Flashback Pizza

Walking into a bustling 1980's-era pizza shop, with Neil Sedaka's "Happy Birthday Sweet Sixteen" cranking on the jukebox, my dad and I felt like we had somehow been transported in time to the days of hoop earrings, ripped jeans and pay phones. The bar at Santarpio's in East Boston (Eastie? Do people call it that?) subtly reminded me of my parents' basement only with hardwood floors, brighter lights and one of those plastic neon-blue Pepsi-Cola clocks. Attempting to take in the ambiance, I snapped back to reality as a man at the grill shouted "How many? How many?" over and over again. I looked at my dad, and we silently agreed to sit at the bar...was the grill guy asking how many people? Or how many skewers of meat we wanted? A question for next time perhaps.

Carl the bartender introduced himself almost immediately. The warm, friendly faces around us made me wish the millennium had never happened. People were so friendly in the 90's. I hear you could leave your front door unlocked at all times and no one would even think to rob you. Anyways, my dad and I skimmed through the short menu as Carl told us a little about the place. Apparently Santarpio's opened in 1903, and the same family has been managing the business since. The menu has never changed and probably never will. Boxing paraphernalia hang from the walls along with a Labatt Blue light-up sign. Families and friends of all ages yell back and forth to each other across tables and a line started to form out the door. "Rainy Tuesdays bring a lot of business", I commented to Carl. A local next to us replied, "So do Sunny Saturdays, and Snowy Thursdays". Looks like Santarpios isn't the hidden gem I thought it was, but it's definitely worth the hike.

Dad and I ended up ordering the steak tip skewers and a half garlic, half mushrooms, onions and hot peppers pizza. Carl told us that the garlic pizza was his favorite, and he did not steer us wrong. As the hot, steaming pizza appeared in front of us, it looked like an artistic masterpiece. Chunks of tomato sauce crept out from a generous layer of melted, sizzling cheese. The dough had been tossed to perfection, the underside coated in cornmeal to prevent the cheese from melting into the crust to cause emancipated disappointment. My dad and I grabbed a couple slices of the garlic pizza. As if we were in a race, we housed the entire first slice in what felt like just a few bites. Having an out-of-body experience, my ghost-self was telling me to stop eating so quickly. "Your mouth is burning, let the pizza cool down!" It was worth it though. Santarpio's was definitely the best pizza I've had in New England. Probably ever, if you don't include Chicago-style pizza, which is in a league of its own.

Some of you may be wondering why I'm writing about pizza in a sandwich blog. You may even be surprised to hear that I like food outside of the sandwich realm. Here are my random thoughts on pizza in relation to sandwiches:

Pizza - an American staple food, almost as popular as the sandwich. I do think there can be pizza sandwiches when they are in the form of pizza bagels or English Muffin pizzas. How could one differentiate between a slice or pie of pizza and an open-faced sandwich though? Couldn't a slice or pie of pizza in essence BE an open-faced sandwich? And then on the topic of open-faced sandwiches, can these really be called sandwiches? The jury's still out on this one, but my initial thought is no. But why not? Why can’t everything eventually branch off from the sandwich kingdom? i.e. Burritos, pitas, wraps. I’ve participated in extensive debates on this topic with friends and strangers alike, and it seems like the answer isn’t as clear as many would like it to be.