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After a busy day of scurrying all over northwestern Indiana and Chicago, my brother and I settled into our accommodations at the Palmer House Hotel and rested for a bit. My older brother is one of those guys who likes to have the television on constantly, and he had it tuned—bizarrely—to CNN (I guess he wanted to go for that “waiting-at-the-doctor’s-office” or “sitting-at-an-airport-concourse” feel). We were in Chicago right after President Biden’s disastrous glitching out during his debate with President Trump, and it was interesting seeing how desperate the CNN anchors and pundits were. The Democratic Governors met and announced their support for Biden, and it reminded me of how much work Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer—the one who the FBI plotted to kidnap to pin it on Republicans—has had done.
I showered the grime of Gotham and CNN from my doughy body and put on my best (and, I’ll hasten to add, only) Mickey Mouse t-shirt, and we went to Pizano’s Pizza and Pasta for dinner, a short walk from out hotel room. Pizano’s obviously serves Chicago deep dish pizza, but they also feature “Chicago Tavern Style,” which I thought Pizza Hut made up as part of a recent advertising campaign (apparently, it’s real).
It turns out that Chicago Tavern Style is not just a clever marketing ploy by a formerly renowned national pizza franchise; it’s actually a Chicagoan innovation to pizza. Basically, it’s the happy medium between, say, New York Style and Chicago Style slices. The crust is a bit thicker, with a doughier quality than New York Style, but not so thick that it’s like eating a lasagna, a la Chicago Style.
Here’s a handy picture to illustrate:
Wouldn’t you love to wake up in the morning to this fat man serving you pizza?
My brother described the crust as “redolent of the oiliness of a Pizza Hut Personal Pan Pizza from the Nineties,” which is the perfect description. We ordered the “Jeweler’s Special” (the Loop is the old jewelers district in Chicago), which came with sausage and giardiniera. Giardiniera is the blend of various peppers and carrots that Chicagoans put on their hot dogs.
The pie was delicious, but too spicy. Keen observers will note the sheen of sweat on my massive forehead. That wasn’t just because of my excess portliness; the peppers were causing sweat to pour down my face.
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The Portly Politico 