Food for Thought

It was the beginning of third grade. Mrs. Rogers announced she had a “clever” method for getting all the students to know each other, so she claimed. When in reality, it was closer to a terrorist act. She asked each tiny and frightened member of her class to stand one at a time (yes, completely alone), present our name, our favorite food and the last book we read. (Ya, like all just-entering-third-graders have a full library in their room!). I was chosen to go first. I have no idea why. My first and last name began with letters well into the alphabet. I started with my name. The worst case of stage fright would still allow that to be emitted. I went straight from name to my favorite food, which turned out to be a good move. I got such a unified positive reaction from all seated that I never even got to the book question. I loudly and proudly announced my favorite food as if it were unique, as if I were the only person to have discovered it. I told them all that my favorite food was PIZZA.

As clear as the terror of that day is in my memory, so is the memory of love, love, loving pizza…. any pizza… even school cafeteria pizza. But the passions of the palette of youth are known to dissolve with time. For example, when was the last time you bought one of those tiny boxes of raisins? But between the ages of two and three, the average toddler consumes enough of them that parents consider buying stock. Although the palette matured and not all pizza is wonderful any longer, the remembered passion continues to drive the search for a pizza that will again zing my taste buds. (You might have wondered where this story was going.) I have tried all types of pizza parlors and delivery pies: Cici’s, Pizza Hut, Dominoes, Five Star, and on and on. I even tried making my own from time to time. In spite of some very infrequent and random pleasures, like white clam pizza from a Mom and Pop place in Hamden, Connecticut, I had given up on ever having the ecstatic pizza consumption experience of my youth. Until…. until….. (drum roll), I had The World Famous Chicago Style Stuffed Pizza at Giordano’s in Chicago.

OH MY GAH! There is nothing like it anywhere. There is no way to describe it’s deliciousness accurately. All I can say is I witnessed four grown restaurant managers fall into a Complete Contented Catatonic Culinary Coma after eating Giordano’s World Famous Chicago Style Stuffed Pizza for the first time. This pizza takes possession of the will…. A commitment to eat no other is guaranteed. If you don’t believe me, NBC voted this slice of heaven the Best Pizza in America. If you don’t believe them, book a flight to Chicago. Go straight to Giordano’s and order. Be forewarned though, Giordano’s will deliver its magnificence anywhere in the continental US, which could get costly over time. Ok, that’s it. All this thinking about it has taken control of my senses. Wallet is here. Charge card is here. Phone is here. “Hello? I’d like to order a delivery please.”

Go to Chicago. Then mark the following as “favorites”: www.giordanos.com. Enjoy.