I think my last post brought the mood around here down to near depression level, so I thought we’d lighten things up.
Let’s talk about pizza.
Oh, delicious, cheesy, salty, crispy pizza. I don’t think a more perfect food exists. (Prove me wrong)
Living in Connecticut means being able to enjoy the best pizza any time you desire.
My perfect pie looks like this:

It’s a mozz, bacon and black olive pie. Perfectly thin and crispy, salty from the bacon and olives, gooey from the cheese. Well done but not burnt. Minimal bubbles. If given the time and elastic waist pants, I could probably eat the entire thing myself. (Seriously, just look at that pizza! If your mouth isn’t watering you are made of stone!)
New Haven pizza is the only pizza, in my opinion. You’ve got the big 3: Pepe’s, Sally’s and Modern (my personal favorite). But then, as you slowly move away from Wooster and State Streets, you still are surrounded by amazing pizza joints. Olde World (our Friday night go-to). Fuoco. Ernie’s.
Non-New Haven pizza? You have no place here.
Square pizza? Um, no.
Deep dish pizza? Why is it so thick?
Chicago-style pizza? Is this a cake?
Pizza is good hot, warm, or cold out of the fridge. And while you could eat it any day of the week, I feel like Fridays are the traditional pizza night.
Much to Mr. KK’s dismay, I am a knife and fork girl when it comes to pizza. At least the first two slices. Then, once the pizza is at it’s optimal stand-up-on-its-own temperature, I’ll pick it up. I’ll leave you guessing if I fold oversized piece in half.
And, sure, I could call it pizza like everyone else. But I prefer to call it by it’s proper name: Ahbeetz!









