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If they bring it to my door in a flat, square box, then IT’S A PIZZA!

Ahhhh, the Pizza Wars are starting again!

Initiated by this site (which I saw on MeFi, but hadn’t got round to blogging yet, and which is as of this writing down because it got FARK’d and BoingBoing’d and MeFi’d all in the same weekend — but mirror links are provided there) wherein some fellow relates his obsessive effort to produce a New York City-style pizza, Alan and BuffaloGeek take their shots.

Says Geek:

However, there is nothing we disagree more vehemently on than the definition of good pizza. As you know, Pundito is a a fan of thin crust Neapolitan style and foldable NY Style Pizza…both are crimes against pizza.

I’m a fan of local Buffalo pizza for one reason only, it’s what I grew up eating. Nino’s, Bob & Johns, Bocce Club, Abbott, Avenue, Mister Pizza…all pizzas of my youth. While tasty and laden with crispy pepperoni memories, these pizzas fail the test of “Best Pizza in America”

When asked who makes the best pizza in the country, my answer is very simple. Lou Malnati’s, a Chicago institution and purveyor of fine deep dish pizza.

If God came back to Earth and asked to see evidence of gastrological perfection, I would take him to Lou’s for a slice of buttercrust deep dish pepperoni with mushrooms and hot giardiniera. If God is a vegetarian, I’d get him “The Lou”, which comes with basil and garlic spinach, mushrooms and sliced tomatoes covered with a blend of mozzarella, romano and cheddar cheese. Pizza perfection.

Retorts Alan:

He calls New York style / Neapolitan pizza a “crime against pizza”. Oh, no you di’int. Since the Neapolitans invented it, it is the default; the standard by which all other pizzas are measured.

“Stop the Madness!” says I.

We actually had a mini-discussion of this before in the Buffalo Prefecture of Blogistan, back in the days when Alan was still on Blogger. My thoughts, encapsulated here and here, have not changed:

Personally, I like NYC-style pizza just fine. But then, I like all styles of pizza just fine, really. Thin, foldable crust? Sure. Deep-dish Chicago-style, with the cheese tiled at the bottom and the tomatoes on top? Great. All styles in between? Bring ’em on.

“There are more pizzas in Heaven and Earth than are dream’t of in our philosophy,” wrote Shakespeare. And he was right. (Although, now that I think of it, I’m not sure the Bard was talking about pizza at all. Hmmmm.)

And a bit later on:

But what interests me is this (as I comment on his blog): everybody I’ve ever met who grew up on NYC-style pizza, with that type of pizza being their virginal pizza experience, loves it to the point of loathing every other kind of pizza that exists, anywhere. On the other hand, every person I’ve ever met who loves pizza but did not encounter NYC-style pizza first tends to love NYC-style pizza when they discover it, but they don’t drop every other style of pizza in its favor. I don’t know why this is, but it’s true. Talk to a native eater of NYC-style pizza, and they’ll react with horror at the idea of consuming any other kind of pizza. But talk to a non-native eater of pizza, and if they’ll likely say, “NYC-style? Yeah, that’s pretty good. So’s Chicago….”

I think that’s still the case. I’m always baffled by the notion that NYC-style pizza is some kind of Platonic ideal when it comes to pizza; pizza is a food that has evolved over many centuries, starting long before the folks in Naples with spices and meats served atop flatbread. There is no more a “standard” for pizza than there is a “standard” for chili, to name another food that varies wildly by region. (Don’t believe me? Order chili in Dallas sometime, and compare what they serve you to what comes in the bowl when you order chili in Cincinnati.) Or wine. Or beer.

Note my verb there: pizza evolved. Nobody “invented” pizza. The folks in Naples may have developed the historical dish that’s closest to what we now call “pizza”, but they didn’t “invent” pizza. At least, they didn’t in the same sense that Thomas Edison “invented” the incandescent light bulb and the phonograph.

As an aside, though, would it matter anyway if the Neopolitans actually did “invent” pizza? Who ever said that inventions should never change? I used to listen to music on my record player, but no one ever told me that I wasn’t really utilizing Thomas Edison’s invention just because the record was a flat disc as opposed to a wax cylinder. And as another aside, Neapolitan pizza wouldn’t exist at all as such if not for the importation into Italy of the tomato, which is originally indigenous to the Americas. (In fact, tomatoes were thought poisonous in Italy when they first arrived there, brought back from the Americas by the Spaniards; they were grown strictly as ornamental plants before they found their way into peasant food. Pizza, like so many other dishes, is originally a peasant dish that is now being fought over by the gourmet types!

