Pizza For Breakfast

Weekend mornings, I love to eat pizza for breakfast. I don’t have leftovers, but simply put some fresh cheese and tomato sauce on pita bread. After toasting it, I have a cup of coffee and watch TV. The Italian tastes wake me up instantly.

Eating pizza in the morning is a habit, which I inherited in Rome. Each morning my dad and I would wake up and crave a slice. There was a wonderful pizzeria around the corner from our hotel. Each morning they would have freshly baked pizza. The lady behind the counter would greet us with a very enthusiastic ” Bongiorno.” We ordered two Pizza Marghertias and sodas.

It was always a triumphant way to commence days of exploring old Rome. I never worried once about my boyish figure. With days spent going up and down the Spanish steps and exploring the Roman Forum, I worked off my daily pizza intake.

I even snuck it in a few more times during the day. It’s my favorite food and a way to bond. I’ve had surprisingly good pizza in Paris and traditional, but delicious slices in Buenos Aires. However, New York is the pizza capital of the world.

One of my favorite memories happened in the Bronx. My friend Linda was born and bred in the borough. She said to me one day ” Come to the Bronx, I wanna show you borough.” I excitedly accepted her offer. Most people would think it more logical to go to Italy than the Bronx for pizza. However, traveling to the borough greatly interested me.

The images of urban decay, hip-hop and Yankees stadium were more fascinating than visiting some suburb. I took the 2 from the city to the Bronx. As the train elevated, the Bronx looked like my borough, Queens. It had the same reddish apartment blocks, old New York style tenement buildings and a street life. There were Puerto Rican flags all over, which displayed the borough’s pride.

When my train arrived at the station, I hurried down and met Linda. It was a lovely ride and my iPod didn’t run out of battery. She walked me around. Everything was peaceful and unlike the classic images of the borough from the 70’s.

We were both starving and she invited me for a slice of pizza. The pizzeria was across from the projects. Unlike most pizzerias, which claim to be authentic, this was a hit. We then went to the Latino market for a Malta drink (licorice soda). I had the most authentic New York meal. It was some of the best pizza I had.

Moving back to California didn’t deter my love of good pizza. I love it for breakfast, lunch and if possible dinner. I’ve many good slices, but nothing beats my Bronx pizza experience. Sharing pizza with family and friends makes it most memorable.

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