If I had a nipple for every time . . . oh, fuck, I've used this metaphor already. Okay, those stinkin' non-vegans, they never shut up about it: "Pizza without cheese? What's the point?" Well, you might ask yourself a complementary question: "Pizza in New Orleans? What's the point?" If you've come here for the pizza, I say, get ready for some punishment, Monsieur Masochist. Nevertheless, this is one of kittee's favorite foods, so we regularly brave the bullets whizzing by, the drunk drivers busting through red lights (in New Orleans, just so you know, it doesn't matter if the light is green, yellow, red, or white, non-Hispanic -- you call it a red light), and the Palmetto bugs the size of Ron Jeremy's member in search of what we know will be underachieving dough-sauce-vegetable food. But you know what, it doesn't even matter, brother, New Orleans is still the greatest, grandest city in the world! At least that's what New Orleanians think. The real question is what should a painter paint. The thing which one can't locate. That's what Mr. Jasper says anyway.
Our New York pizza snob friend Mr. Billy likes to say, If you want some good matzo, go to Rocky's. Well, the whole wheat crust that we get is a bit on the er, um, crackery side, to put it politely, but this is still our favorite pizza parlor, and it can be yours, too. Here's what you do. Order a Big Al's Roasted Garlic or a Farmer's Market with the red sauce. If you don't specify the red sauce, you may end up with the non-vegan white sauce or no sauce at all. Tell 'em to hold all the cheese--mozzarella, feta, all of it--and substitute olive salad (pickled olives, carrots, cauliflower and spices in oil). Then mow down that pizza and guzzle a glass or pitcher of one of the many varieties of the fine local Abita beer. If you're getting poorer while The Man gets richer--or even if you are The Man-- remember that all food tastes better after you don't eat for two days.
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