So I’d say that the Neapolitan pizza is not the “standard by which all others are judged”, since the Neapolitans did not “invent” pizza and even if they did, merely being the inventor of something doesn’t imply that the thing will remain the exact same for the Rest of Recorded Time. So there.

I’d also take exception to Alan’s contention that a Chicago deep-dish pizza is not a pizza at all, but rather a casserole. I don’t frankly see on what basis deep-dish pizza can be denied to be a pizza, or on what basis it is a casserole. It’s a leavened flatbread-style crust onto which is loaded cheese and whatever other toppings are used. It is casserole-like in that it is baked in a dish and then typically served in that same dish, but merely sharing some qualities with a thing doesn’t make it that thing, right? An apple pie is baked in a baking dish, but that doesn’t make it a casserole. Neither is a quiche. Chicago deep-dish pizza is pizza, and like all pizza, it stands squarely in the pie family of dishes, and not in the casseroles. QED. (Heck, I have some recipes for “casseroles” that aren’t baked at all, but cooked in a slow cooker! Take that, Rigid Food Definition Police!)

Not, however, that I’d endorse Geek’s view that NYC-style pizza is a “crime against pizza”. I love a good NYC pizza. I also love Chicago deep-dish. Although, frankly, my personal preference tends toward the Chicago, because I adore that flaky crust. Oh man, that crust is just beautiful. But I’m not going to turn my nose up at a NYC pizza, either. And I love Buffalo’s pizzas too. (Well, most of ’em, anyway.) So I get the best of all worlds: I don’t have to turn up my nose at entire categories of pizza goodness! So, once again, I am supreme in the Buffalo Prefecture of Blogistan. ‘Twas ever thus!

And now, judging by the chirping crickets, I shall change the subject.

UPDATE 1-23-07: This post has been receiving several search engine hits per day for a while now, so for readers just coming, I more recently wrote — with photos — a post wherein I made my own Chicago-style deep dish pizza. Enjoy!

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Who the hell is Paddy Chayefsky?

Last night, courtesy of Toronto’s CTV station that my apartment complex’s antenna receives, I got to see Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. The official premiere of the pilot episode in the US is tonight, so there are spoilers below. (Unless, of course, you’ve already seen the pilot via any of the various online distribution schemes NBC employed over the summer to create buzz for this show. Here I’ve seen it a day before its official US premiere, and I’m still behind the curve.)

It’s a very, very, very good show. The production values are amazing, and the acting is first-rate across the board. This was a big worry of mine, but take it from me: you’ll be able to watch Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford without once thinking of Chandler Bing or Josh Lyman.

But.

Yes, I said “but”.

If you’ve read any buzz about Studio 60 at all, you know that its basic concept is that it’s a backstage show, set in and around the production of a Saturday Night Live-type sketch comedy show that’s been on for twenty years, produced groundbreaking comedy and satire in its early years, but has since become safe and boring and — the ultimate comedy crime — unfunny. The producer-creator, played by Judd Hirsch (an actor I always love), finally snaps and walks right onto the stage during the live broadcast, whereupon he gives a long, rambling diatribe to the live national audience about the stunning wasteland that is television today. Network execs explode, exit the old producer, and the mess is dumped into the lap of the new network president (Amanda Peet), who decides to rehire the show’s old head writer (Matthew Perry) and director (Bradley Whitford), who apparently quit or were fired from the show four years earlier.

The show features all the features you’d expect from a Sorkin/Schlamme show: dialogue that happens so fast you miss it if you so much as sip your beverage, long tracking shots that follow the actors through the winding corridors of a very complex set while they recite said dialogue that happens so fast yada yada yada, name-dropping galore to create a sense that this show actually is taking place in the real world, and so on. And yes, it’s wonderful to have all that Sorkin/Schlamme goodness back again, four years after their departure from The West Wing (and, frankly, five years after their best TWW work was already behind them).

