Pizza My Heart

I have a complicated relationship with pizza. It's my husband's (and many other people's) favorite food, but I spent a good half of my life suffering from lactose intolerance. Where other people saw a tasty slice, I envisioned the mozzarella of doom--stomach pain, gas, and a general feeling of unwellness. Since pizza is such an important social lubricant in American society--perhaps moreso than beer, since it's such a staple in the diet of young kids as well as adults--I tried to grin and eat it, so to speak.

As I got older and came to worry less about what people would think (somewhere around grad school), I discovered that, yes, you can order a cheeseless pizza. Lots of sauce and other ingredients, but no cheese. (No doubt healthier, too.) My high- school-and-later friend Christy and I made a fine pair--she was intolerant of tomato sauce. So her pizza came sauce-free, mine cheese-free. I'm surprised restaurants didn't turn the locks and douse the lights when they saw us coming.

Somewhere in my thirties, my intolerance began to ease. Even though I'd spent years drinking Lactaid milk and avoiding pizza, I never gave up dairy products completely. So--perhaps using the same theory behind allergy shots--my lactose intolerance grew less and less. (Though it never completely disappears--a straight glass of milk is still a cause for discomfort, and I've given up on those delicious, creamy French soups like potato and leak.) But for years, I still had to grit my teeth and say, "Sure!" when people said, "Let's get pizza." It was almost a Pavlovian response--mention pizza and my stomach began to churn.

But I've really given it a try, and I've found the pizza that makes me happy. (Truthfully, the first such place was Pizzeria Paradiso in Washington D.C. But since I don't live there anymore, it's hard to get the pizza home while it's still warm. If you're ever in Dupont Circle in our nation's capital, though, check it out.) Although I will now eat the neighborhood pizza (don't you love that EVERY town in N.E. has a "House of NAME OF YOUR TOWN HERE Pizza?" And it's usually pretty good, too). But my real love for pizza in the Boston area now resides with Za and Emma's in Cambridge. (Neither place is large, so either come early or prepare to wait for a table.)

Both offer excellent, thin-crust pizzas--not too cheesy, which is my preference--and with some odd ingredients. I must admit, I like the odd-ingredient pizzas. Ever since Paradiso introduced me to a sunny-side-up egg on my pizza, I try to be open to the non-traditional. So at Za, don't be scared to try the one with figs, and at Emma's, I love, love, love the Number 4, which has--don't gasp--potato chunks, cilantro, dried cranberries, and smoked bacon. Heaven.

But don't panic--you can also order a straight-up pepperoni at either place. Not my style, but after conquering pizza dread, I'm willing to acknowledge that comfort comes in many flavors.