Last night we had pizza at Sally’s, pretty much the only place we’ve eaten pizza for more than 30 years now. People who aren’t from the New Haven area don’t understand much about the politics of pizza in these parts, but it’s safe to say that discussing pizza around here is a little like discussing religion or politics.

The bottom line is that there are two (maybe three if you count Modern) pizza places around here that are legendary: Sally’s and Pepe’s. They’re both on Wooster Street, in what’s left of New Haven’s Little Italy. What people don’t get is that most folks around here who have a strongly held opinion on the matter either eat at one or the other. You don’t eat at both. You’re either Sally’s or Pepe’s.

We’re Sally’s people. I’m not sure how that came about (Jim’s father used to take the family for pizza when Jim was little, but we didn’t start the tradition as a couple until after we married). We’ve tried both, we stayed at Sally’s. An ancient (Sally’s was founded in 1938) coal-fired brick oven bakes the pies. Thin crust, excellent sauce, and just the right amount of mozzarella — it’s elemental. It’s very good. It’s a perfect food.

We have probably discussed every important decision we’ve made and every major event that has befallen us over a Sally’s pizza. I ate Sally’s pizza throughout my pregnancy, and Jim had a small pizza for dinner on the day Bryan was born (on the house as a thoughtful gesture from Sal and Flo). Bryan teethed on Sally’s crust as a baby, and grew up thinking that this is what pizza is supposed to taste like.

Perfect food? Yeah, pretty damn close.