Secret Love Affair

Scandal.
Teacher scandal.
Affair.
Long distance lovers!
The horror!!

It's not what you think.

We have a love affair, not just with each other, but also with television. It's not popular for a teacher to say about herself, but it's true. Particularly regarding food on television.

And also true: we are suckers for advertising. I once went to Taco Bell for a "crunch wrap supreme" because it looked "so good" on tv.

But generally, our weekend television revolves around The Phantom Gourmet--a wonderful program which highlights the Boston area restaurants. We sip our weekend morning coffee and listen to descriptions of interesting and delicious food, all available locally. Another favorite of ours is Man vs Food, and yet another favorite is Food Wars.

One day, however, I was watching the History Channel. It's educational, right? It was a special all about Chicago style pizza. Deep dish pan pizza. Soft and buttery with just a small crunch at the end. Tons of cheese and chunky tomato. Pizza you can't fold. And that's when I decided I had to go to Chicago. It was lust at first sight.

So, up, up and away. Leaving my loving husband behind to fend for pizza by himself, I headed to Chicago for pizza-lover heaven.

It was also known as Pequod's, located in Lincoln Park. We ordered a small pepperoni. Famous for their caramelized crust and, interestingly enough, "baked in cast iron pans blackened by decades of seasoning", this pizza was well-worth the flight. Two slices down the hatch and the belt needed to be moved one notch over.

I've had the famous Pizzeria Due in Chicago, and Pequod's certainly poses as competition. Next trip, however, you will find me someplace where stuffed pizza can be found. I can't wait to try a true pizza "pie".

Friends will tell you I went to visit them, but don't let them fool you. It was the love affair with pizza and the terrible, terrible vulnerability to the idiot box messages. Don't tell my husband.

Anglocizing Names and Visiting Mom and Dad

You call the company in charge of your phone service and it's answered by Josh, who suspiciously has a Chinese accent. You call your credit card company and Amy answers with her Russian accent. In the USA, you meet Koreans named Celine or Esther. Indians named Judy, Spencer, or even Javier.

Imagine you own a pizza joint called Ann's, home to arguably the most craveable pizza on Earth. Every Friday, like clockwork, an Indian sounding man calls and orders a pizza or two under the name of Sean. Oftentimes, an Indian sounding woman calls. Her name is also Sean. Occasionally, it's a younger sounding woman or man with no accent. Peculiarly, this goes on for over 10 years.

Flash to "Sean's" house, where little Shaan is growing older and asking questions. Why always me? Mom and dad answer only: They know Shaan. It's easier.

Over the years, the family's relationship with Ann's grows. The family lovingly calls the place "Annie's", and at the end of the delivery orders, Pizza Man says, "For Sean?" He recognizes the voice.

One Friday, there are visitors and a pizza with pepperoni and sausage is ordered. "Guests tonight, I see," the man says.

They call on Thursday to order calzones: "This is out of the ordinary," Pizza Man says. Annie's knows their schedule.

A good relationship with your favorite pizza place is like that of old friends. Or maybe nosey neighbors. But either way, it is comforting when you walk into the shop to pick up your pizza for the first time in months, and the owner says, "Hey! Good to see you!"

This was the case last Friday, when we went home to visit Shaan's parents and picked up the Friday night pizza. Pizza Man greeted the real Shaan with friendly familiarity--the kind you only receive as a "regular". Temped to devour half the pizza in the car ride back, we consumed it with delight over pleasant conversation with Mom and Dad (Sean and Sean). There is something about the way they cut the circular pizza into squares and the greasi-, salti-, soft-, crunchi-, cheesi-, perfect crusted-ness that brings you back over and over... to visit your parents, of course.

We are already craving a Friday night visit with Mom and Dad again. See you again soon!

Santarpio’s: The Best in New England?

First, we must apologize for the lack of recent pizza related postings. We are experiencing busy times in our non-pizza lives, if you can believe aspects of our lives do exist that are not intertwined with our favorite food. We recognize that as budding bloggers this is not the ideal way to gain readership. So, we offer our apologies and our promise to give you our best efforts going forward.

Last Friday, our first pizza night of autumn, we visited an old school pizza parlor in East Boston that goes by the name of Santarpio’s Pizza. A friend called it “excellent” and urged us to try it. To boot, Santarpio’s edged out the Upper Crust in New England Cable News’ poll of the best pizza in New England. So, on a chilly and rainy Friday night, Kelly picked Shaan up from work. We battled the Friday evening Boston traffic, heavy rain and multiple GPS (and navigator) failures, finally to arrive across the Harbor at Santarpio’s.

Santarpio’s is a no frills pizza shop. The patrons are mostly local, credit cards are not accepted, the tables are small and tight and the menu is limited to a handful of pizzas and lamb or sausage from the grill. We went with our old faithful, pepperoni and cheese. At first bite, we were delightfully surprised. The pepperoni was under the cheese, a pizza building method loved by Shaan. The sauce was perfectly spiced and included chunks of tomato, pizza artistry admired by Kelly.

However as we reached the crust of our first slices, some of our love for Santarpio’s faded. The crust was disproportionately thick and a bit burnt. For these reasons, we must disagree with the viewers of New England Cable News. While satisfying on a damp and cool night, we cannot say that Santarpio’s is the best ‘zza in New England. With excellent pies served up at Café Rialto, Pizzeria Regina (the one in the North End, only), and the Upper Crust right here in Boston, it may be a while before we venture across the Harbor to Santarpio’s again.

Lost and Found

Has anyone lost part of his or her copper scouring pad or know someone who has? You know, the metal sponge that is used to clean pots and pans?

If so, please contact us. We have found part of your copper scouring pad.

Last Friday.

