Mama Mia! Pizza in the Parking Lot

Is what you see what you get when you visit one of the joints featured on the Food Network show Diners, Drive-In and Dives? That's the question we set out to answer while in Knoxville, Tenn., for Homecoming 2009 at the University of Tennessee. We had copies of Guy Fieri's books, which are based on the TV show. Guy raved about the freshness of the pizza dough - made from yeast and flour and left to rise overnight, none of this frozen business at Pizza Palace. Totally authentic, made-from-scratch Italian food, he said, made by the sons of the original founders, who were Greeks. But would we find the same thing? After all, having Guy Fieri at your drive-in could mean that he gets the absolute best. How would we fare, a carload of Texans? We picked up our own College Guy (age 20) and found our way to the Magnolia Avenue parking lot, where you really do pick up the phone and yes, order a pizza.

We asked for two things, based on Guy Fieri's lead: pizza (with pepperoni, that's the way my son Hunter rolls) and onion rings, which arrived covered in an amusing, tall foil wrap that made them look like a beehive. The verdict? Yes, s'wonderful. I've tasted a lot of pizza crusts in my day, and the difference in this version was remarkably fresh. All of us talked about the cheese, too, as good as if they'd made it on the premises, from goat's milk given by willing goats in the back yard. It was hot, it was cheesy, it was saucy, I could only eat two slices - it's that rich. Ever notice how with mediocre pizzas, you eat more than you should to fulfill a craving that never gets satisfied?

Onion rings - it's a bigger order than 3 of us could handle - and needed salt but that's personal preference. If you get 'em, bring a crowd to share them.

Our server wanted to know where we were from, since locals don't usually sit in the parking lot; they come inside. The seating is quite limited there, so you decide. I did march in and shout "ef-haristo" (Greek for "nice to meet you!"), but the new owners were in the back, behind the scenes. The line staff gave me a big smile and a wave, knowing I meant well.

Go again? Yes, definitely. Fresh taste, high funk factor, friendly staff, what's not to love?

Fieri told you so, and I concur.

Home Sweet Home

The tuba guys from Tennessee arrive in 2 days to share in the madcap milieu that is Texas-OU Weekend, so now it's time to marshal those "do ahead" recipes that are the lifesaver of pearl-wearing moms everywhere.

I wouldn't think of opening the front door without a big supply of chili, barbecue, queso, cold drinks, salty chips and bacon standing by. When my Young Prince and his friends march in, there'll be a new batch of what I call "Ooey Gooeys," my son's favorite sweet treat. Every kid has one, and this "bar type" confection is Hunter's. I use the recipe from Bon Appetit, called "Chocolate Caramel Oat Squares," a name which accurately describes the thing but fails to capture the rich, chewy, ooeeness of this little gem. What's not to love when you introduce chocolate to caramel and throw them on a buttery brown sugar and oatmeal bed? This is a Tailgate Treasure.

A word here about recipe permissions: Jeanne and I have publishing backgrounds, so we always strive to respect the creative intellectual property of others - that is - we publish recipes here that belong to us, we've received permission to use or are available to you online via links to sites we trust. The actual brown sugar crusted, sticky, chocolaty recipe in my July 1992 Bon Appetit is not available as of this writing (what I'm saying is, the pages are stuck together, even if I DID have permission to use the recipe). But I've located virtually the same approach for Ooey Goeys on Cooks.com.

Get to know this crowd-pleaser. It stores brilliantly in the fridge or freezer and travels well if you keep it out of El Sol - it really goos out if you make this misstep.

I carried a box of Gooeys up to Tennessee (do not confuse them with Goo Goo Clusters, available in every Cracker Barrel wherever you roam) one Saturday in the fall and handed them off to my son, to take to the band hall. What a joy it was to walk into a rehearsal room and have the tubas spontaneously shout "Thank you, Mrs. Mamma Mia," in that delicious, obsequious Eddy Haskell tone. Seriously, they polished them off.

This is the treat that mysteriously vanishes the moment you make it known you've got some. My mother had a culprit she used to blame in these occasions. She called these nameless brigands the "Poco Pico Mites." I'm already suspecting these snatchers are circling the kitchen, and the guys aren't even across the state line yet.