For The Love of Pizza...

“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.” – Dean Martin

I have always loved pizza. Round and thin crusted, or square and thick, the taste and aroma was always a tantalizing treat. There is nothing in the world quite like it.

I can recall, as a young child, riding shotgun in my dad’s station wagon on Friday nights, to go pick up what he so fondly referred to as “beetza.” For the longest time, that’s what I thought it was, until Paul Diamond from second grade quite abruptly informed me that the word was, in fact, “pizza”. It didn’t matter to me what it was called, just as long as I got my hands on a slice on a weekly basis. My dad would ask me to hold the box; the warmth of the hot pie, coupled with the scents of tomato sauce, basil and melted cheese would cause me to salivate, even more than Pavlov’s dogs.

We were a traditional family; because my mom believed in meatless Fridays, pizza was a good standby for dinner. I looked forward to it, and I can recall several Friday nights where Mom had created a pepper and egg frittata. To say that I was disappointed was an understatement.

The first time that I’d ever enjoyed a piece of Sicilian pizza was with my sister in law, who took me over to Raimo’s Pizza in Hicksville. Convincing me that the pies from this establishment were nothing short of fabulous was quite easy; I was a pizza connoisseur, but the moment I walked into the restaurant, the aroma hit me, and I was convinced. Thick, cheesy, with just the right amount of basil and garlic in the tomato sauce, I was hooked from the first bite. My teeth sank into the soft crust for an experience that I have described in the past as “Nirvana”. Not too oily, but greasy enough to leave delightfully delicious stains on the napkin, I was in love with the pie before I took a second bite.

Some years passed, and I had moved out of my family’s home. Friday nights were now spent with my boyfriend (now husband) and his parents, who were quite fond of the dish. My father in law referred to pizza as “a-beetz”, which made me smile, because it brought back loving memories of my dad. These people, however, didn’t care for the limp crust that we used to purchase at our pizzeria. No, these were folks who enjoyed a “well done” crust. And once I tried “well done”, I absolutely never went back to flimsy pizza pie again.

On a vacation to Florida, my husband and I sojourned at a Marriott and were in search of a slice of pie. Friends that we were traveling with had suggested we dine at Shakey’s Pizza. I was down for it, and so we headed off, in search of the perfect slice. I was amazed when I was ushered into the restaurant; before me lay a buffet of every type of pizza I could possibly imagine. Pineapple and ham, salad, chicken and mushroom – I’d never seen such a variety, and I sat at the table with a plate piled high to sample every single one. Granted, I was a little disappointed in the flavor, but since pizza was my all-time favorite meal back then, I didn’t care – pizza was pizza, and I was eating it.

I’ve tried all of the larger chain pizzerias – Little Caesar’s, CiCi’s, Papa John’s – these pies have never come close to the absolute best pizza that I’ve ever eaten. The crusts were off; a bit greasy, a bit crunchy, and the cheese always had a particular odor to it that I really didn’t care for. No, the best pizza that I’d ever eaten was at Ray’s Pizza in Manhattan. Crispy crust with the perfect amount of dark, hollow puffy edges, cheese that melted in your mouth, tomato sauce that blew away my grandmother’s. Yes, Ray’s was the best pizza in the world to me. My husband was convinced that pizza “in the city” was intrinsically better than pizza anywhere else in the world, because of “the water”. I’m inclined to believe that; venturing out of New York, I’ve found that pizza just doesn’t quite taste the same. To quote “The Wizard of Oz”’s Dorothy, “There’s no place like home.”

I was thrilled when I found out that Ray’s had opened a pizzeria on Long Island, in Westbury. While I’d like to tell you that I visited it, I can’t. It was right about that time that I’d been advised to follow a gluten free, dairy free diet for health reasons, and my glorious pizza was off-limits.

You cannot even begin to imagine how disappointed I was. It was akin to finding out that you had all the numbers in the PowerBall, and then finding out that you lost your ticket. Yeah, I was pretty upset.

For several years, I sat and watched my husband longingly as he devoured slice after slice of real pizza. I say “real”, because the options for me were quite slim – frozen, gluten free pizza was all that was readily available. The taste, at that time, was not unlike cardboard. The more difficult task, however, was finding a pizza that was both gluten free and dairy free. Such pizzas did not exist. Not until Amy’s came out with their own version of such a pie. It was tasty, but it still wasn’t the same. Daiya also came out with their own rendition, but it wasn’t pizza. At least, it wasn’t to me.

While out for lunch, my husband and I opted to go back to Raimo’s, so that he could enjoy a slice, and I could have a salad. Imagine my surprise when I found out that they actually made gluten free pizza, and I could have it, any way that I wanted! I found out that the tomato sauce, rich and full of tomatoes, did not have cheese in it, so I ordered up a pie with tomato sauce, black olives and sautéed mushrooms. It was so delicious that I almost wept.

More pizzerias are falling in line with gluten free pies; Calda in Levittown and Hicksville makes a pretty good “Vegetable Explosion” pie. You can get any of their specialty pies gluten free; when I order this one, I ask that the sauce be held, and that they rub the crust with garlic and olive oil. Delicious!

Pasta-eria in Hicksville also makes a pretty sweet gluten free pie. Their sauce, which is full of garlic, oregano and basil, is perfectly flavored, and is also free of dairy. I’ve had pies from Mario’s as well; their gluten free salad pizza is nothing short of wonderful. I'm thrilled that I get to drag out my dried spices and crushed red pepper again, and partake in this cherished pastime.

And so, the tradition continues. Friday nights are again pizza night in our home, and I couldn’t be happier. As the song goes, “Reunited, and it feels so good!” In this case, oh, it tastes so good!