I heart pizza

If I ever found myself sitting on Death Row (an impossible scenario, I assure you), my last meal would be, without hesitation or second-thought, pizza.

I love everything about it: the bread, the sauce, the cheese, the inevitable guilt.

I know most people would probably opt for lobster, prime rib, or insert-pricey-/-obscure-dish were they similarly faced with the choice of eating one final time; not me.

That’s not to say I don’t like those other, more refined culinary selections; on the contrary, I haven’t met a pricey/obscure dish I didn’t like.  (My one pretension, I suppose.)  But were I faced with the unpleasant task of selecting my final supper, I’d opt for the humble pie.  (No pun intended.)

Thankfully, because I really can’t see a scenario wherein I’ll be on Death Row, appeals exhausted, asked to choose my final meal, I’m free to indulge my pizza craving early and often.  And I did so twice this past week, both with very satisfying results.

First up: Tony’s Master of Pizza.

The place has been around forever.  Yet, I’d never even considered it until Thursday night, when I was at a friend’s house for the evening.  We’d both previously lived and worked in Ottawa together, and had frequently enabled each other’s pizza addiction.  As such, it was only logical that, faced with the prospect of nothing in the fridge worth eating, we’d make the call.

On his advice, we rang up Tony’s – and am I glad we did: it was a revelation.  The crust was thin, crispy, with just the slightest bit of chewiness; the cheese was hot and melty-good; the toppings (ham, pineapple and bacon) fresh and generously scattered about.

It didn’t last long.  True to form, we polished it off quickly.

Which brings me to the second round: Saturday night at Pizzeria Gusto.

It’s a new-ish place on Academy Road in Winnipeg’s River Heights neighbourhood; an upscale place where the wood-fired oven takes centre stage.  (It reminded me of the UK’s Pizza Express, which, while a chain, delivers top-notch pizza.  So you know.)

All of their pizzas come in one, uniform size.  Wood-fired to perfection, they are served with your very own pizza slicer.  (Which, admittedly, I could do without.)  While I can’t remember the fancy name of my pizza, it featured capicolo, roasted red peppers, pepperoni and hunks of fresh, buffalo mozzarella.  It too was delicious.

I recognize pizza may not be gourmet fare, nor is it the most heart-healthy dish on the planet.  Still, this heart loves it.

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