This photograph is me with my family, my parents and maternal grandparents in 1957. My grandmother is featured in todays post.
I know I’ve been on a food kick lately, but there are so many food stories to do.
Today I wanted to talk about pizza.
When I was a kid, I’d never heard of pizza. There were not pizza places on every corner, and pizza was usually found in Italian restaurants, and there were none in my neighborhood! I had never heard of it.
And then, the word went out both far and wide that there was a bar, the Borman Café, somewhere (probably the corner of Borman Ave. and Reisterstown Road) in Baltimore that had great pizza! Having no idea what it was, any pizza was going to be great!
My friend Jerry Rubin had a married sister who went to the Borman Café, and one evening brought a pizza in a carryout box for us to try. I was in love!
As we were then about 14 or 15, we slowly developed friends with cars and began to go to Little Italy and find “real pizza”. I raved about it at home.
My grandmother, who I lived with (along with my mother, father and grandfather), heard me rave and decided quietly that she would experience this treasure.
So, the next time she went to the market, she came home with a frozen pizza. I was on my way home from school, and before I arrived she tried it.
When I came in the door, she called me into the kitchen and explained that she couldn’t imagine how I could eat this stuff!
My grandmother had arrived from Russia some 50 year before and still retained some of the old ways. Some of the modern concepts had eluded her.
My grandmother was standing there eating a big piece of frozen pizza!
When I was a kid, I’d never heard of pizza. There were not pizza places on every corner, and pizza was usually found in Italian restaurants, and there were none in my neighborhood! I had never heard of it.
And then, the word went out both far and wide that there was a bar, the Borman Café, somewhere (probably the corner of Borman Ave. and Reisterstown Road) in Baltimore that had great pizza! Having no idea what it was, any pizza was going to be great!
My friend Jerry Rubin had a married sister who went to the Borman Café, and one evening brought a pizza in a carryout box for us to try. I was in love!
As we were then about 14 or 15, we slowly developed friends with cars and began to go to Little Italy and find “real pizza”. I raved about it at home.
My grandmother, who I lived with (along with my mother, father and grandfather), heard me rave and decided quietly that she would experience this treasure.
So, the next time she went to the market, she came home with a frozen pizza. I was on my way home from school, and before I arrived she tried it.
When I came in the door, she called me into the kitchen and explained that she couldn’t imagine how I could eat this stuff!
My grandmother had arrived from Russia some 50 year before and still retained some of the old ways. Some of the modern concepts had eluded her.
My grandmother was standing there eating a big piece of frozen pizza!
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