Sunday, December 18, 2022

THOUGHTS ABOUT PIZZA

The most beautiful sight in the world, late on a Saturday evening, is a winsome young lady with glasses walking up the street carrying a box of pizza. Firstly, she looks like an intelligent sort, and secondly, it means she wasn't out getting drunk with the party blondes, but is going home with dinner, and has someone to go home to. Maybe a boyfriend, maybe roommates.
And is not going far.

It's reassuring. It tells you there are still things in this world that are good and wholesome. And also, there are still people who believe in sweetness and light.
And not throwing up on a Saturday evening.

Unlike the chiropractor from years ago at the pizza place in North Beach, who leered at older women while waiting for his two boxes extra large, and probably woke up hungover the next day smeared with sauce in his underwear with the remnants of his dinner strewn about the bed in the residential hotel. A sour and bitter, but optimistic sort, strangely convinced of his own charm, sleazy and middle-aged, but still considering pepperoni extra cheese a tempting exchange for old maid whompities. He lived in the same establishment as Batshit Hellen, who believed that Willie Brown had had her thrown out of her mansion on Nob Hill and was wiretapping her room. Her psycho friend was the lady that pizza creep was trying to bed. We would watch in horror as he oozed around her, not realizing that she was precisely the type to shiv him in the elevator and yank his wallet before it got to the second floor.

His flabby corpse would slump against the wall, then slide down, leaving a red smear. He'd be noticed by a tenant heading out for the night, and not remarked upon, because passed-out drunks with pizza boxes leaving rusty trails in lifts or bathrooms are common in North Beach, not out of the ordinary at all. Probably tonnes of them in pizza joints every night.

As good a reason to eat pizza at home instead.
With, hypothetically, your boyfriend.
Formerly a seminarian.
Someone nice.
Sweet.


I like pizza.



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2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Is there any good pizza left in San Francisco though? Goat Hill Pizza has closed and the only other good one I can think of is Mozzarella di Bufala on West Portal Ave and they were always expensive. I never understood the hype of North Beach Pizza either.

The back of the hill said...

Depends on A) how inebriated you are, and B) how much you like East Coast stuff.

For A, go to Golden Boy. If you're drunk, their stuff is wonderful. For B) head to Amici's on Lombard.

Or make it at home. Not very hard, but in the case of either A or B it will take too long.

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