Pizza for Breakfast

Even though today was supposed to be the first day of my Really Getting Serious, Lose 10 Pounds by Christmas Diet, I woke up and went downstairs and straight into the garage to throw away some cat litter and there it was, stopping me dead in my tracks: an empty pizza box from OTTO. This is a rare and beautiful thing. My heart pounding, I raced to the fridge and found an entire--okay, less than entire but a lot left--pizza wrapped in copious amounts of aluminum foil. If you have never been to Portland, and many have not, you might not know that OTTO is the God of Pizza and He lives up here, splitting His time between two locations, with talk of a third.

I grew up on Long Island outside of New York City, and as a child believed that La Bella Notte in Baldwin was where He lived. Then I matured and went to college in Greenwich Village, and late one night stumbled into John's on Bleeker Street. Again, I was convinced I had found Him, until I moved to D.C. and knew in my bones that A.V. Ristorante Italiano--known to the congregants simply as A.V.'s-- housed the deity, who often vacationed at a restaurant in Brooklyn I never knew the name of but it's down the street from my brother-in-law's house. Anyway, all that falderol ended when we moved here four years ago and I discovered OTTO, which is the best thing in Maine, except perhaps its rocky coastline. The search is over, and like most spiritual quests it has taken the better part of my life, but I know Him now, and He is in my fridge.

So there it was in all its glinting, triangular-shaped glory, obviously smuggled into this house by one of the occupants long after I went to bed. On closer inspection, I determined it to be a stellar choice: sausage and white bean. Instinct overtook reason and I did not hesitate but instead dragged out the toaster oven and got busy. And now the day is ruined and it's only eight in the morning. I guess I'll start that diet tomorrow.