...and More Pizza

In a previous lifetime, when I attended the University of Maine in Orono, I often visited a tavern/pizza joint in the town called Pat’s Pizza. Pat Farnsworth had originally opened a tavern there in the 30′s and it had evolved into a beer and pizza place for the nearby University. Back in those days, alcohol was forbidden on campus so everyone walked the mile or so to the town center and at some point during the evening would end up at Pat’s. The beer was cold, the pizza was hot and the music was loud. One of my fondest memories from that time is of my last beer at Pat’s. I was sitting downstairs in the Tap Room with 2-3 friends and about halfway through a beer when Pat came over to the table and whispered iin my ear, "Tommy, I know you are underaged. Put the beer down, get up and say goodnight to your friends and get out!" By the time I could have gone back, I lived in California.

I mention this because on the 1st, as we do once a month, Don & I went to Pat’s for a pizza. Pat has passed on, but his family keeps it going. The pizza is still the best and I suspect it is because it’s the same oven and the same pans from 50 years ago. Come to think of it, some of the waitresses may be the same too. Not so many students now in this age where University cafeterias have beer on draft, but lots of people my age who just can’t stop eating that pizza.

Pizza

When I was a kid there was no Pizza Hut, There was no Pizza-Roma. There was no Tri-City Pizza. There may have been pizza but NOT in Bangor, Maine. The idea wasn’t even alien. It simply didn’t cross anybody’s mind. One evening in 1949 that all changed.

We were all gathered in the living room after dinner, doing what ever we did before television. I was probably abusing my younger brother and Mom & Dad were reading. I’m sure Dad was engrossed in an adventure novel (10 cent paperback) and Mom was reading a magazine. (Family Circle, Woman’s Day or Good Housekeeping.)

There must have been a lull in the bullying of my brother because I remember my Mom ask Dad, “What are anchovies?” He glanced up from his book and said, “Little fish, like sardines.” Then Mom asked, “What is Mozzarella?” Dad answered, “It’s cheese, a soft cheese from Italy.” (Dad had been to Italy so he was an expert.) In another minute, Mom asked. “What is Marinara?” Dad answered without looking up from his book, “Tomato sauce, Italian style, with oregano.” “What’s oregano?” “It’s like pepper but leaves.” Quiet descended. In a few minutes, Mom got up and magazine in hand headed for the kitchen. Cooking sounds followed.

Mom came and went from the living room for an hour or so and finally yelled for me to help her in the kitchen. I helped carry 4 plates of something square and colorful to the living room and we all tried something Mom said was Pizza for the first time. It was an odd, but not unpleasant taste and we all made short work of it. She said, “I didn’t have everything in the recipe so I made some substitutions. The bread is just a regular bread dough stretched to fit a cookie sheet and flattened out. I didn’t have Marinara which Dad said was tomato sauce. I didn’t even have any tomato sauce in the cupboard so I used tomato paste and spread it over the bread, The only cheese I had was Velveeta so I used that instead of mozzarella. I’ve never even seen an anchovy so I used sardines. I just used black pepper instead of oregano. How did you like it?”

We loved it. And it became a regular item at our house. It was about another 10 years before I had what we call pizza today. It took a while to get used to it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aS6-b7CONDI