But here’s the thing: it’s almost too Sorkinesque, if that makes any sense. Watching Studio 60, I got the same sensation that I felt when I caught a couple of episodes of SportsNight on syndication a few years back. I’d never seen SportsNight in its original run, so I saw an episode of it after I’d seen three or four years’ worth of West Wing. And the feeling I got was that I was hearing TWW dialogue, but not about TWW stuff. Same thing here: the tone of the dialogue is exactly the same, but the topic is TV and not politics. It may take me an episode or two to fully recalibrate myself to Studio 60.

And, of course, people like me who are pretty intimately familiar with Sorkin’s writing will recognize those little “Sorkinisms” when they pop up. Phrases like “I hate your breathing guts”. Someone telling a higher-up at length about this great idea they have, and when the higher-up says, “Great, when do we start?”, being told something like “I already did.” Characters not batting an eye when told bluntly by someone else about their own character flaws, or even seeming proud of them. Every affirmative answer to an interrogative being “Yeah”. Never “yes”, “uh-huh”, “mmm-hmmm”, “you bet your bippy”, but “yeah”. It’s only a matter of time, I suppose, before someone on Studio 60 relates a bad experience with the metaphor, “I got screwed with my pants on”, or until someone rigidly insists: “No, I didn’t do that. I would never do that. It would be unthinkable for me to do that. [beat] But yes, I did that.”

I once read a scathing critique of Aaron Sorkin’s writing (don’t remember where, or I’d look for a link) that pointed out how just about every character in his shows talks the same, with the same phrasings, the same long-winded sentences that occasionally become exercises in recursion. I can’t totally deny the point, but when Sorkin’s on his game, I’m left thinking, “Yeah, isn’t it great!” On this pilot episode, at least, Sorkin’s had time to hone this script to the typical sharpness that one expects from a Sorkin script when he’s had time to hone it thusly. We’ll see what happens later in the season.

And there’s where some of my skepticism about this show comes into play: later in the season. The West Wing, being set in the political world of the White House, offered tremendous dramatic potential. The canvas on Studio 60, though, seems at my first glance to be substantially more limited. I’m just not sure how many stories there are to tell with a show like this, and I’m not sure how long it can go on before it starts feeling a bit stale. I’m sure we’ll have stories about actor difficulties, and problems with the writing staff, and clashes with network executives, and cost overruns, and so on. There’s no reason why that kind of thing can’t remain interesting for a long time, but to do so, Sorkin may need to vary his writing style a bit. As much as I love to see the old Sorkin/Schlamme magic at work again, that can’t be the sole thing keeping Studio 60 going.

And I’m already a little unsure of the degree to which Sorkin appears to be mining from his own personal experiences for this project: a show set in TV land about a writer-director team that left their old project under less-than-ideal circumstances, one of whom has a recurring addiction problem. There’s a very definite feeling that Studio 60 is Sorkin’s roman a clef, and it’s very hard not to look at the show’s constant indication that the fictional sketch comedy show sucked hard in the absence of its brilliant writer/director team as a slap at the three seasons of The West Wing that followed the Sorkin/Schlamme exit from that series.

But at the same time, I’m glad that Sorkin and Schlamme appear to be openly embracing the fact that show business is seedy as hell, that it really is populated with people who look for dead bodies so they can steal the coins off their eyes, and that it is a business of metaphorical incest where everybody knows everybody else and has slept with a good number of them. The West Wing somehow managed to blend a romanticized notion of politics, where public service is honorable and so are most of the people in it, with the old adage about how you shouldn’t inquire too closely into the makings of laws and sausages. That same blend of tropes can’t work with Studio 60; nobody really romanticizes Hollywood anymore, and certainly nobody really romanticizes television.

And there’s the rub: I suspect Studio 60 will be a show that’s much admired for its sheer quality. But I doubt that it’ll be loved as its politically-themed predecessor was. So don’t watch Studio 60 with The West Wing in mind. Instead, think of a seedy Hollywood tell-all book. Think You’ll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again. And don’t look for a Jed Bartlet in this show. There isn’t one.

CLARIFICATION: I didn’t dislike SportsNight on the limited basis in which I saw it. But what I did see made me wonder (along with movies like The American President and A Few Good Men, also written by Sorkin) if Sorkin might not be a one-trick pony, albeit with a really amazing trick. His output is excellent, no doubt about that, but his dialogue really does sound the same from one thing to the next.

