Being a kid was pretty cool. No responsibilities. No money. No rent/mortgage/car payment. And you got kids menus. You know that awesome set of options that were simply meant as a cheaper alternative to the regular menu, but turned out to have the best stuff on it anyway. Things like grilled cheese, chicken fingers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were mainstays always a hit. Yet growing up can be tough, and not just because of those silly responsibilities, but also because you can’t quite get away with order PB and J at age 27. Fortunately, all is not lost. Burgers have taken a gourmet turn. Hot dogs are still popular for people of all ages. And then there is a little restaurant in Santa Monica called Hostaria del Piccolo.
As the Umami Empire continued to grow, to me it seemed only inevitable that it would eventually take on pizza. Enter 800 Degrees in Westwood, a Neapolitan style pizza place where customized pizza is king. They offer specialty pizzas, but the key to the place in my mind was to order a basic pizza (between 5.15 and 6.45) and load on the toppings for $1 each. This was the route I took.
For those of you unfamiliar with places of high altitude, allow me to explain the results of finding yourself far above sea level. The first thing you’ll notice is a shortness of breath, when a short walk up the stairs leaves you breathless. Next, you’ll find yourself in a constant quest for water, as the altitude saps the water from your body and leaves you dehydrated. Such is the case in Breckenridge, Colorado, sitting at 9600 feet above sea level. While I had previously thought such altitude issues only applied to humans, a pizza from Giampietro taught me this was just not the case.
Remember playing Cowboys and Indians as a kid? Thankfully, there is a place in the world where that fantasyland still exists. It’s called Arizona, and while not everyone runs around with a gun loaded with 223 ammo, there are places you could picture saddling up a horse just as easily as stopping by in a hybrid. One such place is the Cave Creek Coffee Company, affectionately known as C4 by locals. The facade is reminiscent of Tombstone, but the interior is pure class (not that Tombstone was lacking in class…).
A long, long time ago, I was a fledgling meat blogger just getting his bearings. In a desperate attempt to eat Giordano’s and get it on the blog, I bought a half-baked pie in Chicago, packed it in ice and brought it back to LA to finish the baking myself. The result was delicious, and while I reviewed it, I always felt that it was unfair to judge a restaurant in which much of the cooking was up to me. Since those days, very little has changed, but my desire for Giordano’s has only grown stronger. So on my last visit to Chicago, I made sure to hit Giordano’s for real, or to at least have some of my family pick it up for me in Evanston.
I could read all the food blogs in the world and go to all the restaurants they claim to be great, but nothing really ever beats a personal recommendation. Usually it comes from someone you know and they know your taste better any anonymous or famous food critics. So when my buddy and his lady friend suggested we hit up an Italian place called San Gennaro in Brentwood, I was ready for business.
When we arrived, one look at the menu told me this was not going to be an easy choice. Instantly my eyes met with gnocchi, Italian fried chicken and Ray’s Special pizza. Instead of making the tough decision myself, I asked the waiter to decide for me and he picked the pizza.
The gotcha media folks have been especially hard on Herman Cain. And why? Just to get a good story and learn more about the man who once wanted to be president? For shame. Rest assured, Herman, while you won’t be the President of the United States, I am here with your fallback plan.
Many months ago, someone was telling me about a delicious pizza chain from the Midwest called Godfather’s. Being from the Midwest, I was a bit surprised until he told me it was from that other Midwest. You know, like Kansas and stuff. Then Godfather’s started getting a lot more attention because of some dude named Herman Cain that wants to be President. So when I ordered some pizza delivery from a place called Godfather’s that recently appeared in Palms, I was thinking this was one and the same as the fabled Godfather’s I had heard so much about. I was wrong, for the first time.
As I walked towards The Echo in Echo Park for a night of dancing to soul music, I passed a little joint called Two Boots Pizza and just knew that by the time the night had ended their pizza would make its way into my extensive digestive system. So when the wee hours of the morning found me stepping out of The Echo, I stepped right into Two Boots and got a looksie at what they had to offer. Although they sold whole pies, a quick look at their slices told me I would be ordering by the slice. These slices were some of the most unique I had seen in a long time, perhaps in forever.
EDIT: I haven’t been back since they moved into a real place, but the experience here was so special I’m not sure it’s worth it.
You make a call and show up in a back alley 45 minutes later. When you arrive, your guy comes out carrying about five pounds worth. You hand him your cash, then take your purchase wherever you want and inhale it. If this sounds like a drug deal to you, get your mind out of the gutter. Unless your drug is pizza, in which case you should head to this back alley in West Hollywood immediately. This is the way it works for Hollywood Pies, the sketchiest pizza place in LA you’ve never been to. You may have eaten their pizza, and you may have even picked up their pizza, but you have never been there because there is no “there.”