In our pizza.

From the Upper Crust.

It is Kelly's lot in life to find mysterious items in her food. It happens so often that she actually reflects on whether or not she should continue to eat the food once she has found something odd in it. Gross?

One time, at an unmentionable BYO italian restaurant in Philadelphia, Kelly found a penny in her gnocchi. Reflecting. Pennies are currency. Reflecting. Currencies touch many people's hands. Reflecting. Hands touch lots of gross things and carry gross bacteria. Reflecting. Not going to continue to eat gnocchi. Then her loud friend, made louder by the previously mentioned BYO aspect of the restaurant, called the waiter over and made a big stink. And she got her meal for free.

Given the frequency with which this happens to Kelly, not wanting to make a big stink is why the reflecting has to occur.

And reflect as she did about her find in the pizza from the Upper Crust, she decided not to finish the slice. But of course, it was pretty good pizza: Upper Crust's tomato, mozzarella, and basil. And there was good company: her parents and her lovely husband Shaan. And there was a nice atmosphere: their kitchen table. So she took a different slice. After inspecting it with a few scientific tests, it was consumed with enjoyment and satisfaction.

As for the scouring pad, please claim it. It is here waiting for you.

Move Over Upper Crust

Move over, Upper Crust! Step aside, Pizzeria Regina! Among the best "zza" in the Boston area can be found in Roslindale at Cafe Rialto. It was over a week ago that we tasted the masterpiece, and since then we have been dreaming about it and telling all our friends. It's really quite amazing. The ingredients are great and the ratio is perfect. Best of all, it can be enjoyed with friends over trivia on Thursday nights. It's our new Thursday night tradition.

So, your inference is correct: this pizza was had on Thursday, not Friday. You may cry out, "Sacrilege!" But before you do, understand that there is no rule about having pizza ONLY on Fridays; the rule is only that it MUST be had on Fridays. Following this rule, we can eat pizza every day if we wish. Truthfully, we have gone quite a few days in a row-- but rarely have we missed a Friday.

The day after we tasted this little bit of heaven at Cafe Rialto, we feared that one of these rare occasions may have been upon us. Our good friends Jen and Dave were getting married and their rehearsal dinner was on Friday night. We resigned ourselves to having an enjoyable night celebrating our friends sans pizza--and that we did. The rehearsing, the slideshow, the toasts, the company, and the Italian food (... not pizza) were all very enjoyable. Of course something felt missing, and we knew that something was our dear friend Friday Night Zza. After the party was the afterparty at the hotel bar. And the wonderful celebration day was complete when Jen's Uncle Tim pulled through with delivery at quarter to 12. What goes better with cheap beer?

Fears put to rest: Tradition Accomplished.

Eating in H-E-Double Hockey Sticks

With the sweet smell of home-baked pizza in the air, we reminisce about the New Zealand pizza enjoyed on our honeymoon two weeks ago.

Sometimes we wonder what foreigners think of us when we ask, "Where is the best pizza around?" They are probably thinking something along the lines of (insert degrading adjective here) Americans. But when you have Friday pizza as a religion, you still have to ask the question. The question was answered with a few delicious sounding suggestions. After breakfasting (eating "brekky") at Halo, the only possible selection we could make for dinner was Hell.

Intriguing to say the least, the promotional materials were full of flames and demons. However, the cashier, who seemed to be the owner, was welcoming and friendly. We settled on Brimstone.

Brimstone: Avocado, onions, salsa, tomatoes, cajun chicken, and sour cream

It's tough to decide on a gourmet pizza selection when you crave salty, greasy pepperoni by Friday of each week. We understand it's good to branch out and try new things, however. And really, we value artistry in food. So, while the pizza from Hell wasn't what we were expecting, we thoroughly enjoyed it: two thumbs up. Wish we had this kind of Hell in the U S and A.

Pizza is out of the oven and it's time to mangia mangia. It's not gourmet like Hell, but it does the trick, keeps some money in the bank and us from packing on the pounds. Mmmmmmmmmmm.

Where is the Pizza Hut?

The words of our uncle, while driving the streets of Mumbai, January 2010.

Anywhere we are, anywhere we go, Friday is pizza night. This is because S was raised in a family where Friday pizza was like religion. K enjoyed it on special occasions like soccer parties and after swim meets. When we met in college, pizza bonded us (among other things, of course), and we enjoyed weeks of 5-5-5 deals from Dominos. Now married, we carry on the family tradition of pizza on Fridays and have carried it across the globe.

Determined that there was a Pizza Hut in the area, Uncle rolled his window down to ask passerbys in his Indian accent, "Where is the Pizza Hut?!" Even those who looked like they would know stared blankly. Convinced the Pizza Hut must have moved (rather than reaching the obvious conclusion that it never existed), fate brought us to a Dominos. When we looked up at the menu, salivating at the idea of greasy American food, we found items such as "Mexican Green Wave" and "Peppy Paneer".

Mexican Green Wave: A pizza loaded with crunchy onions, crispy capsicum, juicy tomatoes and jalapenos with a liberal sprinkling of exotic Mexican herbs.

Peppy Paneer: Chunky paneer with crisp capsicum and spicy red pepper--quite a mouthful

These along with Margherita pizza (South Asian style, of course), all on a thin crust base, formed our Friday night family feast in Mumbai, India. Enjoyed by all and with a spicy taste in our mouths, we began dreaming up our pizza blog currently on your screen, immortalizing the words of Uncle: "Where is the Pizza Hut?!"

Check back for updates on our Friday Pizza adventures, beginning soon with recounts of the last three weeks of Friday pizza including more tales of pizza eating abroad!

Dominos India: http://www.dominos.co.in/index.jsp