a slice of heaven (m)

Surprised my mother by picking her up and taking her to the North End (Italian section) for lunch.  For months, she had been carrying around in her purse a clipping of a pizzeria that reviewers say makes "the best pizza" in all of Boston.

We drive down narrow, crazy Hanover Street in "the bus".  It would be difficult to park one of those mini-Coopers in this neighborhood but, here we are, plowing our way through all sorts of congestion with the Yukon.  Now I have to find the equivalent of two consecutive car spaces to park this beast.  The gods must have heard me plead, because we found the ideal spot right around the corner.  If I didn't hit the parked Saab, it would have been perfect. 

I leave my mother in the car and run across the street to get some take-out for her.  She said the place looked like a "dump" and didn't want to eat inside.

I get there.  It's 11:30 in the morning and the line is out the door.  I'm standing in the long line which is moving ever-so-slowly.  This nice-looking middle-aged guy  behind me in line starts talking to me.  "Best pizza, don't ya think?"

I dont know, never been here before, I say.

His eyes light up.  "No? No?  Do you mind if I tell you the story of this place?"  I feel he will do that regardless of my answer, so I say yes.

"The owners wake up every morning and are in here at 5 a.m. to make the dough.  They squeeze the tomatoes with a foley mill so they are fresh.  No canned pizza sauce here, sister.  They get the best olive oil, four fresh cheeses and crushed salt and pepper along with fresh basil.  They start making the pizzas by 10 a.m.  Whatever they make in the morning is it for the day.  When they sell out, they close the shop for the rest of the day.  Usually by 1:30 in the afternoon."

He continues.

"You know Zagat?  They rate restaurants (I'm a little offended as I'm wearing my diamond studs and he thinks he needs to explain Zagat to me).  A perfect score is a 28.  This pizza gets a 25!!  25!  The Ritz doesn't get 25!!  The Four Seasons doesn't get 25!"

Line barely moves, he's still talking.

"I've been coming here 3 days per week since 1981.  I swear, if the FBI is ever looking for me, I tell my friends they will find me here because I can't keep away from this place.  I have a vision that I will eat my pizza and come outta this place and they will be there...the FBI...and shoot me, Dillinger-style.  I don't care, it'll be worth it.  What a way to die!"

Wow. I say, lamely.  When is this line going to move? I think.

"See up there?  On the wall? The photograph? Ted Kennedy ate here! (I tell my mother this later and she says 'where DIDN'T he eat?').

I look at this guy more closely.  Light skin, blue eyes the color of the sky on a clear day.  Pleasant face.

Do you live around here?  In this neighborhood?

"I'm from Charlestown.  I'm Irish.  I am an honorary Italian, though."

Then he tells me to get the arancini (fried ball of rice, meat) , a panini, and the pizza.

"Look...look at the prices.  So cheap.  In 1981, the slices were 30 cents.  Now they are $1.45.  Not bad at all.  The panini is only $2.00.  What a steal.  You can eat like a king for NUTHIN."

I finally make my way up to the head of the line.  My Irish friend is on my heels.  He orders for me!  "She'll have four slices, an arancini a calzone and a panini."   I tell him I want the spinach panini (WAIT..why am I tell him anything?).  The total bill comes to $12.00.  No tips (my favorite part).

I say goodbye to my friend.  I get to the car.  I tell my mother the whole story.

My mother tries the panini with spinach.  "This is very good," she declares.  I tell her it was only $2.00 and she moves her rating up from "good" to "excellent". 

I wait until we get home.  I saved my points so that I can have half a slice of pizza, which I estimate to be 5 points.  I bite in....it's like a slice of heaven.

I now have every confidence I will see my new friend sometime in the future.