#Pizzaquest17: The First Leg

Earlier this morning I flew to Baltimore, where I now sit waiting for a MegaBus to take me to NYC this afternoon. Over the next 24 hours or so, I plan to eat as much NY-style pizza as I can pack onto my 155-pound frame in the all-too short span of a typical American weekend. For the purposes of social media and posterity, I am calling this trip #Pizzaquest17.

Ever since the early 1990s, when I had my first folded-over slice of cheese and pepperoni in the mall food court of my small Southern burg, I have been a tireless devotee of New York-style pizza, even the generic versions you find in the airport Sbarro, tourist traps, and, well, mall food courts in small Southern towns. Sure, there were other pizzas to be had in those days—I ate enough substandard pizza from the likes of Little Caesar's and Domino's to write a lengthy memoir—but the allure of "food court pizza," as we then called it, was sure and strong. 

Maybe it was the way the grease pooled around the edges of the slice and soaked through to the flimsy paper plate beneath or the undeniable appeal of folding your slice like a taco. There's also a lot to be said for the way NY-style pizzas are generally displayed under glass cases and then reheated in massive ovens (kilns, really). Either way, I was hooked. This weekend, I hope to rekindle my love affair with a true American original—the NY-style slice. 

More to follow!