image from here nymag.com

If there's anything I'm fanatic about, it's dining, especially when it comes to ferreting out places that haven't been heard of by most of the population and that serve food at a relatively affordable price. There's nothing better than eating something moltenly delicious and knowing that it cost you less than an over-sugared Frappucino.

That's partly why I was (and am still) so obsessed with New York; the profusion of cafes, restaurants, and street carts prompted a maddening need to eat anything and everything. One of my favorite guides is New York Magazine's food guides that come out every year and are usually around $9-11. Even better is their issue dedicated to "Cheap Eats", whose release each year causes me to shut myself in the bedroom and obsessively plan what and where I'm going to eat next time I visit.

One great thing they did this year is a huge feature on pizza (specifically the "Neapolitan Pizza Revolution"). When I was living in the city, there would be quite a few times where I wouldn't be able to afford a proper meal while wandering around on the weekends, during my lunch break, or after work. Pizza, of course, was always the answer.

For around $2 a plain slice, I could eat all that I wanted. Pizza is the great democratizer. It made a great meal, especially with red pepper flakes, garlic salt, and parmesan piled on top. It made an even better snack, it's oily cheese dripping down the fold and onto the plate (or my shirt). Though most foodies seem to regard most of the pizza stands in NYC as subpar, for me, each slice was always a revelation compared to the execrable pies back in the Midwest. Before moving to New York, I wasn't even that crazy about pizza. Yet, something about the pies there completely and utterly changed my mind. It's hard to describe to someone what exactly makes New York pizza exactly so astoundingly exquisite; a lot of people say it's the crust - definitely a big deal -, but for me, it lies in the perfect balance of ingredients in every slice. Plus, there's the wonderful experience of being able to fold a pizza slice and eating it. Chicago deep dish, no matter what people say, is not pizza.


I remember coming back to Kansas and going with a bunch of people to eat at Wheatstate Pizza, a local favorite known for their wheat crust. It was perhaps one of the more depressing incidents I'd ever experienced; while the other's "mmmed" and "awwed" over the pizza, I could barely keep the excessively doughy, soft crust and saccharine sauce down my throat. That moment, more than anything, clarified that I was no longer in New York.