South Station: The joy of Rosie’s, the lipsmacking satisfaction of a cheese slice from Pizzeria Regina. My lowbrow dinner consisted of a half-dozen Rosie’s thumbprint cookies, a cup of coffee and a cheese slice. Coffee was the only miss. For those looking for food as metaphor for romantic experiences, I’ve got two.
The thumbprint cookies are the understated masterpieces of the Rosie’s case, just like the guy who really loved you. Not flashy, no floral embellishments. A simple cookie. But it’s all the best stuff – fresh butter, just enough sugar and flour to keep it bound together, and a zing of raspberry jam. And don’t let the diminutive size fool you – the thumbprint has more fullness and staying power than cookies 5 times its size. The flavor that lingers is warm, full, satisfying. Love in all its aspects, as the tarot reader says.
Now for the za. I’m sensitive to the fact that people have strong opinions on pizza. I’m one of them. But in my advanced age, I’ve learned enough about “authenticity” to know that what I like is what I like. If what I like is some bastard hybrid of what finds in Sicily and someone’s kitchen in Revere, so be it. Kind of like what you find attractive in a person. In my youth, there had to be a natural beauty, humor, and sharpness. Some bite. That’s what I like in my pizza, to this day.
Regina’s had at least two expand and contract periods in my memory, but luckily for me the last contraction left the ovens at South Station in tact. I ask for a simple slice of cheese, and sit down to a salty wedge with decent sauce and a near-grail crust. I like a thin pizza, with the crust nearly overdone. I like to hear a little snap on the first bite, and Regina consistently delivers. Easy on the oil, decent if not gourmand cheese, and a nice mmmmm. Like a memorable first kiss from a date in my teenage past; delicious and not always good for you. Now I know to keep it to one slice.