When the Moon hits your Eyes like a Big Pizza Pie, That's Amore

The days where thin crust personal pie pizza were a weekly essential are long gone. But the days of New York Pizza are finally back. I get it. "Syracuse isn't 'really' New York," or whatever that means, but the pizza isn't that different.

I used to go to Via dell'Agnolo almost every week to one of the few English named restaurants in town: Pizza Man. Our host mom insisted it was the best pizza in town. Two days later, we found out it was a chain. But still, she insisted. Bright neon yellow lights, I thought my Italian hopes for pizza perfection were crushed. But after champagne served gratis for being a new customer, I decided to be positive. I ordered the Pizza Caprese comes as a freshly baked pie for one (well., maybe 2), baked with fresh mozzarella, oregano, garden tomato sauce and fresh tomatoes on every inch of your pizza, as if your Nonna plucked them from a garden next door and chopped them up just before scattering them on your pie. There is also cold mozzarella slices atop the burning melting cheese inside and for some more color, they throw on some fresh parsley leaves. The entire pie looks like an edible Christmas ornament.

Nowadays, Pizza Man is replaced with a slice from Acropolis on Marshall Street. The photo below, taken by pizzageek.wordpress.com, is my 2:15 am go to after the bartenders decide to kick us all out. Acropolis, much like the pizza boys on the streets of Firenze, smile at every student that walks in. Of course the "Ciao Bellas" are replaced by some laughs at our drunken faces and "What can I get for you darlings," but the result is nothing less: a greasy slice top with cheese perfection and homemade sauce. The mozzarella is not as fresh, but the thickness of the cheese and crust make up for it. And I can fold my pizza without being started at like I'm from another planet (or the United States!). Instead of small shot glasses for vino, Acropolis serves beer. Italian pies with wine, American slices with beer-it makes sense.

For me, pizza is practically home grown. Acropolis pizza, paired with ranch and soaked in enough oil to give the to-go back a grease-pit stain...now that's Syracuse, New York. A Pizza Man Caprese topped with fresh "muuu-zaaa-rell," as the Italian tongue slurs, garden basil, and home grown tomatoes....well, that's Italy. Both equally crafted by sweat and brick oven burns to produce a cheesy, saucy piece of doughy love. Lucky for me, I've acquired a taste for both.