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Sunday Burst of Weirdness

I’ll probably have more to say tomorrow about the Bills’ encouraging defeat on the road of the Miami Dolphins, but for now, here’s something I noticed when looking at the FOX Sports recap of the game. Specifically, it’s a section of that site where they compare the performances of the quarterbacks. Here’s a screengrab of the little portion I’m talking about:

There’s JP Losman’s numbers on the left, and Daunte Culpepper’s on the right. But note: there’s a headshot of Culpepper, but none of Losman!

Hey, FOX Sports, what the hell is up with that?! Sure, Losman’s still a young player who may or may not blossom in the NFL; and sure, the consensus opinion going into this season seems to be that Losman’s a major bust of a first-round draft pick waiting to happen; but he’s not a bust yet, he’s a third-year player, and he is still for the moment a starting quarterback for a team in the National Football League. Shouldn’t you guys have a friggin’ headshot for the guy by now? Sheesh.

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“In a different reality, I might have called you ‘friend’.”

By sheer luck, I discovered last night that one of Buffalo’s TV stations had an episode of the Star Trek: The Original Series on last night. The original episodes are getting “Lucasized” with new special effects, primarily on exterior space shots. Even though I hadn’t seen this particular episode, “Balance of Terror”, in many years, the new effects still stood out in my eye. Not that the new effects are bad, mind you, but that the show’s original look is pretty much burned on my brain. Still, for the most part, I found the new effects to be mostly in the same spirit as the old ones, although the whole exercise seems a tad odd to me — digitally updating archaic special effects, but in such a way as to make the new digital effects look like the old archaic ones! Anyway, I just hope they don’t do anything to the Horta when they get to “The Devil in the Dark”.

And “Balance of Terror” is still a hell of an episode. I’d actually forgotten how good it is.

(Speaking of the Horta, the old DC Comics Star Trek book actually had a Horta as an officer on the Enterprise. In one hilarious moment, a feline-like alien used that Horta officer as a scratching post.

OK, I guess you had to be there.)

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Just when they had him in the crushing grip of reason….

Here’s a good illustration of why I tend to find discussion with Libertarians so maddening.

Basically, it seems that Germany has a law that makes homeschooling illegal. Setting aside the merits of that policy, Alan took exception to someone’s rhetoric in discussing a legal case that arose from that German policy. Hitler outlawed homeschooling in his regime, and then the post-WWII German government also decided to outlaw homeschooling, so some Libertarians are calling the current German ban on homeschooling “Hitler’s ban on homeschooling”. Alan points out that Hitler also had the Autobahn built, but nobody calls that road “Hitler’s highway”, and he also points out that Germans are quite capable of discussing the current homeschooling policy without bringing Hitler into it.

The logical train seems to go like this:

1. I like trains to operate in tight accordance with their schedules.
2. Mussolini made the trains run on time.
3. Therefore, I like Mussolini.

Or, “It should make you uncomfortable to prefer your trains to being on time because Mussolini made the trains run on time.”

And yet, nowhere does Alan either endorse or condemn the German homeschooling ban, and nothing he writes can even be reasonably construed as doing so. He’s only talking about the rhetorical device of plugging Hitler into a discussion, and yet here come the misreadings, goofy accusations, and that favorite insult of Libertarians everywhere, calling Alan a “statist”.

I love it when they drag “statist” out of the arsenal — it reminds me of when I was debating the Objectivist loon over that the FSM boards, and he solemnly intoned: “You, sir, are a Subjectivist!” Heck, it reminds me of that scene at the bus stop in ET: The Extra-terrestrial, when Elliot gets into a verbal fight with an older kid, and they trade barbs back and forth: “You’re so immature!” “And you’re such a sinus supremus!” “Zero charisma!” “Sinus supremus!” “Zero charisma!” “Sinus supremus!”

It’s all very odd, coming from folks whose flagship magazine is called “Reason”.

(BTW, can anyone tell me what the hell a “sinus supremus” is? Seriously, I’ve always wondered. “Zero charisma” I get, having been a D&D player back in the day, but I’ve never been able to figure out “sinus supremus”. It seems to imply very large sinuses, but that can’t be it. Hell, if that were the case, there are plenty of mornings when I’d give my right arm to be a sinus supremus.)

