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When one "dines out" for only the second time in eight or so months, might as well be at...

At least in their lovely backyard.

This is known, in NYC pizza parlance, as a half sausage. You don't have to say cheese, you don't have to say pizza, you don't have to say pizza pie, you just say: "Gimme a large, half sausage."

And then wait in that backyard, with your diet coke (I WAS DRIVING), wife and friends (who, since they tend to not eat too much sausage, ordered their own mushroom (a mistake, imo, but who am I to argue?!)), to enter pizza nirvana, burnt roof of mouth included.

When one "dines out" for only the second time in eight or so months, might as well be at...

At least in their lovely backyard.

This is known, in NYC pizza parlance, as a half sausage. You don't have to say cheese, you don't have to say pizza, you don't have to say pizza pie, you just say: "Gimme a large, half sausage."

And then wait in that backyard, with your diet coke (I WAS DRIVING), wife and friends (who, since they tend to not eat too much sausage, ordered their own mushroom (a mistake, imo, but who am I to argue?!)), to enter pizza nirvana.