On a wintry day in January 2005, I walked into a pizza shop in (Uptown?) Minneapolis and ordered a slice. “Got any oregano? Where’s the oregano?” I asked the startled 😱 pizza clerk, who immediately dropped dead 😵 in surprise. The next pizza place I went to was sit-down. “Oregano?” I asked. Kid looked at me like I’d just arrived from Mars 👽 . He strutted off like a weirded out peacock 🦚 and came back from the kitchen with probably $30 of Oregano in a bowl. Minnesota, so close to Chicago, so far from Italy. 🇮🇹 I salute 🫡— nay, I BOW 🙇♂️— to the folks who put oregano in easy reach of their pizza 🍕. Long-winded way of saying: Where in the good and holy name of Saint Paul am I eating a very late lunch?