This has been a rough week in Red Sox Nation. Our favourite coach is gone. Five others followed. The losing, naturally, stayed right where it was, dependable as ever.

So I did what any loyal fan with questionable judgment would do and made a quick trip to Toronto to see my boys play. I am a Red Sox fan until death do us part, and likely well beyond, which means I willingly walked into a stadium full of Blue Jays fans knowing exactly how this story ends.

But first, a small act of self-preservation.

Before subjecting myself to nine innings of emotional erosion, we went to Pizzeria Badiali, the neighbourhood pizza shop that has been hyped into near legend as the best slice in Toronto. There is always a lineup, which usually means something between excellent and overblown. We preordered, because even hope needs structure.

We ordered the Vodka Pie, a 16 inch situation with spicy vodka rosé sauce, fior di latte, pecorino, padano, Sicilian oregano, plus a generous side of green garlic ranch dip. At this point, subtlety had already left the building.

And then the pizza arrived, and everything else, including the upcoming baseball game, briefly lost relevance. (more…)