Today’s guest post was written by my friend and regular collaborator here at Daily Food Holiday, Greg Mohr. This post is in recognition of National Pizza Week, the second week of January.

If you’ve been craving pizza lately, I’m not surprised.  After all, the second week of January is “National Pizza Week” – as if we need such a holiday to prod Americans into eating this genius food.

Everyone knows that pizza is an Italian invention, but really, it’s enjoyed so much in America that it belongs next to hot dogs and hamburgers (and often times that’s exactly where it ends up).  This Italian dish has become so…um…American, that you can find it at any baseball game in the major leagues.

I’ve had pizza in many different places.  My family and I have even sampled margherita pizza in Napoli, Italy (where pizza was invented), at the establishment that first introduced margherita pizza.

To begin with, I grew up in Southern California – where we put all manner of weirdness on our pizzas.  My first real “Oh my gosh, have you TASTED this?” moment took place in Chicago, at one of the city’s famous deep-dish pizza joints.

The one-slice-is-big-enough-for-a-meal approach that epitomizes Chicago’s pizza was incredible.  The deep-dish fare at other Chicago pizza establishments was equally amazing.  I came away from the Windy City as a true believer.  Chicago was the home of “the best pizza in the world”.

For the longest time this caused no problems for me – after all, my dad had spent some time growing up in Chicago, so my family was accustomed to Chicago culture and customs.

But then I married the daughter of two New York Italians.  My father-in-law could easily stand-in for Al Pacino in a Godfather movie.  Conventional wisdom dictates that you don’t say something like, “Chicago – best pizza in the world” in front of a guy like that, especially when you’re hoping to marry his daughter.

Foolishly, I said it anyway.

Miraculously, he still gave me his blessing, but it was clear that I was going to be persuaded about certain things – things like the Yankees, the Mets, and especially thin-crust pizza from the five boroughs.

Safely grounded in California, I was given many “decent” examples of New York pizza by my father-in-law, but was never put in a position where I needed to choose between New York and Chicago.  As intense as the man can be, my wife’s father has always been very kind and patient with me…even on the subject of pizza.  Ahh, but the whole thing began to unravel when I was hired for a consulting job in Boston, and my wife suggested we visit some relatives in New York.

Her dad’s exact words were, “Now you’re gonna taste some REAL pizza!”

Oh man!

Sure, it was fun to have a pizza-based disagreement with the man, but it was apparent that it was a much bigger deal to him than it was to me.  Inside, I prayed that the slices I would soon eat in Manhattan or Brooklyn would eclipse those I’d had in Chicago.  This was no offense to the folks in Chicago – it was more like desperate self-preservation.

We made our way to the East Coast.  I noticed that a lot of the Italian food there was much better than what I’d grown used to in California.  People kept saying things like “It’s the cheese” or “it’s the water…in the cheese”.  Everything from chicken parmesan to lasagna were better than the versions I’d had in California.

When I finally put a slice of real New York pizza in my mouth…it really was incredible!  My father-in-law hadn’t been exaggerating; it was as good as he said it would be, but I had some trouble comparing this new thin-crust variety to the one-slice-is-big-enough-for-a-meal version in Chicago.  It was an apples and oranges situation.

When we arrived in Boston, I shared my pizza dilemma with some friends there and they, of course, took me to their favorite pizza place.  This was also remarkably good.  During that same trip, my wife and I took a trip up the coast to the town of Gloucester, Massachusetts.  My friend in Boston had recommended this one pizza place and I was eager to try it.

It was there, in Gloucester, on a ridiculously rainy evening, that I had the very best pizza I’ve eaten so far.

Simply put, it was the just-right combination of everything you’d expect in a slice of pizza, the kind of deliciousness that makes you start looking for a place to live nearby.

That was twelve years ago, and I don’t remember exactly which place it was.  I just remember that it was perfect.

We returned home to Southern California, met up with the in-laws, and just as I’d expected, the question came up.  He said, “So, did you have some pizza out there that was better than that stuff in Chicago?”
“Oh, yes”, I said, “much better!”
My father-in-law beamed.
And then I finished with:
“I had the best pizza I’ve ever tasted…in Massachusetts.”

Words cannot express the facial expressions that came next.

I’d like to think that eventually, my track record as a husband overshadowed this pizza debacle.  Maybe it was just that my New York Italian father-in-law has gained more patience over the years.

I’ve had really good pizza in many different places, but “Daily Food Holiday” editor, Tim Joseph has pointed out that I have yet to savor the wonder that is “Buddy’s Pizza” in Detroit.  I’ll have to try it the next time I’m in Detroit.  Honestly, I hope it’s amazing.  But if it is… I’m not sure if I should say anything to my father-in-law.

Greg Mohr lives with his beautiful wife and two daughters in Orange County, California. He is a “gondola fanatic”, and owns Gondola Adventures, Inc. (www.gondola.com), with three gondola operations in California, Nevada, and Texas. Greg leads “gondola expeditions”, builds and restores gondolas, and has hosted the Gondola Blog since August of 2007 (see www.gondolagreg.com).

 

 

**Photo credits for this post belong to Cassandra Mohr.