#slice of plain

It’s been a long time. Over a year, actually, since I’ve written a Slice of Plain. Let’s be honest, there has been a lot of pizza in that time - a hell of a lot. Plenty of self-reflecting too. I’ve just lost a lot of the inspiration to keep this thing up. 

Not that anyone reads it, but it’s just the commitment to it that I’ve lost. I like doing it, too. Anyway, I’m at another crossroads, and when that happens it usually leads me to pizza. 

This time, it led me to Temple II Pizza in Camden. This place has been on my radar for the last four years. I see it every day because it’s right across the street from my current school. I parked at the school and as I walked up I immediately recognized some parents. Not of my kids, but of some kids. They seem to recognize me as well. They say “Hey!” and I say, “Hi, how are you!?” We seem to both force an unnatural level of pep and positivity in our greetings. (Tumblr says that word ‘positivity’ is spelled wrong. It’s not.) The woman behind the counter is dressed nice and she’s very kind. It’s not what I was expecting and I think that indicates a prejudice I wasn’t aware of. Teachable moment.

“What do you need, honey?”

“Hm. Just a slice of plain.” (I act like I had to think about it.)

“Just one?”

“Nah, make it two.” (It’s hard to just get one slice of pizza.)

I don’t see any pizza on the counter. There seems to be a bunch of uncooked, breaded meat - chicken and fish, on metal trays. I assume there’s a couple pies already made in the back somewhere. I wonder if any place ever has pre-cut dough into triangle slices and then slap cheese and sauce on them to toss into the oven as ordered, instead of having a whole pie already made and sitting out. As my mind is wandering about ways to prep pizza, I snap back to reality as a man orders a fish hoagie. This sounds like a really weird food item. “Fish Hoagie.” I get goosebumps just saying it. I scan the menu that’s both posted up above the counter and stapled to the wall on printed, but laminated, paper. I don’t see “Fish Hoagie” anywhere. He seems excited for his order and they aren’t surprised, so it must be something people get pretty regularly. I find this oddly interesting, and if I ate fish I might have tried one because it is probably a local favorite.

The pizza comes out in a small box. It’s one of those generic pizza boxes, but there’s a stamp on it that says Temple II Pizza and Seafood. The ink is faded, but I’ve never seen this simple way of branding an otherwise generic box. Interesting. I open it up and, because it’s so small, one slice is actually on top of the other. When I pick up the top slice the cheese from the bottom slice miraculously doesn’t come off. This seems like wizardry. The slice is very greasy, maybe to prevent them from sticking together. It is good, though. Very good. There isn’t too much sauce and the cheese is just right. The crust is what really gets me. It’s a little thicker than thin crust, but thinner than normal. It is perfectly crunchy. Don’t get me wrong, I always eat the crust. If I didn’t, though, I definitely would have eaten this crust. 

It’s crazy that I’ve never come here before. I think that’s for two reasons. My fear of change and my loyalty to places that I started with. I’ve seen a lot of pretty looking pizza shops from all over the country. At the end of the day I just end up at one of the same three places I’ve always gone. I know the pizza. I know the vibe. It’s safe. 

Sure, I could go somewhere else but the pizza might not be as good. It may cost more. The shop itself may be weird. I might hate the owner. I may not like the other customers. But this fear could keep me from really finding the best slice out there. The slice meant for me. I’ve tried to get the pizza places I love to make the pizza I want, but the system is much larger than me. They might add a little more cheese if I ask enough or maybe leave it in the oven a little longer for a crispier crust. At the end of the day, though, they are going to make it how they want and how they’ve been making it. 

I also feel guilty going to other pizza places because I’m loyal. The pizza shops I love won’t go out of business if I leave, but they recognize me there. The small talk isn’t as forced. They know, no matter what, I’m going to show up every now and then and get some pizza. Who am I to do that to them? Who am I to leave?

I’m probably heroizing myself. (Tumblr says that’s not a word, but it definitely is.) These pizza shops that I’m used to and are used to me are not going to go out of business without me. They may even have better customers start showing up in my place. 

Plus, the other pizza shops, the new ones, might actually have better pizza. And, if not, they may listen to me on how to make pizza better. I’ve been eating pizza for a long time, I know a little bit about it. It would definitely be economically beneficial, I know they have cheaper slices than the place I currently go. Isn’t that important, too? I’m going to be eating pizza no matter what, so shouldn’t I do it at the place that ends up with me having the most money in my wallet?

I’m old. I can’t keep going to the same old pizza shops, eating the same old pizza, for the same low price. 

I mean high price.

I’m too deep in the metaphor. 

I have to get out now, or I may be stuck here forever. I think I'm going to go to a new pizza shop. It's a big move, but it's time. Assuming they want me, anyway. Tune in next time.

