Late in the afternoon we walked to the corner to the Pizzeria Uno, which claims to be the original home of the Chicago deep dish pizza. It looked like the Italian restaurant in every gangster movie ever made. Our server was a large black woman with one side of her head shaved. She appeared to be in her forties and had a “take no prisoners” attitude.

“I’m Neesi,” she said and waited.

I was ready though and ordered two small salads, a medium pizza,  2 sangrias.

“Medium, you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am, we want some for leftovers tonight.” I wasn’t sure but I am told it is best to show no fear when confronted by a lion.

She disappeared briefly, reappearing to plop 2 huge bowls of salad in front of us. She left and we began to work at two bowls of greens, each bowl the size we would normally set on the table for the entire family.

7 or 8 minutes later, she passed our table without stopping. ” You’re saying to yourselves, Neesi, where’s my drinks?” I was but was reluctant to say it.

2 tall glasses of sangria landed on the table in her next pass without comment.

It was perhaps twenty minutes before Neesi arrived with our pizza. She cut and served us each a slice with a razor-sharp pie cutter, looked at my glass and said, “More?”

I nodded.

The slices were huge in both size and depth. In my 23 years in the pizza business I had never seen anything like it. Smothered in peppers, onions and fresh mushrooms, it steamed on our plates and we were momentarily speechless. No holding slices here, this was knife and fork territory. We dug in and “ate with relish” (my favorite pun from James Joyce).

Neesi joined us once again and we exchanged my empty glass for a full one. She stood there pointing the empty at me and finally said “Exchange.”

I stared until Lydia touched my arm and said, “Take your straw.”

Neesi nodded and as she left added “Don’t be thinking I’m coming back with no new straw.” Her version I suppose of keeping Chicago green, Lydia whispered.

By the time we were done we had each only eaten a single slice. Neesi came by to say I told you so, offered to box it up and then gave us re-heating instructions (in the oven, never in the microwave). She dropped the register receipt and I signed on all the wrong lines. She returned with a clean copy as well as my page of mistakes. It felt a bit like getting a really bad paper back from a college professor, a position I’ve been in more times than I wish to admit.

Leftovers in hand we walked the half block back to our hostel. Lydia asked if I wanted to walk for a bit. I declined. Like a python that has just consumed something twice its size, I needed to remain very still for a very long time. We went upstairs.

The pizza was incredibly good. The service was, well, incredible. We loved it and will miss this city. We take The City of New Orleans this afternoon. Beignets and jazz here we come.

Blessings.

The Road