After a nice night overlooking Payne Lake in the Talladega National Forest I thought I’d go take a look around Tuscaloosa. I was hungry so I decided to treat myself to some pizza which I love, but hadn’t had even a slice for months.

The portmanteau name TuscNY Handmade Pizza caught my eye. You never know where you're going to find a good pizza. In fact the best pizza I ever had was in a laundry / car wash / shower room / pizza parlor in Phillips, Montana, while fishing with Ron. 

The parking lot at TuscNY was just about empty, but it was 11:30 on a Sunday the week after Christmas so I didn’t take that as a warning against the place or the food. Just a lucky opportunity.

I got to the front door simultaneously with a family of five and held it open for them. I was in no rush. There was a sign asking you to wait for the hostess to seat you, but there seemed to be only a single young guy behind the counter preparing food. Finally he looked up and said, “Oh, just sit anywhere and call out when you’re ready to order.”

 The family urged me to go first and since the lunch special of two slices and a drink for $10 was only available on weekdays, I ordered the smallest pie, a 12-inch pepperoni, and a sweet tea. I went into the Men’s to wash up and they had a sink with a faucet that didn’t pour the water directly onto your hands, but into a little spillway so it was like washing your hands in a small waterfall. 

The dining room was modern and clean and there was a desert cooler with some good looking cheese cake and cannolis. There was a separate bar with a couple of TV screens and a large wine rack. The TVs were muted but one seemed to have a rodeo on and the other had a wine-tasting show that actually had captions running beneath a guy swirling a vintage liquid vigorously and sniffing.

 My pie came and it looked great. Just the right proportions of cheese and sauce and pepperoni slices. There is a perfect formula.  I let it cool and looked up at the rodeo for a second, but now a cowboy in a black hat was trashing a hotel room in a blind fury. What in the world?

I took my first bite and the crust crackled as I bit into it. It had a thin base and a light airy edge. A great pizza and not just because I hadn’t had one in months. I took the time to enjoy every bite, occasionally looking up to see what was going on with the cowboys. Now there was a black cowboy preparing to ride a bull and the wine taster was still swirling and sniffing with the closed captions occasionally reporting things like "raspberry" or "black licorice." 

The pizza chef on his way back from serving the family stopped to ask if everything was good. I said it sure was, in fact it was delicious. I was planning to take half with me for later, but I just kept eating. The cowboy had ridden a bull successfully to the adoration of his cheering parents, son, and wife — all in slow motion.  On the other set, “Hazelnut - summer peat - vanilla” and more vigorous swirling.

 I returned to my pie eating and kept going until not a crust was left. I looked up and the black hatted cowboy was getting married, then the black cowboy was getting married, too. Simultaneous marriages like synchronized diving — split screen. The sommelier was still swirling and sniffing.

I tidied up my table and walked to the register behind the desserts which still looked great, but I had just finished a 12-inch pizza.  There was a fellow picking up a to go order ahead of me so I went to the Men’s and washed my hands under the waterfall.

When I came out the guy picking up was gone and I got out my card and set it on the counter to pay up. The pizza chef gave me this goofy smile and pushed my card back to me and said, “You’re good.”

 Now I really was adrift. I didn’t pick up my card at first, but looked at him and he was still smiling — maybe blissfully? Finally, I slowly picked up my card and thanked him sincerely, but not effusively for the delicious pizza. And I left.

  I drove to the University of Alabama football stadium and parked where I could admire the large elephant statue in front of the stadium on University Avenue. Or is it a mastodon? It's named Tusk.

Sitting there, I was thinking that I really should have gone back in and gotten more information about that free pizza. Was it simply a good deed? Was it a spiritual practice? Was giving away a 12-inch pizza every day a little work on the karma? Did I give off such an appreciative aura while eating that my enjoyment was so noticeable that it deserved to be rewarded? Was I moaning with pleasure? Was there a red star on the register slip? The millionth customer?

I was baffled, but I decided the thanks was appropriate and enough. Don’t look a gift pizza in the mouth. I’ll give TuscNY my best review — just full of stars, but I won’t mention they give their pizzas away. Maybe the boss reads those reviews.

But what was with the rodeo soap opera and the wine swirler?

I think this pizza moved into a tie for my personal best of all time and as you can see for me, context is just as important as the elasticity of the dough or the proportions of the topping. I’ll always remember Tuscaloosa for it. 

  Roll Tide.