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Post Info TOPIC: Guide to regional pizzas.


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Guide to regional pizzas.
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Commander, Consolation Prize

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I have to disagree with the Texas pizza.  When Eddie was assigned to Ft. Wolters in Mineral Wells the summer of 1966, there were no pizzerias in that little town (no delicatessens, either).  There was a place just outside the fort's front gate that sold its idea of pizza that involved something that looked and tasted like Cheez-Whiz. wink



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Must be an old joke...The Mob is not what it used to be, even in Chicago. Most of the old Mafia godfathers have died, gone to prison, retired, or gotten whacked.

It's not like it was when I was a kid. At the age of twelve,I knew more names and nicknames of "wiseguys" than ballplayers on either Chicago team. I even went to summer camp, in Wisconsin, with Howard Skar, the son of a mid-level Mob guy named Manny Skar. Howard kicked my ass when I made a dirty joke about his girlfriend.

This was a kid whose father routinely had killers over for dinner. The kid threw their names around like they were his uncles, and I recognized every one of them. He'd also been to Mob whorehouses, and described in detail how they operated. We were just going into junior high, fer chrissakes! I learned a lot of things while hearing him brag...stuff that I didn't yet know.

Howard was a fat, arrogant a-hole, who finally got what he deserved, about six years later. His father (I think he may have been a Mob lawyer) was parking his car in the garage of their Lake Shore Drive apartment building, when two guys walked up to him and blew his brains out. The kid's big-shot daddy got whacked. What goes around comes around.

Charlie





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Commander, Consolation Prize

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As the few of us who are still here will likely recall, I never had a pizza until probably the summer between 8th and 9th grades--or any other Italian food, either.  What food Grandma made was good (except for the dry, tough eye-of-round beef roast she'd overcook in the oven every few Sundays), but there was very little variety.  If I never have a Swedish meatball again, it'll be way too soon--three times a week for all those years was way too much, no matter how good they were. 

The only time Mama and I had seafood, other than the strongly-flavored bluefish Uncle Alf caught off the Jersey shore, was when we started taking her second week in August vacation at Wildwood, where we indulged in all manner of shellfish selections.  They're still my very favorites.  Rare steak runs a close second.

Anyway, probably the same year I started high school, Milton and Henry's Pizzeria, the first in Morris Plains, opened.  Mama and I started going there every few Saturday afternoons.  Neither Milton nor Henry were Italian, both were Jewish, but I've never had better pizzas since then.



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We finally got a pizza the pie-ie-ie-ie-ie...yeah...yeah...
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In Chicago, we never called it pizza pie, or just pie, as they do in New York and other places in the East. "When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie"--as sung by Dean Martin--was just a rhyming device to Midwesterners.

In 2002, Lucinda and I went to a dive bar out in Bedford, a Cleveland suburb. The place was called the Moon Glow and it was a real Fifties time warp. Not fake and full of kitsch. They had just never changed anything in fifty years. They still had a big sign on the outside wall, that advertised "Hot Pizza Pie." After the place closed down, the sign remained.  When I went back to try to steal it, I found that someone else had already had the same idea. You snooze, you lose.

I had had pizza by sixth grade, which would have been early 1959, I guess. I remember seeing neon signs a lot earlier than that, and they just had one word on them...PIZZA...which I didn't even know how to pronounce correctly...I thought it was "PIZZ-uh"...to rhyme with "bizz-uh"...as in "show biz"...that's how unaware I was.

I finally talked my father into getting one at a carry-out place, and then, while he waited in the car, I tucked the box under my arm instead of carrying it out flat...that's how dumb I was. 

You can imagine what it was like when we got it home. And what he was like. He yelled at me because I'd wrecked the pizza. This was maybe a couple of years after he'd tried to burn the heating oil.

Like father, like son.

Charlie



-- Edited by KidCharlieMane on Friday 24th of August 2018 07:31:02 PM

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Commander, Consolation Prize

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Your father must've had pizza at least one time in his youth, otherwise he'd have thought it was supposed to look the way it did when y'all opened the box.

I must've learned how to pronounce it correctly from all my Italian-descended schoolmates long before I had one, or I'd have said "pissah" instead of "peezha".



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It was 1972 before I had my first piece of Pizza. I had just graduated  high school and so a few of my friends  all decided on the only Pizza in town. The owner had bought out the Dairy Queen. I could not understand such a small place having enough room to carry Pizza. It was delicious and I savored every bite.

Here in the village there is a Pizza place too and it is even tinier. A steep A shaped roof and its built on stilts. Ed says there is only room for one customer to sit and wait for his pizza. The guy who owns and runs it has no time to himself the pizza business is booming from 11am to 1am every night all year round. People come from all over the county to buy his pizzas. I do not  blame them its the best pizza I have ever had.

He also sells Caesar  salad small or large and cheese garlic banquets. Yum!biggrin

Uni



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KittyBiggerstaff wrote:

Your father must've had pizza at least one time in his youth, otherwise he'd have thought it was supposed to look the way it did when y'all opened the box.

 


 I doubt it, since he grew up in a mostly Polish neighborhood, with a few Italians sprinkled in. He used to talk about how the "Polacks" would chase the "Yids" home from school. And pizza was mostly unknown when he was a teen-ager, before the war, except in Italian neighborhoods. It didn't get popular until the vets came back from Europe and started opening pizza joints in the big cities. Then it really took off in the Fifties. When I saw the signs as a kid, it was probably around the mid-Fifties, and there were lots of them by then...even some neon ones--usually orange, green, or pink.

Charlie



-- Edited by KidCharlieMane on Saturday 25th of August 2018 11:20:36 PM

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