Brek Day One: The Power of Pizza

There is quite possibly nothing more delicious for breakfast than cold pizza. Biting into coagulated cheese and icy tomato sauce atop a crust that is quickly coming to resemble cardboard might not be most peoples' definition of a stellar eating experience, but there are plenty of us with fond memories of a childhood in which pizza for breakfast was tantamount to a snow day. Cold pizza breakfasts were reason enough to forgo that last slice, so that you could wrap it in tin foil and open it up next morning like an edible Christmas present.

In New York, cold pizza left over from the night before is well and good, but it's certainly not the only option. Here in the outer boroughs, the pizzerias open bright and early. Lots of blue collar worker dudes getting off of their night shifts can be seen tucking into a Grandma slice at ten in the morning. For people like me who forgot to eat a proper dinner and went out drinking all night, the fact that one can procure a piping hot, fresh from the oven slice is priceless. God Bless Brooklyn, de facto pizza capital of the world.

This morning I staggered out of bed at ten-ish to feed a certain Bitsy Boo, and then cooled my heels until I thought I could run across the street to San Marco, my pizza joint of choice, without the proverbial egg on my face. I didn't need to be so ashamed -- the place was bumping at 10:48am, full of old-timers speaking Italian and drinking their espresso, hulking construction worker types face down in Sicilian slices, and an odd hipster or two reeking of last night's booze and cigarettes. I ordered a Neapolitan and a Sicilian, both steaming hot from the oven, grabbed a 20 oz. coke -- aka the elixir of the gods when one is feeling not 100% -- and beat a fast path back to my home where I made quick work of the doughy, slightly undercooked Sicilian first, jaws still not fully awake. By the time I had finished I literally had to rest my mouth. Then on to slice numero dos. Man, I gotta say, San Marco is the obvious choice for sheer proximity, but damned if they don't make some of the best pies in New York. The cheese is stringy and spongey and has a subtle beer aftertaste. The sauce is perfect, not too sweet, not too acidic, and the crust is crisp on the bottom but maleable and doughy on top.

A few swigs of my Coca Cola classic and I'm ready to face the day. Right after I wake up from this food coma.