Thinking Dirty Thoughts...

...about PIZZA.

Yep, here I am, lying in bed, unable to sleep, with a hard-drive full of quality pr0n, and all I can think about it how damn good dinner was a few hours ago.

Rob and I hooked up with 'Lars Vegas' over at Grimaldi's last night, and the second visit was every bit as spectacular as the first. I can still say it with supreme confidence--Grimaldi's is far and away the best pizza I've ever eaten. There just aren't enough superlatives in my thesaurus to do a decent job of relating the culinary awesomeness that we experienced.

I went with pepperoni and Italian sausage this time around, Lars had sausage and onion, and Rob went with ham and onion. All three were amazingly good.

The crust--perfect. Who knew that something so simple could be so wonderful? The sauce--if tomatoes have feelings, the ones that get sent to the Ragu jars have *got* to be bitterly jealous. Only the best and brightest land on a Grimaldi's pie. The cheese--Oh dear God if you've never had fresh-made buffalo mozzarella, you have no idea what you're missing. The slightly smoky/buttery combination is a taste you simply have to experience at some point before you depart this mortal coil, especially when it's paired up with such heavenly ingredients as we were privy to.

Did I mention the fresh basil?

I could go on and on, but I'm sure I sound like a huge enough dork already.

I think Rob summed it up best, about three hours after we'd finished dinner, when he verbalized what we were all still thinking about. Twelve inch pie, Sixteen inch pie, Eighteen incher--it doesn't matter how big of a pizza they set in front of me. I will eat the whole thing!

And he was right. I killed that entire sixteen incher in front of me like a hungry shark tearing into a fur seal, and stopped just short of licking the pan.

Grimaldi's is that good. I'm not exaggerating one bit.

Once we ran out of pizza and settled the tab, we headed off to relax with fine cigars and adult beverages. We ended up out on the back patio at Chilly Palmer's, enjoying the outdoor fireplace and space heaters that took the edge off of the cold night. Lars worked on emptying their stocks of good single-barrel Scotch, Rob kept the bartender busy making Black & Tans, and I made sure that none of the rum they had on hand would go stale. We also smoked six cigars between us, one of mine being a Cuban Monte Cristo that put a smile on my face that lasted longer than the one I was sporting that night I spent a half-hour in the VIP room at the Palamino Club with that smokin' hot Asian gal.

Basically, me and my boys were living the Good Life, if only for a few hours.

Good food, good booze, good company, and good conversation--it just doesn't get much better than that. And it was just what I needed. It felt like I'd crammed a weeks vacation into just a few hours.

I can't wait to do it again.

The plans have been laid. The next time around will feature rib eyes on the grill, more cigars from that Worker's Paradise just south of Key West, and a bottle of Scotch that's old enough to vote.

Some days it's good to be Mikey. This was one of those days.