A New Yorker’s Pizza Confessional: Crimes Committed in Chicago




Let’s get one thing straight right from the top: being from New York comes with an unspoken rule — we believe we’ve cracked the code on pizza.

Not just “good pizza.” The pizza.

The slice you fold. The slice you eat while walking. The slice you can get at 2 a.m. from a guy named Vinny who’s been making them since the Reagan administration. Paper plate. Grease drip. The whole sacred ritual.


So whenever someone outside of New York brings up pizza — and they always do — there’s this inevitable reply:

“Yeah, but have you had Chicago pizza?”


And here’s where my internal monologue starts revving up like a cab driver approaching the Midtown Tunnel at rush hour.


But I’m a grown-up now (or at least pretending to be one), and I told myself on this trip to Chicago that I would approach this like an adult professional. Be open-minded. Try new things. Learn. Explore. Maybe even embrace a different pizza culture.



The Deep Dish Experience



We started, of course, with the legendary deep dish at Lou Malnati’s. I walked in knowing full well what I was about to do might get me disowned by certain people back home. But hey — when in Rome (or in this case, when surrounded by buttery crust and tourists).


Here’s what I’ll say: it was solid. Good even. The sauce was rich, the cheese was generous, the crust had that buttery, almost pastry vibe that honestly caught me off guard in a good way.


But waiting 45 minutes for your pizza to cook? That’s a commitment. That’s not “let’s grab a quick slice before we head out.” That’s, “put on your stretchy pants, hydrate, and settle in like you’re waiting for a table on Mother’s Day.”


And then — the part that tested every fiber of my New York being — you eat it with a fork and knife.


A fork. And a knife. For pizza.


I sat there, staring at my plate like I was about to commit a felony. Somewhere, I could hear the faint disapproving voice of every pizza joint I grew up with:

“Kid, what are you doing? Pick it up! Fold it! Live your life!”


But I’ll admit it: once you surrender to it, it’s pretty tasty. It’s not pizza as I know it — it’s more like pizza’s lasagna-adjacent cousin who went off to culinary school — but it worked.

Also the place is as cool as can be filled with old sport history and memorabilia.. best Caesar  salad I’ve had in a while too.




The Pub Style Curveball



Then, just when I thought I had navigated the Chicago pizza waters, I was introduced to their other style: pub pizza.


Now this one got my hopes up. Thin crust? Alright. That’s familiar ground. I figured maybe this was their secret nod to the New York slice.


But no.


First, they cut it into squares — which, let’s be honest, is confusing. A round pizza, cut into squares, which results in these little strange middle pieces with no crust at all. I don’t know what to do with a crustless square of pizza. Am I supposed to enjoy it? Am I supposed to pretend this is normal? It felt like Chicago was messing with me.


Then they flipped the order of everything: toppings get buried under the cheese. Cheese is the final layer, locking everything in like a dairy fortress. The result? Honestly? Tasty. But once again, I couldn’t help but feel like this was pizza in a witness protection program — familiar, but just different enough that you start questioning your identity.

The Verdict



Here’s my honest, diplomatic conclusion:

Chicago makes good food.

But New York makes pizza.


Deep dish? Delicious — but it’s more of a special occasion thing. Pub style? Solid — but if you’re cutting my pizza like you’re dealing blackjack, we’re going to have a conversation.


At the end of the day, I respect Chicago for what it brings to the table. I enjoyed every bite. But if you ask me where I’m going for a slice after a long day, I’ll be looking for that familiar triangle I can fold in half, balance on a flimsy plate, and eat standing up while leaning against a brick building.


Because some things — like good pizza, loud opinions, and ignoring your cholesterol — are just part of being a New Yorker.




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