand, feasting on your discarded crusts.  This is the pizza that fuels every cinematic, literary and cultural stereotype in the minds of tourists around the world.

     The best things in life aren't always free.  But they sure taste great, folded in half.

     Always B Positive!

The Blessing of Incovenience

   This morning I saw a young lady crossing the street.

     Apparently she had just visited a gas station.   She was wearing flip flops and that style which I hope will one day fade away:  Pajamas.  The flip flops were common - after all, this is Florida - although I would not recommend wearing them when one is jaywalking down Apalachee Parkway (think of a wide street with a raised divider in your own city).  As for the pajamas...it's a personal choice, even though I don't let my kids walk out the house in them.

     Yet the most fascinating thing about her was the content of her nearly see-through plastic bag:  A two liter coke, some potato chips and other snacks.  The bag was from the gas station, but right next door is a Walmart SuperCenter.  Assuming that she had bought the overpriced items at the gas station, why would she overlook Walmart?  The reasons may range from customer service to proximity; yet the one that sticks in my mind is convenience. 

     How often does convenience drive our choices? 

     How often will we pay more for a commodity, when generics and even name brands (at a better price) are available nearby?

     How often will we reach for cheap and easy fast food, when we can (and need to) eat something better and healthier at home?

     How often will we spend a dollar, when saving it makes more sense?

     How often will we tolerate toxic behavior from toxic people, all in the name of  love (which incidentally shares the same first letter as laziness)?

     Do I need to mention exercise?

     How often will we take the path of least resistance, when we need the challenge of the road less taken?

     Inconvenience is a pain in the neck, but sometimes it might be the first step to becoming a better person.

     Always B Positive!