The earliest memory I have of eating pizza is with my parents at a place called Longhitano’s in the northern suburbs of Philadelphia. I was probably four or five at the time, so it would have been around ’69 or ’70.
Longhitano’s still exists, although it’s moved around a few times since then. I was pleased to find out a few years ago that it’s back within a stone-throw of where it was when I first ate there. I went there with my wife. It’s not up there with what I’ve had in Connecticut or even with the best I’ve eaten Philly in recent years, but I still enjoyed it. They put the sauce over the cheese in circles around the pie.