A note on the menu indicates that the pizzas are all 12 inches. A "Plain-Cheese" pizza is just $1.15 and every topping is twenty cents more. The most expensive pie is the "Twin Trees Delux," ringing in at a whopping $1.65 for sausage, mushrooms, onions, peppers and anchovies. Pepperoni is an option, but a letter from the owner tells me it wasn't on the menu when he started making pizzas in 1962. My favorite detail is the spelling of "muzzarella," which hints at the Rescignano family's pronunciation.
The development of the pizza wheel is much more schizophrenic than its larger counterpart, but its principle is identical. The wheel uses the same perpendicular impact method to puncture its prey but does so with a circular blade rather than the more cumbersome long blade of the mezzaluna. As previously mentioned, there was no need to quickly dice up a pizza into even units until slice culture rolled around in the middle of the 20th century. At that time, simple table knives were used to divide pies (ie Delorenzo's Tomato Pies in Trenton) but powerful alternatives lurked within unrelated industries. In the case of the pizza wheel, it all starts with wallpaper.
When I first stepped behind the business side of the counter, I felt an immediate sense of achievement. It was the realization of a dream I never knew I had. As a kid, I always admired the guys behind the pizza counter more than the ones making the pies.
My first delivery didn't go very well. I forgot the credit card receipt and a 2 liter bottle of soda. I had no option other than to run back to the Big D for the missing goods and get back on the road. If the "30 minutes or it's free" guarantee hadn't been nixed due to several major auto accidents in the 1990s, I would have been in deep doo-doo.