This morning's New York Times carried a story about pizza in Brooklyn, available for $5 a slice. And people are lining up. My favorite line, which must resonate with others because my friend Leslie also picked it up:
“Worth it,” said Mr. Mancino, 64, between bites on Wednesday afternoon. “It’s like they dug up my grandma and she made the pie.”
My brother and sister and I feel that way about the fried chicken at Two Sisters' in Jackson, Mississippi. If you've never been, and you long for food cooked the way it used to be, check it out if you find yourself in Jackson. Fried chicken, homemade rolls, all kinds of what my Yankee husband once insulted as "brown vegetables" (butter beans, field peas, etc.), and peach cobbler for dessert. At least that's what I remember from our last visit. And every time we go, my siblings and I think our childhood cook must have swooped down from Heaven and is back there frying the chicken.
So I totally get it about the $5 slice of pizza at Di Fara Pizza in Brooklyn.
And while I'm on food and The New York Times. Here's an article about hamburgers by one of my favorite Southerners, writer John T. Edge, in yesterday's paper. Love his books about food. (See my review of Donuts.) All you ever wanted to know, but probably really don't need to know, about the subject. He's also covered hamburgers and fried chicken, in great depth, with humor. Surely the only way to write about something so bad for you that tastes that good, on occasion.