Hello!! And welcome to my blog! Often when I think about writing I feel like I don’t have anything substantial to say (as my diary knows all too well), but turns out when it comes to food I have quite a few burning thoughts! This space will include my thoughts, perspectives and experiences with food (with some recipes thrown in here & there). So thanks for reading even this far, and let’s get to what I am really wanting to discuss today which is pizza.

I’m fully aware of how unironic and frankly “overdone” it is to call pizza your favorite food. But actually it’s not my #1. Pizza falls #3 on my list behind mangos and dark chocolate. But not “pizza” at large, specifically margherita pizza. And not margherita pizza at large for that matter… but this one specific margherita pizza that has changed me irrevocably.

Some people swear the best pizza ONLY comes from Italy. Others swear the best pizza ONLY comes from Napoli. Some are devoted to the New York slice and others even have the audacity to rank Chicago style pizza as their top. I’m not here to judge anyone’s pizza preferences or claim which is truly THE BEST because if food is one thing it’s subjective and highly personal. And pizza perhaps even more so… so if you’re a Little Caesar’s stan till the day you die I still have respect for you because the coolest thing in the world is to unapologetically love what you love.

That being said, I know which pizza has a hold on my heart. In a small beach town on the coast of Oaxaca there is a restaurant called La Pizzeria. You could throw your crust and hit the ocean (but don’t waste crust because that’s kinda the best part). It’s an outdoor restaurant that opens at 5 and closes at 10, and when they run out they run out. If at 10pm you’re still sitting at the table smoking, chatting, eating with your friends, not to worry! They won’t kick you out, they’ll just turn off all the lights and leave you with a candle, stay as long as you’d like. There’s no doors to lock because La Pizzeria doesn’t have any doors, or walls for that matter. It is a palapa (a thatched roof made of palm leaves). There’s no real kitchen, just a counter, a fridge and a brick oven. Someone desperately needs to perform an exorcism on the haunting horror of the bathroom. They only have picnic-bench style tables that force you to sit with strangers and at any given time there’s 3-4 hippies playing loud music and busking. You can smoke cigarettes at the table and no one will look twice at you.

For 100 pesos (about $5 USD) you can get a margherita pizza that just might change your life. What makes this pizza so special??? Wellll let me tell you. It has a beautifully thin, perfectly chewy crust. The crust part of the crust is charred ever-so slightly by the flames of the brick wood-fired oven it was cooked in just 10 feet away. And atop this perfect crust? A thin layer of fresh tomato sauce, a generous but not overbearing spread of shredded mozzarella cheese (shredded is controversial, I know), a gentle dusting of dried oregano leaves (also controversial) and one single fresh genovese basil leaf. But the sides, oh I haven’t even told you about the sides… every pizza comes with 2 sides; a ceramic dish of spicy smokey red salsa and a dish of God’s truest most favorite condiment; chimicurri. If you’ve never had chimichurri on pizza before and think it sounds weird, trust the damn chef!! But this chimichurri isn’t average… it’s unique in its simplicity. Just 3 ingredients; parsley, olive oil and garlic. Ok and salt, so 4 ingredients. Blended together in the perfect ratio (heavy on the garlic) and slathered on top of a slice of this most perfect pizza - it’s quite literally my favorite meal (I said meal not food).

I lived in this small Mexican beach town for nearly 3 years and for me and my friends La Pizzeria was that spot. It was our celebratory dinner, our place of coming together, our pagan church. It’s where we brought every visiting friend and family member on their first night in town. It was the background of our sitcom lives, our Central Perk or Monk’s Cafe, so to speak. It’s where I met my best friend Brandon’s parents for the first time and where we celebrated our birthdays. It was both our special occasion spot and our random Tuesday dinner. It’s where we scraped together our last $100 pesos to spend and the first place we’d go after money fortuitously came to us. But mostly, it’s where we would go when we wanted a PIZZA.

fire roasted salsa (left) + chimichurri (right) + this pizza = God’s most holy trinity

Now before you purists come for me with your dogmatic talk about fresh buffalo mozzarella and stuff, let me explain why I find this pizza so beautiful. Pizza in its origin is peasant’s food. It was cheap simple street food made with what was available; flour, water and tomatoes. In rural parts of Mexico many high quality imported ingredients are inaccessible. So they use what they got, which is shredded mozzarella and tiramisu made from cream cheese instead of mascarpone. They don’t have the money or the resources to import buffalo mozzarella from the Campania region of Italy. The best food is often a compromise between what is traditional and what is available, and a good chef knows how to work with what they got. That’s how cuisine evolves and changes. That’s how we end up putting roasted salsa and chimichurri on pizza and it ends up being the best thing you’ve ever eaten. Pizza, to me should be simple, cheap, convenient and delicious.

La Pizzeria is owned by a man named Simone. He’s an Italian man who’s had his home in Mexico for decades and his food at La Pizzeria perfectly embodies this spirit of melting cuisines and cultures. He is very clearly an Italian. On any given night you can spot Simone sitting in the corner table of his restaurant, chatting with someone, eating a pizza. If you come as often as we did he’ll start to make your order before you ask for it (dos margheritas por favor con extra chimichurri y una botella de vino tinto). He uses traditional Italian techniques to make his dough, which is rolled by the hands of a Mexican woman using an empty Corona bottle. He serves his red wine straight from the fridge, chilled. I’ve always said Mexicans are the Italians of Latin America, and mama mia, I think I’m right!!!

Simone’s pizza can stand on its own as a really, really great slice. But is it technically the most perfect pizza you’ll ever have? Probably not. These days there are Michelin star chefs putting pizza on their menu and an entire season of Chef’s Table dedicated to the humble slice. It’s become something of a cultural obsession, the search for the perfect pizza. So while there are chefs out there spending hours in the kitchen testing different ratios of this to that trying to create the perfect formula, Simone is barefoot, easeful, relaxed, rolling his dough with corona bottles. This sense of ease translates through the food. And while Simone’s cheese might not be of the highest Italian integrity and his flour isn’t hand-milled, his pizza embodies the humble, straightforward, relaxed nature of what I believe pizza is meant to be. Because food isn’t consumed in a vacuum, or at least it shouldn’t be!

So throw out your preconceived notions about what makes the “perfect” pizza and what is the correct temperature to serve wine, because if you’ve never had a $4 glass of red fridge wine alongside a Simone slice with 4 organic hand rolled cigarettes for dessert, I’m tellin’ you, live a little!!

The best pizza I’ve ever had is in Mexico