It was late. I didn’t need pizza. I shouldn’t have gone out. I shouldn’t have driven. Oh well. I got a little messed up and got hungry. I decided to try something new. I’ve passed this place a few times on the Black Horse Pike, but I hadn’t decided to try Vero Pizzeria - not until tonight. 

It’s a handsome establishment. It looks new. Hip. I walk in and there’s two pleasant girls behind the counter. I stutter when one asks me, “What can I get you?” because I am distracted by a man in the back, sliding a pizza into the oven. This dude used to work at Antonino’s! Not just work there, though, this dude was like an owner or something. It was him and this other guy. Always there. Probably for the past ten years. Maybe longer. I manage to say, “Slice of plain. And, uh, a grandma.” 

“For here or to go?”

“Um, huh? For here? Yeah, here.”

Shit. They know something is up. I figure they probably just think I’m some red-eyed, word-slurring junkie cashing in some change for a piece o’ pizza. 

When I pay with my debit card they look shocked. 

Before taking a seat, I begin pacing back and forth, eyes locked on this Antonino’s dude. I’m fascinated. What could have happened? Did that other dude sleep with his wife? Or did he sleep with that guy’s wife? What drama could have occurred to have caused this split. 

I take a seat and wait for my food, eyes never leaving the pizza guy. I came here expecting something brand new. New pizza, new place, new people. I’m not upset at the situation, it just wasn’t what I was expecting. Antonino’s has a mean slice, so if the guy being the same makes the pizza the same that’s fine by me. 

But it makes me wonder, is there anything new left? Like, for me to experience I mean. Or will it all just be different versions of the same old? That’s a little bit more worrisome. I decide before I leave I am going to call out this pizza guy. I need to know what happened with him and his old gig. 

One of the pizza girls walks my slices over and I thank her. The slice of plain looks good, the grease on the cheese is glistening under the bright lights. It folds nicely. One bite in and I can’t honestly tell whether it reminds me of Antonino’s pizza. But it’s good. 

I hear a conversation that gets my attention. Some Ken Bone looking dude is talking to the pizza guy! Bone mentions Antonino’s and the pizza guy says, “That’s my shop!”

What? How could this be? He is still somehow affiliated with Antonino’s but has opened up his own place? Why isn’t it called Antonino’s 2? I’ll never get some of my answers now. I can’t try to talk to him after this guy. I’ll look like a poser. I missed my chance. 

I’ve missed my chance many times. If only I was more of a go-getter, maybe I’d have some of the things so many people my age already have. Houses. Spouses. Whatever.

The idea of this pizza guy still being a part of the old thing, but striking out to do a new thing too, is exciting. I’m old now. I might not have many brand new thing left ahead of me. Most of what I have left will probably just be different versions of the things I’ve already done. 

But, maybe that’s not so bad. 

‘til the next slice. 

I’ve remained pretty sober most of my time in Ireland, but on this day I was drunk. I was bar hopping after I got my tattoo and someone mentioned Orchard Thieves cider to me and I started drinking a lot of it. As I was walking past The Giddy Dolphin I saw the “Pizza by the slice” sign in the window and I floated in like a cartoon character sniffing a pie. In this case, it was pizza pie.

For a counter slide this thing was more than decent. A lot of the pizza I’ve had in Ireland is super thing, but this was a thicc slice. The cheese was good and you could tell by it and the crust that it had been reheated. Exactly the way I like it!

Dublin has been a strange experience. Every once in a while my heart starts racing and I have to battle my anxiety when I think about being so far from home totally on my own. Then I get to thinking something that I’ve thought while writing Slice of Plain many times - what is home? Especially now that my mom is gone. Is home where my friends are? I barely see them anyway we just play games online. Is home where I work? I love my kids and I enjoy my job but should my home be defined by my profession?

This trip has changed my perspective on some things. I said when my mom passed away that I would start trying to live more and live better. Traveling, I think, is living more, but what is living better?

When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.

Bad decisions are just bad decisions. I wish I was always as wise as I was this day, when I passed Branco's Pizza. There's no picture of a slice because I, for once, made a good decision and chose not to go in. Too often I've been invited into pizza places that acted like they were open but really weren't. Pizza places I had no business going into. I was fooled by a pretty storefront. Not every shitty pizza place looks like this one.

I'm weak, though, and I love pizza. Greasy pizza, thin crust pizza, sicilian pizza, burnt pizza, pineapple pizza. I can't help it. But, my love for pizza has really gotten me fucked up this time around. Way more than I could have anticipated. Maybe because I thought a broken oven meant something.

It doesn't. Sometimes you just get used to the broken oven. It's a hassle ordering a whole new oven, closing down to have the old one removed and the new one installed. Without really knowing the quality of the new oven, how could you reasonably get rid of the old one, even though it is broken, because the new one might be a piece of shit too. Then you got rid of the broken oven you were used to for just a newer broken one.

At least you know what the pizza is like that comes out of the old broken oven. You've had it for like four years. No one blames you. It's fine.

