We bought our house from someone I knew–by sheer coincidence. To make a long story short, James and I were buying in a hot seller’s market (has it ever really changed, Toronto?) and I was going out of town when my collague’s listing when up. I recognized the house because certain rooms were featured in a magazine we both worked for (I know, I’m lucky) but there was no time to touch base with her and we weren’t sure we were making an offer anyway. I saw it once, that night, and 4 days later while I was still away on business, James bought the house from her and her partner–they were as excited to learn I was going to be the one moving in as I was to buy their well-loved home.
She was a food editor (the house was built in 1912 and I often wonder if the kitchen was always inhabited and inherited by eager cooks!) so when they left behind a few takeout menus, I knew they had to be clues to the best little spots in the neighbourhood. The one that stood out, for its simplicity, was a one-sided, one-colour photocopied leaflet to Danforth Pizza House. No website, only a handful of ingredients and certainly nothing but pizza on offer. As you might expect by the sounds of the flyer, Danforth Pizza house has no delivery service and quite frankly, you need to order long before you start to get hungry. Because most nights, the little pizzeria, with its pizza ovens that take up almost as much room as its modest dining area, is run entirely by one slight, white-haired, masterful pizzaiolo–so the pizza tends to take a little time. You’d be happy to wait after your first time. It’s not the pizza I crave when I want a thin-crust, “Neopolitan-style” pizza, but it’s the kind I often crave: the large white box with a perfect, cheesy pizza inside and a generous ladle of an absolutely delicious, just-slightly-sweet sauce–this is the one I’ve been talking about. If you have a chance, you really should visit.