Sometimes it's exhausting just to be alive in these extraordinary times. Today I went for a walk in the park with a friend, after which we stopped at a local pizza shop to replenish those spent calories. This place happened to be one of several claiming to have "the best pizza in Portland," so I was primed to be delighted and began salivating immediately.
I would have killed for a plain cheese pie, or maybe a white pie with ricotta and mozzarella and lots of oil dripping off it, so much oil that it runs down your elbow, like the kind they make down the street from my brother-in-law Eric's house in Brooklyn, and probably on every single street corner in Jersey City or Newark.
But no, that's so ordinary, and these days food can't be ordinary and still be written up anywhere, thus even lowly pizza has to be competitive. And besides, what are we, mafiosa? So in the interest of remaining card-carrying, sophisticated pizza connoisseurs, we each dutifully chose a slice of pie topped with one of the following combinations:
1. Asparagus, smoked Gouda, cilantro and chopped celery;
2. Mashed potato, cauliflower, pancetta and goat cheese;
3. Fresh tomato, Parmesan, basil and Brussels sprouts;
4. Sausage, blue cheese and smoked eggplant.
It was depressing, I've got to say. Okay, sure -- it was better than going hungry and people are starving in Syria (or wherever they're starving these days), but still, it was depressing.
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