I can’t remember the last time a week went by without one whole meal revolving around pizza. It’s disastrous (and when I say one whole meal, what I really mean is at least two whole meals). Why do I continue to justify this gluttonous, not-all-that-healthy, and overly lazy excuse for a meal? I’m not sure but it was love at first bite for this immigrant child who still holds onto that original Queens pizza taste from 1979.

Nowadays I try to diversify my pizza consumption – albeit mildly. Nick’s on the Upper East Side one day, Dean’s in Tribeca another and John’s on Bleeker on a rare trek to the West Village.

My local pizza shop is Sal’s on Madison – right off the bus stop. My only diversity there is whether I order a medium or large (plain cheese) pie. But I stress out when it’s time to call Sal’s. Like everything in my life, I take my pizza too seriously. I like my pizza to be well-done enough to be perfectly crispy – but not burnt!

Under-cooked pizza creates a fondue-went-bad texture on a still-taste-the-yeast crust. (For me, that is – everyone is entitled to their own bad taste.) So I like to ask for my pizza to be well-done but I want to do it in a way that doesn’t insult Sal’s pizza making skills into spitting on my pizza. I wanted Sal to understand that I fully acknowledge that there is a fine, yet blurry line between well-done and burnt.

I’ve come up with the brilliant line to use when I call to order pizza. It goes like this: ““Well-done but not burnt. You know.”

This is the pizza box that Sal’s came in today. Seriously? Is this what we’re doing now?