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A very public service message.

Just for my Buffalo and Southern Ontario readers: tomorrow night (Monday) is when NBC will be premiering Aaron Sorkin’s new show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. But if you want to see it one night early, Channel Nine out of Hamilton, Ontario will be showing it tonight at 10:00. I don’t know if that channel is available on local cable, but we get that channel on the broadcast antenna that our apartment complex uses, so if you’ve got some good rabbit-ears, this is a good time to use them.

UPDATE: Crap! It’s CTV out of Toronto, not whatever station’s out of Hamilton. But it is Channel Nine on my dial, here in Buffalo.

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Test. Check. Check. Test. Check.

Apologies, readers Regular and Sporadic, for the lack of material in this space over the last six days. The Fates apparently decided that we were due for one of their annoying visits, and they could not be convinced that their last visit was one on which they severely overstayed their welcome. But things should be getting back to some kind of normal now. Maybe.

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Sentential Links #65

Time, once again, for our weekly jaunt ’round Blogistan….

:: Once and Again: Oh, YAWN! Gorgeous, well-to-do suburbanites with minuscule problems examined in detail once and again and over and over again. I could not care less. (Aieee!)

:: In my undergrad years I was part of an intense small theatre group that has remained in touch and sometimes close for nearly half a century. I had thought a church might be like repertory theatre and that ministers might be like English actors, moving from part to part smoothly. One for all and all for one.

:: September 11, 2001 was Primary Day in New York State, ultimately postponed. As the law stands now, it will be Primary Day (for all races except the Presidency) on average every seven years. Some people think it ought to be changed to a week later, in order to “Honor the dead”. I don’t. September 11 is a GREAT day to exercise one’s freedom.

:: I don’t know about you, but I’m coming to the conclusion that the Pentagon subcontracted this job to the same guys that James Bond’s enemies always hired to design their headquarters — you know, the one with the prominently labelled SELF DESTRUCT button.

:: Plus, a guy carries around a hammer that can end the world – how cool is that? (Gotta start reading this series….)

:: Which brings us to STUDIO 60 ON THE SUNSET STRIP, NBC’s great white hope from Sorkin and director/producer Tommy Schlamme, the SPORTSNIGHT/WEST WING team. (I’ve heard pretty much unanimous opinion that the Studio 60 pilot is brilliant; what concerns me is the show being consistently brilliant.)

:: In what sense does an event that features four Republicans but excludes the two senators who were representing New York at the time of the event, but who happen to be Democrats, leave aside partisan rancor?

:: My biggest disappointment of the past five years — the biggest by a very long way — has been the way that George Bush transformed 9/11 from an opportunity to bring the country together into a cynical and partisan cudgel useful primarily for winning a few more votes in national elections. (Mine too. I wanted to believe in George W. Bush after 9-11. Aside from the odd business of him sitting in that classroom for so long, I never had a problem with his conduct on 9-11, or in the days after; his speech to Congress a week later was as good a Presidential address as I’ve ever heard, and I strongly supported our invasion of Afghanistan. But the man has been one disappointment after another ever since, and “Mission Accomplished” is when he pretty much lost me forever.)

:: So, in just five short months in Rich Lowry World, we went from “The debate over troop levels” is “somewhat beside the point” and “to think that higher troop levels would have been a magic bullet is to indulge a very American faith in the power of mass to overcome anything” to “There is no mystery as to what can make the crucial difference in the battle of Baghdad: American troops” and “The bottom line is this: More U.S. troops in Iraq would improve our chances of winning a decisive battle at a decisive moment.” It’s not just profoundly wrong; it’s worse than that. It’s ludicrous. (I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that Lowry was calling for more troops as the solution to Iraq. It’s just astonishing. Maybe the Army Fairy will stick a few brand new armored divisions under his pillow or something.)

:: As we wrap up another ten songs and move ever so slowly toward our ultimate goal, I’d dare you to denigrate my musical taste, but for two things: you can’t because it’s so awesome, and nobody reads this anyway! I can expound on great songs according to me with impunity! Bwah-ha-ha-ha!

