Sandwich

Pizza appeared in Detroit after World War II, when the veterans brought home stories of this savory, gooey, and wonderful half-pie, half-tart.  Chicken joints were all the rage, and they somehow became the logical place to sell pizza, just in case this Italian wonder didn’t pan out.  The first Detroit pizzas were standard– round, pretty flat, and easy to pull a piece off and eat.

The pizza craze took off in earnest in my hometown, where a guy named Mike Ilitch took made pizza the star of his menu (yup—Little Caesars), and another company (Buddy’s) decided round pizza needed to be square pizza, slices needed to be thick rather than thin, cheese needed to be caramelized, and stripes of sauce should decorate the top.  Being Detroit, this variation was first made in pans from auto supply stores.

I love my city.

That was the world I was raised in, eating lots of pizza, wanting even more.  This included pizza outside Detroit, when business obligations sent me largely to East Coast sites, interacting with colleagues from all over the country, including New Yorkers I still count as friends today.  When our free time discussions got around to food, they were champions of the Big Three of NYC—deli, bagels, and pizza—and when the conversation got around to pizza, I learned that New York slices were so big, they mandated the consumer to fold the piece in half in order to have any reasonable chance to eat it.  It was OK, but the folding method often denied me the pleasure of the mozzarella pull an open slice offered, and that was a big deal to me.

Time then marched on.  A lot of time, in fact.  Like, 25 years.  I’m scrolling social media, and a short video pops up with an etiquette expert showing the proper way to eat pizza (yeah, it says something about me when the algorithm gods decide I need to watch lessons on how to be civilized).  He’s seated at a linen tablecloth, and the pizza is on fine China, and I can’t help but think he’s going to go for the knife and fork and treat this like filet.

Nope.  After shaking some additional parmesan on the slice (good move), he explains that pizza is not a cutlery food.  Instead, you fold the pizza in half, and eat it like a sandwich.

Like a sandwich.

It was more than enough that this guy actually touched his food, a first for his many etiquette videos that came my way.  The notion that pizza is really a sandwich, and that it was likely always meant to be eaten that way? 

And then I thought about it.  You fold the pizza toppings side in, and what do you have?  Bread on top, bread on the bottom, fillings in the middle.

Kind of like a corned beef on rye with Swiss, Cole slaw, and Russian dressing.

The founder of the school I attended said the most important thing every student needed to understand is that we are citizens of the world.  That’s your calling card for everything you do, from your career, to your household, to your understanding of global issues, to viewing the way others see the world as not only acceptable, but something to learn from.

I can’t wait to learn what else I’ve been missing.

(Right—not really a fan of Detroit style pizza; way too much sauce.  Pizza Hut once made a layered pizza reminiscent of lasagna, but with dough. Priazzo rocked.)

Gander

For once
The 11:30
Of the bedroom’s atmosphere
Was peppered with something other
Than me catching a semi-apneatic breath
Or dealing with the hazy shame
Of everyone’s favorite dream about school. It started with a squeak.
Maybe talking in her sleep?
No
Its rhythm steadied
And the volume exponated
The lead of the V
Calling out landmarks
Like the pilot of a redeye
To silent passengers seemingly flapping
In their sleep
Single backlit yellow honks
Pealing and painting a speckled grey room
Distant
Closer
Next door
And then, bonsoir.

I dreamt of Bermuda that night.

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