I know I am just returning from New Orleans and should be waxing poetic about the crawfish etoufee & beigeighs. But I am not gonna.
I was stewing in the sort of mild depression that can only be brought on by saying goodbye to old friends without any idea of the next visit. Then I was brought to my knees by the news that my connecting flight from Philadelphia to New York-Laguardia was going to be delayed 1 hour. So, completely unlike Buffy St. Marie and Wounded Knee, I decided to bury my heart at Sbarro in the F Concourse at the Philadelphia Airport.
Please note that my pizza did not look like this.
I will say that after 3.5 days of rich foods and fruity drinks with undisclosed amounts of alcohol, the somewhat cardboard-y consistency of a piece of Sbarro's Pepperoni Pizza and a well mixed fountain Diet Coke was a welcome change.
Oily-topped and warmed up in the “pizza oven,” a slice and soda was exactly what I needed. The cheese was lukewarm and the pepperoni was slightly spicy. The crust lacked the beautifully salty taste of New York street slices, but was crispy and the perfect amount of bread. Slices should have a crust that is the width of 1 medium mouthful. Any less and it tastes like a cracker, any more is too much bread.
Hey Sbarro. I admire your mediocre food, bad service and perfectly width-ed crust that only a robot could make. I heart your fountain Diet Coke and I truly respect your business plan of servicing the tired, the frustrated, the hungry, and most importantly the captive audiences of the mall and airport.
New Orleans foodie love is coming. But in the meantime, please bring on the saltines and Alka Selzer for a bit.