Chapter Text
Skizz was in mourning. Well, the more accurate description would be that he’d been in mourning for a while, now. And who could blame him? His favorite pizza guy was retiring. He’d been loyal to Saverio’s since he was a teenager, but the old man wanted to take a well-earned retirement, and none of his kids were interested in taking on the business for themselves.
When he’d aired his woes to the man, he’d simply laughed in that full-chested, joyful manner that had drawn Skizz to his presence in the first place. “Life goes on, Toro. Food has been a pillar of my life, but it simply fills the stomach and soul for a day, nothing more.”
Sadly, it was true. He would always have Saverio’s phone number and the man beseeched him to call any time he wanted, so the snappy jokes, uncle vibes, and great advice weren’t going anywhere soon. Hell, the man himself would still be in the area.
But. The food.
He was clearly no stranger to good food, with a bit (he would keep telling himself that) of a tummy on him and a naturally large frame to boot. Hauling around auto parts, carrying whatever needed to be carried, and cramming himself into and under vehicles meant he was pretty well-exercised and burned through calories like nobody’s business. Or at least, that was his excuse for being such a pig.
In the time since the retirement announcement, Skizz had been taking the opportunity to broaden his food horizons in general, but was still keeping a high priority on pizza. He knew no one did New York style like Saverio, so something else was going to have to do. He’d found some new go-to’s for Lebanese, Indian, and Chinese, and was now at one of the last local Italian places that wasn’t a chain location (disgraceful): Impulsive Cravings. It was a relatively newer location, probably having cropped up in the last three years or so. Skizz had seen the photos online and had initially written the place off as way too fancy-schmancy for his tastes even though they got good reviews. What was the point of getting a good piece of pizza if it wasn’t paper thin and dripping in grease? But Skizz was going to finish his search half-assed if he didn’t try everything at least once.
The location was a thin unit smushed in between a dry cleaners and a thrift store. The slice of building had its natural brick and mortar showing with a bright yellow neon sign with a warning symbol and ‘Impulsive Cravings’ in block letters. Very nightclub-y.
He pushed open the door, a little bell jingling. The interior was very clean, slate gray flooring and coffee brown walls with the occasional neon yellow light highlighting certain edges like the cashier counter and the washroom signs. There was bar-style seating by the front window, and a few two-seater tables running along the side wall, opposite the cashier and the kitchen area. The kitchen room had a long open hole in the wall where the kitchen staff would normally shove food through for the wait staff. Definitely a bit of a cramped space, but it was just working with the space given.
Not that the appearance mattered. The thing that mattered was the smell . It was absolutely delectable. It wasn’t just pizza ingredients, but also roast chicken and garlic to start. Nothing could ever truly top the cozy, shabby, but not unclean atmosphere of Saverio’s place, but good gravy this place seemed to make nice food. Hopefully not too nice for his wallet.
The menu had some of the classic pizzas and a few interesting signatures like taco, kebab, and burger pizzas, a ‘build your own pasta’ menu, and a few other dishes that weren’t Italian, like cabbage rolls, potato pancakes, and a soup of the day during evening hours. Plus, the prices weren’t nearly as bad as he was led to believe (he led himself to that assumption, not that he’d admit that). Still more than he’d be used to, but definitely not as horrendous as most of the modern places he’d seen in the city.
He was looking at some of the desserts in the display fridge when he heard a male voice say “I’ll be just a second!”
There was a bit of movement from the open door leading to the kitchen, before a man walked out, a meek smile on his face.
He had a stocky build, with broad shoulders and chest. He was wearing all black shorts, t-shirt, and running shoes with a deep brown apron with yellow piping and an upside down version of the warning symbol wrapped around his waist. With a round face, groomed facial hair, and kind brown eyes, he seemed every bit a humble man and not the arrogant yuppie Skizz had imagined would be running this place.
“Hey there, sorry I didn’t hear you, I have the exhaust and my music on in the back. How can I help you?” He wiped a bit of something off his hands onto his apron.
“It’s fine, I only got here a minute ago. I’ll get a slice of plain cheese and two of the Grecian on a 12 inch,” Skizz said. Lemon potatoes, red onions, chicken souvlaki, and a cheese garlic sauce sounded really good right now.
“Sure, the cheese I can get you right away, but the Grecian needs about ten to fifteen minutes because I like to sear the chicken last. Are you okay waiting?”
“Yeah, I don’t have anywhere to be,” Skizz said, shrugging.
“Cool. Do you want to pay for that on cash or card?” The man asked, punching Skizz’s order into the little tablet on a stand.
