Now that’s a scary thought, isn’t it?! You go to your local Italian deli (Saponara, on Prebend Street, in Islington), for a well-deserved Friday night pizza and the genial Marco hands you his brand new flyer.
And lo and behold, you recognise yourself and your loved one, albeit in pixellised form, enjoying your treat. To be honest, I’m proud to be part of Marco’s literature, because he, his brother and his staff work hard and the pizzas are to die for. We’re so lucky to have this gem of a place at our doorstep.
Which leads me to think. Most of the things I love to eat are usually a clever assemblage of delicious morsels, whose whole is so much more than the sum of its parts. Now, don’t get me wrong, I like those Michelin stars as much as the next person, but there is nothing wrong with the simple deliciousness that is a well-made pizza.
It’s alchemy, that’s what it is. Dough, tomatoes, cheese and a few choice ingredients of your choice (you can never have too many choices), and you have a meal that will make you forget that the car needs servicing, that you must book the cat in at the vet’s or that you have to attend THAT meeting on Monday.
In short, even though you put my mug on a flyer, Marco, I thank you.
