A literary event took me back to my hometown recently. I was born and raised in Stamford, Connecticut a quaint, sleepy little town located some thirty miles from Manhattan. Time has transformed the landscape from a quaint, sleepy little town into a bustling metropolis that holds much less charm. But a continued staple that made the three day trip well worth it was a much beloved pizza shop that still sits at the intersection of Grove Street and Strawberry Hill.
I grew up on John's Pizza. It was a weekly staple that my parents never waivered from. John's Pizza is a family-owned business that has been around since 1968. Theirs is a Greek-styled pan pizza and I'm told that they recipe has never been changed.
Friday nights my father would come through the door with pizza boxes stacked five high and it was sheer heaven! I was so excited to share that memory and that experience with the big guy so John's Pizza was one of our first stops after arriving in the city.
Everything about the meal screamed home and comfort. The crust was still as flavorful with just the right about of crisp that I remembered. The sauce was precision, the medley of tomatoes and seasonings sheer bliss. We ordered pepperoni and days later I regretted not ordering a sausage pie, and maybe two or three others to take back home with us. It was just that good.
After savoring the delight I was excited to hear what the big guy had to say and with two thumbs up he said he'd definitely eat there again. I didn't need to say that I would do so also without a moments hesitation.
I did, however, have one complaint. The pies seemed amazingly smaller than I remembered. But as both my parents noted, back then, I had been much smaller as well, so of course, back then, they seemed humongous in my mind!
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