During this period of involuntary extended "vacation" and singlehood, I have found a source of richness that I had been ignoring for a while, mostly because this is not richness in the conventional sense of actually being worth something. I'm talking about friendship. ToucanSam along with life companion Superfrau and a German co-national of hers met me at Piece (1927 W North Ave). Piece has been gravel in my shoes for the last two years, its thin crust pizza and relaxed Bucktown ambiance spoken of in almost reverential tones by pizza cognoscenti as an antidote to the bloated, overly-cheesed Chicago-style. With my time in Chi winding down it was time to pick the gravel out of my shoe (in this case I've been wearing the same pair of canvas boater shoes sans socks for most of summer. Through the power of my Mexican thugness, I have transformed it from WASP to cholo).
The vegetarian pair ordered jalapeño, garlic and artichoke while German co-national and I shared bacon and Italian sausage. Verdict: the pizza definitely contributed to a socially binding evening, but it fell short of expectations. The grease pooling atop the cheese overwhelmed the nicely-executed crust and subtle sauce situation. I will remember the dinner less for the pizza however than for the the lawyer girl hectoring ToucanSam and me to attend a benefit for blind kids at a bar I particularly humbug. She said, "these kids truly have a light that we can't see" to which I said, "yeah, like sonar." Look, I was really proud of my timing...I mean, I came up with that right on the spot. I am my own greatest fan and critic. Wait, that's not true. HR interviewers are my greatest critics.
My opinion for the best pizza in Chicago in the GCL price-range: Cafe Nordstrom (520 N Michigan Ave). The nice decor belies the reasonable value. The coal fired pizzas have superior texture; the crust, sauce, toppings and cheese working in perfect coordination like UCLA Koreans on Modern Warfare 2.
Everytime visitors come to town, there is the imperative to take them to Chicago-style deep dish. Pequod's (2207 N Clybourn Ave) is as good as it gets, which is decent, but still, real thin crust pizza with good sauce and good cheese wins every day, twice a day, like a celebrity in court. Eating Chicago-style has become such a cultural experience however than what I consider the higher-order taste experience has been subsumed to the whims of tourism. Is there a life lesson in that? Probably but the really heavy piano music that I'm listening to as I write this make me only think of depressing ones.
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