My first memories of beautiful, beautiful pizza had to do with working at my dad's record store in St. Louis when I was about 12. I worked with him every Saturday, straightening (he took full advantage of his daughter's OCD tendencies!), listening to the newest '45s that came in during the week, and dipping into the till for breakfast and lunch at Woolworth's lunch counter. All for the lordly salary of 25 cents a day...and still he probably lost money on the deal. After a long day of work, on the drive home we'd stop at Caruso's Pizzaria and pick up a bacon pizza (c'mon now, this was the 1950's in the bacony midwest!). The 20-minute ride home from Caruso's was sheer agony, the car filled with the aroma of fresh hot pizza goodness. Then we'd finally get home, dig in, and discuss the day's business with the family. Nothing could have been more delicious! Wonder if Caruso's is still there!

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