Pizza

Chicago. Although I’ve landed at O’Hara Airport scores of times and assisted with some suburban Chicago restaurants many years ago, I’ve almost no experience in inner city Chicago. This all changed one recent weekend. Thankfully, my son-in-law consented to leading me into and extracted me back out of the heart of the “Windy City” for a delightful day trip. Even on a weekend, it’s a harrowing trek from his suburban Indiana home.I enjoy the narrated tours that explore the “soul” of many major cities on a double-decked bus. Soon I, along with my family, was on the upper deck of a big red Chicago tour bus that permitted us to get off and on at will. Normally, I listen to the guide for some mention of local epicurean delights and get off at that stop. Chicago was no exception and Exit Thirteen sounded like a tasty destination. I thankfully exited somewhat gracefully down the spiral stairs to the street without having my sized 14 feet slip and miss any of those amazingly narrow steps. Once we got to the destination and started our foot trek (I forget the actual street names), there were amazing restaurant choices. We first discovered a “mega” McDonald’s two stories high with escalators and a dozen folks in ties manning checkout terminals. We wandered inside for a peek but didn’t come this distance for “two all beef patties and a special sauce.” The next corner featured Chicago-style hot dogs which are steamed, never broiled, and served on a poppy seed bun. They are “dragged through the garden,” a term that locals use to reflect the unique condiments (no ketchup here). This includes mustard, onion, sweet pickle relish (usually a variety called "Nuclear Relish" dyed neon green ), a dill pickle spear, tomato slices or wedges, pickled sport peppers, and a dash of celery salt; sometimes, but not always, cucumber slices. Wow, what a combination and one native will fight to defend against Nathan’s or other “imposters”! Since I gave up meat several years ago, that combination will only live in my imagination. On we went down the street to Gino’s, the home of the “best Chicago deep dish pizza.” I was amazed at 2:30 in the afternoon to stand in line for about thirty minutes for a seat at a pizza place. That was just the start of the wait. Instead of the customary fifteen minutes for our local call-in pizza, we were given a hoped for target of 45 minutes (actually an hour) for our pizza to bake. Chicago-style pizza is a buttery crust with edges up to three inches high, almost like a shallow bowl. It has generous amounts of cheese and chunky tomato sauce that almost spill out of the edges and is literally a pie. Ours was delicious but, quite honestly in my opinion, not worth starving for an hour and a half in anticipation. Of course I didn’t mention that until safely out of the Chicago area and back into our home “New York style thin crust” area.As I reflect on all that in predawn Sunday morning darkness, I think about how hung up we are with our particular individual preferences. I understand there have been actual fights over Chicago-style hotdogs and pizza as opposed to New York-style. In fact, it goes way beyond local food preferences. These “holy wars” don’t just stop there; we just adapt a more subtle “appropriate” guise to apply a litmus test or two. In fact, today (Sunday) is the day of the week that separates us the most, although usually not openly. We sometimes seem to evaluate and measure others by whether they adhere to our enlightenment, practices, and values. We are so anxious for others to embrace our discoveries that we often slip into disrespecting other’s choices and values. Why can’t we just enjoy our “preferred pizza” and avoid putting down other’s preferences? Isn’t pizza still pizza no matter where, how, or who eats it?