My first pizza was Barnaby’s thin crust in Northbrook.

Their sign had a brown potion bottle, but I always thought of it as a bowling pin.

We also went to the original Uno’s for deep dish.

Greasy thick dough pies.

Same with Godfather’s. Gross.

When we moved, a local joint called Rufini’s got me back to thin crust.

Until Little Caesar’s and their Detroit casseroles turned me off.

Abortion-soaked spongy toast.

And I choked down Sbarro’s only because they were free.

These days, it’s wood-fired brick oven.

And a crust so thin, I can cut my wrists with it.