I've begged and I've begged, but to no avail. I told Sal and Carmine my wife had a broken leg. They wouldn't budge. They wouldn't deliver. I've had the following imaginary conversation with Sal and Carmine many times. "But Sal," I plead, "you make one of the best slices in Manhattan. I mean, it's not even close. I love your charred crust, your sauce, your full-cream mozzarella. Do you know how many of your slices I've eaten in the past 24 years!"
I do a quick calculation. "Fifteen hundred. I've eaten fifteen hundred of your slices, and if you used fresh mushrooms instead of canned, that number would have easily doubled."
No dice on the fresh mushrooms and no dice on the deliveries.