Skizz said, “I got cash.” He pulled out his wallet and pulled out a couple bills. “You can keep the change, I don’t need coins weighing me down.”
“Thanks,” the man said, smiling. He grabbed a slice of cheese pizza and shoved it into the warmer before disappearing into the kitchen proper.
Skizz spent a minute checking emails and the work group text on his phone as he waited.
The oven conveyor belt beeped, and the man reappeared to slide it onto a flimsy paper plate, which he handed to Skizz. “There you go. You can put that away while you wait.”
“Oh I’ll put it away, alright.” Skizz patted his stomach and gave a cheeky little smile, making the other man snicker.
The pizza wasn’t as thin as New York style, but it also wasn’t just bread and when Skizz lifted the slice off the plate, there were already decent grease stains despite having been on it for maybe twenty seconds. Good.
It tasted fantastic. The sauce wasn’t too acidic or salty, the cheese was soft and stretchy, judging by the color it was a mix of cheeses, and the dough was an easy bite. Easily the best post-Saverio candidate so far. It didn’t beat out the man himself, but nothing would taste better than nostalgia.
Skizz looked up to see the brunet man watching him. He laughed at the smug look on his face.
“What’s so funny?” He asked.
“You look like a man that makes a really fucking good pizza and knows it.”
The innocent tilt of the head and shoulder shrug did nothing to dispel the air of smugness. “What can I say? I’m proud of what I do.”
“Are you head chef, or are you just a worker here?”
“I do make the recipes, but I don’t feel like a chef. I’m just a guy that makes pizzas. And it’s my business.”
“That’s a lot of ‘just’. Is it only you?”
“No, I got me, my Number Two, one that helps me with prep in the mornings, three other people for cooking shifts, and someone that drives out if there’s catering. It’s just that it’s” - he checked his smart watch - “eleven in the morning on a Wednesday, so it’s just me right now.”
Skizz hummed, taking another bite of pizza. “This is genuinely really good, dude. I’m trying to find another place to eat at because my regular’s is closing, and this is up there. Can’t wait for the Greek one.”
The chef winced. “Crap, I should get back to work on that, sorry!”
He went back to the kitchen area, and Skizz sat down to eat and go through his phone. As tempting as it was to scarf down the whole thing, Skizz knew he should take his time. The point of getting a plain slice, after all, was to see how much a place cared for the basics. This place definitely cared.
Chef Guy returned a few minutes later, carrying a pizza topped with chicken, yellow potato chunks, and red onions on a wooden peel. In his other hand was a propane torch. He quickly left and returned with the second pizza. “Just out of curiosity, how soon will this be eaten?”
“I’m picking this up for lunch at my work, so about twenty minutes.”
“Good, it won’t be steaming in the box for too long. Thought you’d like to see this last part, and since we’re alone, no one will report me for having an unventilated flame out.” He set the pizzas down on a metal plates on lazy Susans and pulled out a lighter from a pocket in his apron. With a wink, he lit the torch with a flash of fire before it settled down into a more controllable blue flame. He gave the pizzas a few spins, letting the chicken get a little scorched on the surface and the onions shrivel as all the moisture was vaporized out of them.
It was very much a flex, and Skizz was all for it. He gave some polite golf claps. “Bravo, sir. Very cool. I won’t snitch you out to the food inspectors, or whoever.”
The pizza was quickly sliced and put into cardboard boxes. With the warning sign and black and yellow hazard theming, it looked like he’d ordered radioactive material. Pizza Man slid the boxes across the counter to Skizz, placing a white paper bag on top.
“Here you go, and have some garlic bread on me.”
“Oh you don’t need to do that, man!”
“No, it’s early in the day, and it’s a slow on top of that. Plus it’s like, a dollar of ingredients, it’s not breaking the bank.” When all Skizz did was look at the paper bag, the man sighed and said. “Just take it.”
“If you’re sure,” Skizz said. “Anyways, thanks for the food. I’ll probably be back soon!”
“Thanks for the business! I appreciate you enjoying it!” The man smiled in a way that crinkled around his eyes.
The peeps at the shop had eyed the Grecian pizza a little warily, but once Stress declared it ‘aces’, the rest trusted their taste and it was received very well. He hadn’t had that sour type of Greek potato in a while, and now Skizz was regretting not getting anything else to share. Maybe next time.
Skizz saved the garlic bread (it was Texas toast, god bless America) for himself later that night when he was home from work. After sitting in the bag all day, a good toast in the pan had brought it back to near top form. It wasn’t life-changing, but it was free garlic bread, what more could a guy ask for?