Jessep continues...
Son, we live in a world that has pizza, and that pizza has to be made by men with passion. Who's gonna do it? You? You, SPIN! Pizza? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Lombardi’s, and you curse the bloggers. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That pointing out bad restaurants, while tragic, probably saves the art. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves the art.
You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me making that pie, you need me making that pie. We use words like char, cornice, crumb. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent perfecting something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the banner of the beautiful pizza that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a peel, and man an oven. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to.
