It’s just pizza
: The single cushiest assignment I ever got in my allgeged journalism career was finding America’s best pizza for People magazine. I traveled coast-to-coast and snarfed and snarfed and finally put the crown on Gino’s East in Chicago.
So tonight, for old time’s sake, I decided to have Gino’s again. I walked many blocks to Gino’s only to find some heretic serving thin-crust pizza there. Gino’s moved. So I walk well more than a mile to the new Gino’s only to find an hour-long line. Wait and hour and then it takes another 45 minutes to get the pizza.
Damn, it’s just pizza.
I walked back and came upon Uno’s, which I never liked as much. But I sat at the bar and waited a full frigging hour to get a pizza with enough cheese to employ a cardiac unit for a year.
It’s just pizza.
I regret not naming New York’s John’s No. 1.