But you really wanted me as a customer. And I fell for it.

But not this time.

Enjoy the oven, I hope pretending it's not broken works for the rest of your life.

I'm pretty sure I said all this oven stuff before.

Oh well...

The boardwalk slice. A staple in the pizza game. I don’t often go to the beach, though. I don’t love sand. I don’t love sun.

However, my core group of work friends…or friends from work?…decided on a beach day, so I couldn’t refuse.

We laid in the sun. Swam in the water. Drank alcohol. Threw around a football. And before it was time to leave, we stopped at Jersey Shore Pizza & Grille.

The slices were big. Not like novelty size big, just hearty. Heavy. For a moment we all sat in silence, chewing, enjoying the pizza and the company.

Next year is bringing changes. My one friend is leaving the school and moving closer to home to work. There’s only a few guys at my job to begin with, and he was my friend from day one. Our paths split pretty early on, with year one us working with the youngest and oldest kids in the school. Year two he changed roles entirely, but still worked with the youngest kids in the school while I work with the oldest.

Currently he’s sleeping next to me on a bus headed to Maine.

In some ways I envy him. I need to get away.

As for the rest of the group, they all work at the elementary school while I’m with middle. That didn’t used to be that big of a deal. This past year the divide was definitely felt, but next year it will be even more separate. We’re even having separate “Returner’s BBQs.”

We’ll stay close. Ish. I mean, we have a group chat.

But what I’m realizing is that I need to accept the fact that I’m going to be on my own.

Well, not on my own. I have my own team. Plus, there will be new hires that are going to need attention and support. They’ll need to feel that sense of community to keep them going.

It won’t be bad.

Just different.

I’ll get used to it.

I’ll have to.

“Don’t get me in it!”

This is another instance where the pizza place just happened to be next to a different destination. When a pizza place is this close to somewhere I was already going, especially if it is like a significant moment, I’m going to get to get a Slice of Plain™.

Talk about significant moments. This was equal parts a reuinion and a farewell - or at least the first (hopefully) of a few farewells.

It was intense, as I knew it would be. I’m working hard on not ruining small, good moments because of the discouraging, shitty bigger picture. I got too drunk off of not that many beers, but after stumbling out of the bar I saw Goody’s Philly Style Pizza & Grill. I went in to get a slice, which was actually painful because it was time apart. Whatever. I digress.

I no sooner get the slice out of Goody’s before it’s snatched from my hands. I struggle to get a picture before it starts getting devoured. I don’t remember what I did have of the slice tasted like. Fine, I’m sure.

But I didn’t care about the pizza. I’ve only cared about one thing. For a while now. Drives me crazy.

The car was instense before I left but it’s what I needed. I’m not sure if she remembers some of the things she said, but it was what I needed to hear. Some of it, anyway.

This was last night. Technically made it within the 24 hour limit.

I had pizza earlier tonight. Pineapple pizza. Not posting that, though.

Drives me crazy.

Let me start off by saying I Googled this image of daVinci’s. I’m sure it’s great in there, I’ve just actually never been.

My work orders from there regularly when they try to make us feel better about staying there for 13 hours.

It’s late. Or early, at this point. I don’t know anymore. Like, anything.

Something about pizza? The pizza is good. It’s fine. I get to it late so it’s like room temperature, which to me is actually preferable in most cases to the too-hot, fresh-from-the-oven counter slices I normally eat.

I don’t care about pizza. I don’t feel like writing about pizza. This is just a good outlet and prevents me from blowing up phones that can’t, or shouldn’t, be blown up.

What was the theme of this one? The metaphor?

Oh, the Googled image. Pictures from daVinci’s aren’t the only pictures I’ve been looking through tonight. I’ve been looking at, and reading the captions of, burnt pizza and the oven that’s responsible for the burning for far too long tonight.

What changed? Did it change? I want to say fuck that oven but it seems to have been baking pizza just fine for a while.

You bake pizza, right? Or cook it? I don’t know. This blog is a sham. I don’t know shit about pizza except how to stuff it down my face.

I need silly putty.

I want to say how much better of an oven I could be. How I won’t burn pizza. Why would you want to open up a brand new pizza place with a shitty, burning oven?!

It doesn’t make sense. You at least need to call a repair man or something first, just to see if the oven can be fixed. I get wanting to fix the oven, but it won’t get fixed if it doesn’t know it is broken. And opening up a pizza place is such a final thing. There’s no turning back once it opens. Not without way more complications.

Wait, wait. I’m not an oven. I’ve lost track of what I was saying.

I eat cold pizza for breakfast.

I don’t pay tickets.

Seriously, the ticket I got from the Blackbird SoP is still unpaid. I don’t have my shit together.

I’m no good.

But like…we could be good.

I know it. I want a chance.

But, you can’t always get what you want.

Might delete this one.