Mama’s has the best pizza in Santa Barbara. We sit on opposite sides of a little table for two with a red and white checked tablecloth. I take a book of matches out of my purse and light the blue candle in one of those chianti bottles wrapped in straw. It flickers between us and gives his skin a golden glow. A waiter brings the pizza and sets it on a circular metal stand in the center of the table. He moves the candle over to the side. The pizza is gorgeous–thick, bubbly mozzarella cheese studded with chunks of Italian sausage and fat mushroom slices. We lift big pieces onto our plates. Mmmmmm, thick chewy crust, like fresh-baked Italian bread. For a long time we don’t speak. We just savor big juicy bites. It’s not something you can nibble at–it’s the sort of food you inhale. It’s “died and gone to heaven” pizza.
Sunday Scribblings – Food