Sazza

Last week, I stopped in alone on a quiet night and ordered the winter seasonal special: a purple-potato pizza made with Peruvian purple mountain potatoes, sliced thin as paper, touched with cracked black pepper and laid across a bed of cheese studded with roasted chicken, sliced apples and bacon. I meant to eat one slice, but then had two, then three. There was something about the combination of the potato starch, the sweet apple, the savory chicken and the balance of flavors against the weight of the crust. The bacon didn't hurt, either. But what surprised me most was that, far from raging against this kind of thing — about as far from the pizzas of my childhood as could possibly be imagined — I actually found myself enjoying it.