paisano pizza. mama mia, big bill! why's a paisano like you making newyorkpizza? is this any way for a paisano to act after landing in america-to take an honest-to-god pizza recipe from the old country and water it down to a newyorkpizza with a thin crust, skimpy tomato sauce, and cheese? cheese? yeah, i think you used cheese, but not the big hands full of cheese mama uses in napoli. where is the old fashioned, thick, chewy, crust mama tosses through the air? where's the thick, tomato sauce full of garlic that dribbles down your chin with each bite? where's the thick, melted mozzarella cheese, the slices of provolone, pepperoni, dried herbs, olives, and olive oil that drowns the pizza? you left them in napoli.
oh, and about your restaurant, big bill. maybe in newyorkof america they like to eat with a stranger's elbow in their face, but i need room, big bill, i need room to eat, to talk, and laugh with my mouth full without having to shout over the mob sitting around me. i
swear on mama's bible that i ate pizza on a windowsill squeezed between five small tables at your restaurant.
paisano, remember your roots: the sacred dining, the privacy of family communion, or i will write a long letter to mama in napoli and tell her how you eat pizza in the middle of a rat race. tears will flow.
paisano, we are brothers from the same homeland. my heart swells with pride when i see the crowds standing in line for your pizza. for our homeland's sake make thicker, chewier pizza crust that won't dump tomato sauce all over the table. add ham, anchovies, pep-peroni, olives, onions, and peppers to a thick layer of mozzarella. ah, mama mia, i'm drooling! now that's the kind of pizza you should serve: pizza your eyes will eat. keep trying, big bill-and god bless you.
your friend,
luigi