12inchpetetreat

The place where pizza comes to be written about

Thanks, Man Vs Food, for showing us the way

 

 

This is Adam Richman. Worship him, for he is good

 

It started, as these things often do, with two young people watching TV in bed one Saturday morning. Well, I say young, me and the missus, who I shall call Rosie, have a combined age of over 70, so let’s just make it two people. Or two clanking, decrepit old people. Yes, that’s better. Anyway, we happened upon a TV programme on Dave called Man Vs Food, which is a brilliant show in which a man called Adam Richman goes all around America taking on the various extreme food challenges that life in the poster nation for world obesity can throw up. And indeed, many people DO throw up.

 

This is what Chicago-style deep dish pizzas look like

But not me. No sir. Not when Adam Richman did a segment on the Chicago deep dish pizza. Now, for those of you who are not familiar, the Chicago deep dish pizza is everything that the New York-style flat pizza isn’t – thick, multi-layered, stout in depth rather than wide in, well, width, and stuffed full of good things, by which I mean meat, lots and lots of meat. The cheese goes on the bottom, then the meat goes on the cheese, then the sauce goes on the meat, and then you either stick a pastry lid on all that and add some more cheese, or just add even more cheese. Yeah, I know.

 

Hi! I am a springform pan!

We lay there salivating, partly over the proximity of our own nubile bodies but mainly because the vast chunks of steaming meat on the screen seemed like the ultimate expression of our pizza desires. The Chicago-style deep dish pizza, we realised, was pizza paradise here on Earth.

“That looks so good,” one of us said. It may have been me, it may have been Rosie, you have to understand that we were in a different place at this moment so it was difficult for me to remember who.

“Yes, it does. So very good,” replied whichever one of us it was who hadn’t said the last thing.

“We should just go to Chicago, for a weekend, specifically so that we could have that, just once. We don’t even need to get a hotel, we could stay up all night and fly home again. It would only be about  £300.” I’m pretty sure it was Rosie who said this, because I am from the West Midlands and so I am too cheap to make such a suggestion.

“Yes, we should do that,” I lied. And then I had a brainwave. “Or we could try to make one ourselves.”

Now, we have made pizzas for ourselves before, in the sense that Rosie has made them while I looked on or got stuck into the red wine, and so this didn’t seem too implausible. And then Rosie got given a spring-form pan at work (it’s a pan with a detachable bottom, chaps), as if the pizza Gods themselves were smiling on us, and we knew it had to happen. And three days ago, it happened. We made ourselves a Chicago-style deep dish pizza. And it was amazing. And tomorrow I am going to tell you how we did it, so that future generations can learn from us, and teach their children, and their children’s children, so that they’ll all be as fat as we felt after we ate it. Stay tuned…

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