To me there’s nothing new about crazy cab drivers. After growing up with a dad who once worked as one and then spending the last year of my life in New York, the world capital of lunatic cabbies, I’m hardly fazed by them. But taking food recommendations from one? Well that was new for me.
Recently while a friend and I tried to get across town, we were picked up by the clear textbook definition of a screwy cab driver. Muttering under his breath the whole ride, he blasted around corners and flew up and down San Francisco’s hilly streets like only someone who wasn’t aware they had the world’s most carsickness-prone passenger in the backseat would think of doing. He grumbled that we were making him late for his shift change and said he’d have to pay a fee because of us… again, all the while driving like a man with a death wish. But before all of that, within the first couple of minutes of our harrowing ride, he looked into the rear view mirror and asked if we’d mind if he made a quick stop.
“This pizza place that I really like is right around the corner, so I should go while I’m over here. You girls don’t mind, right?”
“Uhm, no, it’s cool,” we said, not wanting to upset the crazy person whose car we were sitting in.
“Great! You ever been to Golden Boy? It’s good pizza. You should check it out.”
He drove over to Golden Boy, a small walk-up joint and came out a few minutes later with a Coke and a pizza, which yes, he proceeded to eat as he barrel-assed through town.
When we got out, the last thing on my mind was pizza. I was more concerned with gaging how weirded out my friend (and any other people around us) would be if I suddenly puked on the sidewalk. But days later, when I sat hungry in my room, not in the mood to put anything together for dinner, I thought of the kooky cabbie and his pizza suggestion.
Golden Boy is just a few blocks away so I walked over to check it out and found a line of people out the front door. I got in line and looked at the giant pans of rectangular pizza lined up against the window while I waited. There appeared to be cheese, pepperoni, sausage, something green (which I later found out was pesto), and one with a whole bunch of toppings piled on top. Normally, I tend to like my pizzas on the simple side (no more than two toppings and even then they should be complementary like ham and pineapple) but only one pizza looked like it had just recently come out of the oven. So although I’m not an “everything” kind of girl, the thick swirls of steam billowing up from the combination pizza made me go for that one. Sausage, pepperoni, zucchini, tomato and onion. Yea, it was a little ridiculous. Slightly greasy and definitely overloaded. But you know what? That cab driver was right. It was pretty damn good.