The Night After the Day After the Sick

You know you're not quite having the trip you expected when your best French meal (so far) turns out to be this:

Having just recovered from digestive misery - which was hard to watch, though apparently harder to live through, Scott and I delayed our fancy resto plans in favour of this... Neither of us could bear the thought of eating anything raw.

Honestly, this is some freakin' awesome pizza - from a hole-in-the-wall, owner-franchise resto (albeit one highly recommended by everyone). I know from pizza, even if it isn't my go-to food (since so much of it is so mediocre). These pizzas, however, were pure perfection. We actually couldn't talk as we ate because they were so compelling.

The crust was perfectly salty and springy (not in any way mushy in the centre), the tomato sauce was fresh but subtle, with a sub-note of sweetness. The cheese was initially oily and extremely gooey, settling into strings as the pie cooled. On cooling, the pizza took on complex flavours - its saltiness intensified and was beautifully offset by the pique-y quality of the sauce. It came with a generous glass of mystery wine.

The servers were all Italian, the pizza-maker himself being something of a star. Honestly, by the time I finished this meal, I wanted to marry him. Alas, he was entirely nonplussed as I stuttered over his pizza-making prowess. I got barely a nod.

Dessert was tiramisu - the rarified authentic sort (something that's not impossible to find in TO, but still, it's special wherever you do find it). It was a good portion, which I did not share with my husband. On recent glance, traces of cocoa powder are still adhered to my lip gloss.

We didn't mess this up with any vegetables, dammit. Now here's hoping we both keep it down.