Mystic pizza

YEARS AGO, I saw a real entertainer, a movie called "Mystic Pizza", with Julia Roberts in the lead. The title comes back to my mind when I now see the Indianisation of a non-gourmet starter, with its origins in Italy. More precisely, the pizza as a world-wide phenomenon comes out of Little Italy, in New York. Who would know a pizza today if it had not been Americanised and hugely adopted by that country and its food giants to make it universal. My early exposure to it was in New York. Not in Italy, which I eventually visited, and found its pizzas to be rather heavy on the crust and too liberal with olive oil. The little Pizzeria down the road where I was staying in New York had an original Sicilian who owned the place, hand-crafted the pizza, cleaned up and eventually closed for winter. Yes, that is exactly what he did.

After getting a taste of his delicious thin crusted pizza, which dripped with mozzarella, and was speckled with the most divine black olives and had a mixed aroma of Parmesan, Oregano, and sun- dried tomatoes, one imagined that this connection was for ever. Luigi, that was his name, was an artist, an acrobat, a dancer, a singer (he did a pretty good Pavarotti when the mood was good). All these talents were harnessed to create the ideal pizza. Crowds of children, and Indian girls in saris stopped to stare at him as they passed by, while he threw the rolled out dough to spin in the air like a rumali roti turned into a flying saucer. It was sheer Italian pasta delight. When I went back in winter for more of the same, the shutters were down. The query, where's the pizza, got an answer from a next door vendor : ``In winter the pizza flys away''. Obviously, the Sicilian was away in his sunny island. Then came the multinational food giants who chained the pizza. Identical eateries served identical pizzas from Saskatchewan to Singapore. Nothing in these places are handmade. No clay ovens, no fresh olives. Standard sizes come out of standard electric ovens, with standard cheese and tomato forming the foundation for other toppings. Everybody was happy. Until the Indians became world travellers. For the palates that had been spiced from childhood, all food beyond the seas tasted too bland. Thus the pizza became a favourite. Seeing so many vegetarian bus loads gorging on the stuff, the shrewd multinationals, quickly appointed random Indians hanging out there in America to top marketing jobs and told them: Open shops in India.

Are you surprised then that battling with overcrowded streets filled with autos, buses, lorries, etc., you now have to give way to the pizza delivery boys? I see any number of ways it is spelt in the vernacular. Some call it Peesa, others call it Pitcha. I tried to tell someone it is Pete (as in Sampras) and Zaa (as in Czar). I suppose in Calcutta they are calling it Beeshaw. What's in a name, the pizza has come to India to stay. What is more, it has been Indianised, with all sorts of toppings. Although I am yet to see an ad for pizza sprinkled with molaga podi, everything else is there. Not surprising if you consider that MacDonalds in Paddington are advertising Tandoori McChicken burghers and chicken tikka nuggets.

We Indians can proudly claim that we have brought the food giants to their knees. Our pizza is really a mystic pizza.

LAKSHMI VISWANATHAN

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