:: THWUCK! That’s just plain good writing…although it sounds like someone will be needing a moist towelette later. (This is actually an old post by the Tensor, but I’m linking it because I finished reading Galactic Patrol the other day and I have all this close at mind. I loved the book, I have to admit — I figured I’d enjoy it, but man, it was just a terrifically fun read. I’ll post more about the Lensmen series one day, but for now, I’d note that if anyone out there is looking to read this iconic space opera, start with Galactic Patrol, and not with Triplanetary. Ignore the fact that Triplanetary may be indicated as the first book in the Lensmen series. That may be true in terms of the chronology of the story, but that’s not the order in which E.E. Smith wrote the books, and publishing order is almost always the best reading order. Also, the references in GP to the “ether” struck me as interesting as the book was written several decades after the Michaelson-Morley experiments disproved the existence of the luminiferous aether.)

All for this week. Clear ether!

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Fading Into Memory (a repost)

Posted on 9-11-03, but I still think this way:

The first major historical event of my lifetime was probably the resignation of President Nixon. I was just shy of three years old when that happened, and I have utterly no memory of it. In fact, I have no memory of President Ford, either. The first historical figure of whom I have any distinct memory is President Carter. Thus, the first five years of history through which I lived does not exist for me as memory. They’re just pages in the history books, no less so because I lived through them than they are for my daughter who did not.

And for her, 9-11-01 will be the same way. I’ll be able to describe to her the incredible sadness of that day; I’ll be able to tell her where I was when I heard the news begin to unfold; I’ll be able to relate how the news got worse and worse and worse. I’ll be able to tell her how, for three days afterward, the skies were clear and unbroken by jet-plane contrails as air traffic was halted. I’ll be able to tell her about Buffalo firemen standing in every intersection, taking donations for their brethren in NYC. All that and more, I’ll be able to tell her. But it will never be as real for her as it was and is for me. For her, it will be like the Kennedy assassination or Nixon resignation are for me, and how Pearl Harbor was for my parents (Dad was two, Mom was four months).

We tell ourselves that we must never forget, that we must keep the pain real, that we must never allow those terrible moments to recede into history like everything else. But we fool ourselves if we think we can. September 11, 2001 is already receding into history, faster than we realize. And I believe that this is as it should be.

There have been so many horrible days in our nation’s history, days when the darkness seemed ready to overwhelm us and threaten the very fabric of our nation. Each time, America has moved on, incorporating the bad days into the tapestry of its history. There will come a time when September 11, 2001 will be just another seminal event in history, more known than remembered. And it won’t be a hundred years from now. It’s already starting.

I’ve seen some complaints, online and off, that we aren’t doing enough to mark the occasion. Perhaps it’s unseemly to many that NBC should air reruns of its Thursday night lineup on such a momentous day, and in truth, it does seem odd to me that not a single prime-time special is devoted to the 9-11-01 anniversary, even though I don’t believe that all three networks should devote their entire schedules to it. If this year’s observance is less-than-satisfying, I’m still one who found last year’s “All 9-11, all the time” approach, even in the days preceding the actual date, to be simply too much. I suppose that I no longer wish to partake in public mourning; and it does not strike me as particularly healthy to try each year to recapture or regenerate the anger and shock and desperation of that day.

For myself, I plan to do much as I did last year. I’ll read some American poetry, listen to some American music, and perhaps watch an American movie or an American television show. It just seems right to me to take a bit of time to reflect on American cultural artifacts tomorrow, since it was not just America but American culture that was attacked two years ago. That is how I choose to remember and honor those who died: by reminding myself that America is still here, that our contributions to the world and our species are real, and that they will last far, far longer than Osama Bin Laden’s hatred ever possibly can – – even if he crashes a thousand planes into our thousand tallest buildings.

There is more sanctity – – true sanctity, that which celebrates beauty in the face of a harsh world and an unforgiving universe – – in a Gene Kelly dance number, in a Frank Lloyd Wright building, in a Lerner-and-Loewe song, in the taste of a grilled hot dog, in the crack of a baseball bat, in the spiral of a perfectly-thrown football, and in a Robert Heinlein short story than there are in the hearts of a million terrorists who are prepared to immolate themselves and a thousand innocents in the name of a hating God.

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