When Becky left for college I swore off Adriatico’s. Thirty years later I can see my boycott hasn’t hurt their business any. Her personality matched her blonde hair: baby soft and a little too free. I was already in college but she provided all the adventure that I could handle. I loved Adriatico’s pizza, but not for the reason she did. She loved the taste. I loved the wait. Forty minutes in the car to listen to her plans to change the world, to laugh, to kiss. Three decades later, when I opened their door the aroma hadn’t changed. They moved down the street, but nothing was different. The walls are still well chipped. Everything about the place says it’s not about the place. It’s about the pizza: the herbed sauce, the assault of the cheese, the toppings. It’s all evenly distributed, so you get a taste in every bite. I didn’t like the green peppers then. I ate them for her. Maybe she didn’t like them either. Could be she ate them for me. Adriatico’s still delivers the tastiest pizza in Clifton. On any given night the aroma wafts through every dorm on campus. It’s that popular because it’s that good. I guess being inexpensive doesn’t hurt either. Becky’s husband passed away young. She’s still in Minneapolis. E-mailed me a picture of her and the kids. Thirty years later she looks even better. I’d gotten over her. Until I took a bite of that pizza.
113 W. McMillan St.
Prices: $10 for a medium cheese with a coupon (and the coupon’s on the box)
Lunch and dinner seven days
Originally published in the August 2009 issue.