Margherita, o Margherita

I learn that native Italians love their pizza simple yet fresh and satisfying. So do I. In my opinion, loaded pizzas are only for the Americans, mainly because many Americans love to eat by quantity. That explains why Chinese food enterpreneurs across the US have religiously embraced the concept of "Chinese Buffet" as a way to get the most money out of this phenomenon: fullfiling Americans' insantiable appetite to eat in large quantities at the cheapest price possible. My best friend, a half Italian, pointed out the other day, if you want to find oversize Americans engaging in endless eating orgies, restaurants offering lunch or dinner buffet are your best bet.

Anyway, going back to simple Italian pizza. One time, I was watching the Food Network channel showing, if I remember it correctly, Tyler's Ultimate hosted by my favorite chef Tyler Florence. I think it was something about processing olives into olive oil. It then showed an Italian family having a dinner of simple mixed greens, a margherita pizza, a piece of bread, a bottle of olive oil, and some wine.

In case you are not familiar with margherita pizza, it is a very simple, sun-kissed ripen tomato sauce based pie, sparingly dotted with a few islands of melted mozzarella slices (not shredded, mind you) and sprigs of fresh basil. Some recipes also call for crushed garlic. Nevertheless, it's a very simple yet tasty and beautiful-looking pizza. What I find interesting is that each family member took turns to pour a drop of freshly pressed olive oil onto his or her slice of pie. Everyone looked fit and seemed to enjoy every bite of the pie. Sounds pretty sensual I must say.

Now, beam up the American version of pizza dinner in a typical American home: at least one gargantuan-size pizza, made of pounds of bleached flour dough, topped with pile high processed meats, lifeless veggies, and tons of shredded cheese (some even have cheddar... yukk!). Fat fingers found their way off a stack of spill-over-the-knees body fat, impatiently tear out ('rape' could be a better word instead) the slice, stretch out the stringy oily mozzarella, and push the pie down their tubes, er, throats. Ouch!

That makes me long for a margherita pizza. Too bad, pizza chains do not offer such a thing; to them it is equivalent to a cheese pizza. Indy pizza parlors know this stuff's exotic quality, and charge accordingly. Since I can't make my own pie, I wish my best friend, who works for a pizza chain, is here; every pizza he prepares, thick or thin crust, tastes heavenly. I hope one day he can make a margherita for me.