I shouldn't even be fat.
I don't binge eat. If I have ice cream 5 or 6 times a year, that's enough. I don't tuck the tablecloth in my collar at a buffet, and let loose the dogs of gluttony.
And I'm not crazy for Pizza.
I can hear someone coughing "bullshit" into his hands somewhere, and I take no offense. How in the fuck do you explain a Fat Man of American descent that doesn't crave Pizza?
Well, I don't. Every once in a while, my tongue twitches, and I'll send out for a pie, but that doesn't happen often, bubba.
I posit everyone's favorite Pizza is the one they grew up with. In deepest Berwyn, Ill, where I was whelped, there were dozens of Dago Restaurants (as my Grandfather indelicately called them) and they all offered Pizza. Our family either had "Al's" (and why does it seem EVERY town has an 'Al's Pizza'?) or "Benny's". Not bad thin crust pizza. Not fabulous either.
And for the record, I never encountered what is now known as a "Chicago Deep-Dish" Pizza until I was in my 30's. That phenomenon did not reach into the 'burbs at all, at least not in our 'hood.
I lived in Central Berwyn, and the joints we went to were close.
But there were legends. There were giants. There were colossal temples of Italian Pie close enough for mere mortals to worship at.
Salernos' on 16th Street-a shithole of a tavern with glorious food. (find my Yelp here on "Salerno's On The Fox"-they've still got it down). Home Run Inn of 31st St just over the border into Chicago proper. A sense of danger, as it was always described to us as being a dodgy neighborhood, but sweet tonnato, what a pie!!
And on the extreme south side of Berwyn, the place whose name was always spoken of in hushed tones. The King of them all, the undisputed champ. Villa Nova.
Wouldn't you know, we never went there. No reason other than there were about 50 Pizza joints between our house and the south side of town. Like i said, you went to the one that was the closest.
But the stories of Villa Nova's ambrosial crust, heavenly sauce, and generous toppings made your mouth come alive.
Decor-wise, a shithole. The best pizza joints are. Whatever the optics lack, is made up for by the intoxicating aroma. It's quintessential. The kitchen is open and bustling. The folks working therein might not all be Italiano, but you'd never know by the loud banter.
Place your order, it's written down on paper. None of this computer crap. Old School. And then you wait a good long time. No Domino/Pizza Hut conveyor oven horseshit to be found. Old school!
I order Sausage/Fresh Garlic/Anchovy. Yeah, fucking Anchovy, 'cos I'm part Dago myself, and that's the way a serious son of Italy eats his pie--with ANCHOVIES.
Oh sweet Christ, is this pizza good! Perfect! I sprinkle a little bit of crushed Red on it to zip it up, not that it NEEDS it, but 'cos I LIKE it.
I dig deep-dish (Geno's if you need to know the truth), and Salerno's and Home Run Inn, but I gotta say Villa Nova has that tiny edge on them all. My wife is from Long Island, NY. and they do some SERIOUS pie there. She took me to her local "Vincents" in her home town, and we et there three days in a row. Fine, Fine Pie. DIFFERENT than Chicago 'za. How so? I can't put my finger on it, but suffice it to say I dug it to the max.
Anywho, Wife Unit thinks Chicago Pizza has all the gustatory appeal of ceiling tiles, holding true to Vincent's, which IS actually superior to most pedestrian Chicago pie. But her eyes opened wide for Villa Nova.
I can relate. This is superior Pie.
Try the Anchovy!
(One more thing--they have a style of pizza named after an old employee--I forget the guys name--you wont find this on the menu, but ask them. It's outasite!!) read more