We go eat pizza at Nancy Silverton’s place, stopping by on our way back from Pasadena. They sell pizza by weight here at Triple Beam; you point to a pizza, tell them how much to cut; and they weigh it. We get a piece of every single pizza offered. We also get cannolis. And wine.
We go back into the stupidly long queue for more of the mushroom pizza because we agree — it’s really fucking good.
I didn’t even like mushrooms until last May.