Pizza. I can honestly say I’d never really tasted REALLY GOOD pizza until I went to UK. I know now that pizza isn’t the fast food variety…well, ideally it shouldn’t be. It’s like telling me we should sell crème brûlée in little styrofoam cups.
And then, completely by chance, I heard of something called deep dish pizza just recently.
I was in the US in the second week of October 2011 and had about 7-9 hours to while my time away in Chicago before my flight back to Dubai. My newfound friend and fellow journalist, Angela (who was content to let me photograph everything to death, bless her), said she wanted to try Chicago’s famous deep dish pizza from Giordano’s…she absolutely had to.
I’m ashamed to say I’d never heard of it before. To me, Giordano’s equated to clothes.
By the time we got to Chicago (from Kohler, Wisconsin…takes between 2-3 hours depending on traffic), we were hungry. It didn’t help that once we got to the Chicago Union Station, we had to lug our luggage across streets undergoing roadworks and a flight of stairs (we clearly did not find the main entrance, now did we?!) before finally reaching the lockers where we had planned to store our bags before jetting off on soon-to-be-had Chicago adventures. All this took far too long, so we were really famished at the end of it.
…we finally stopped in a nail bar (yes really) and asked them where Giordano’s was. He clearly thought we were bonkers because we’d apparently passed it not two blocks back (I now know what Americans mean by blocks. I spent the entire trip puzzling over what kind of measurement a ‘block’ was, until now…thanks for explaining Angela!).
We trudged back till we saw our Holy Grail: GIORDANO’S! (the pizza parlour)
When we entered, we were led into a booth that made me think of what I’d seen in American movies and Archie comics.
Checkered tablecloth and the red booth area…stereotypical I’d imagine but absolutely quirky. Look at the ambience:
Anyway…while waiting for our pizza (we ordered the Special), we got ourselves root beer – apart from the dip.
Oh, deep dish pizzas take 45 minutes to make, so be prepared to wait for the awesomeness.
And then … it arrived!!!
Angela and I looked at it. It was big. Massive. Round. Oh my goodness, how were we going to finish this?
We deposited a massive slice onto our plates and started digging in. Now this…THIS… was a pizza.
This is where I yelled (only in my mind; I was busy chomping): “THIS…IS…PIZZZZZAAAAAAA!”
Filled with cheese, cheese and MORE CHEESE (along with sausage, mushrooms, green peppers and onions), the sauce was just wowing my taste buds, egging me on. EAT MEEEE! it screamed. I obliged. Happily.
Now, herein lay the sad tale: we were so stuffed, we couldn’t finish. I know you’re wondering how I could do something like that…I mean, LOOK AT THE CHEESY GOODNESS RIGHT THERE!
And because we were travelling, we couldn’t pack the remaining two slices to take with us. I turned my face to the two lonely, sad, chubby, deep dish pizza slices and apologized.
Yes. I said sorry to the pizza. They needed to know why we were letting them go. “I’m sorry,” I said, near tears, to them. “It wasn’t meant to end this way…I meant to make you mine,” I whispered quietly. I explained best I could and left quickly (after paying, natch) before they could persuade me to somehow rescue them from their dish and take them to their rightful home: my stomach.
I well and truly enjoyed my deep dish pizza experience; I was just trawling its website when I saw a link that said “Ship a Pizza” and my heart leapt with joy before tumbling back down as I realized it meant only within the US. *sobs a bit more for the two slices left behind*
Giordano’s, I pledge my deep dish pizza troth to thee.