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Pizza, pizza, pizza
I am a pizza! Caio! I came to this country from humble beginnings, not sure exactly where or when. But, I know I am Italian by birth, somewhere in the south, maybe Naples or Rome. I’m a simple dish made from flour, tomatoes, and cheese; yes, I have evolved and morphed into something entirely different.
Many other countries claim I am theirs; that’s because they all have flatbread with some cheese and tomatoes. I’ll tell you what I wasn’t born with: pepperoni, pineapple, and other toppings. No pepperoni in Italy; it’s soppressata, an Italian sausage.
Gennaro Lombardi was the first Italian to introduce me to America. I grew up on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, 23 1/2 Spring Street in Little Italy, a block away from Mulberry Street. I’m still here after 120 years. He took his recipe from Naples, Italy. Although pizza varies from Italian province to Italian province, I’m still basically the same.
Roman makes oval pizza, Naples’s pizza is round, and Sicilian pizza is square. Now we have thin-crust and deep-dish pizza. New York pizza is different from Italy; in New York, you walk down the street with the pizza folded and olive oil dripping down your arm. The only toppings I’m okay with are anchovies, olives, oregano, and red pepper. I don’t need much; fresh basil is nice to make a Margarita pizza. This pizza displays the color of the Italian flag, red, green, and white.
I really think I am the most popular food in the United States. Lots of countries take credit for me. I was called focaccia, just a flatbread, 2000 years ago. I have seen many things in my life. Did I ever tell you the time I first witnessed wine being discovered? I mean, what goes better with pizza than red wine.
So, I’m lying around just cooling off after just coming out of the oven, waiting to be devoured. All of a sudden, these Romans start throwing all these discarded pieces of fruit, mostly grapes, into a huge terra cotta vat in the corner. After a few days, it began to stink! It smelled like rotten eggs, which I learned was H2S, Hydrogen Sulfide. Whatever gave the Roman Centurian the idea to drink it? I thought for sure he would get sick and vomit. Instead, he suddenly turns to address the Roman Senate and says, “It needs more time.” Two weeks later, the rotting fruit turned into my favorite beverage – wine.
The same was true for cheese years ago; you encourage this mold to grow. The mold is yeast and is cultured into cheese. Many kinds of cheese really stink, so my question always was, “How do you know when cheese is bad?” You can just cut the mold off and eat the rest. I prefer “muzzarella,” aka mozzarella, made from Italian buffalo. The fresher, the better. Yes, I know “muzz” is hard to melt; that’s why the oven is over 1000 degrees.
I love when olive oil is drizzled over me; it tickles! The olive oil simmers, the cheese melts, and the tomatoes are cooked. Boy, do I smell good! I don’t even feel the pizza cutter slice through me. I am a pizza! I am round, square, and oval. Any way they make me; I am a pizza! Bon Appetite!