Next I stood in line half an hour to see what Marxism could do to street-vendor pizza. It did not disappoint. The word cottony is sometimes used to describe bad pizza dough, but there is every reason to believe this pizza was really made of the stuff, or maybe a polyester blend.
The slice-- more accurately, lump-- had no tomato whatsoever and was covered in a semiviscous imitation mozzarella, remarkably un-chese-like even for a coal-tar by-product. Then there was the sausage topping. One bite brought a flood of nostalgia. Nobody who's been through a fraternity initiation will ever forget this taste, this smell. It was dog food.
P.J. O'Rourke describing a visit to East Berlin.
[Nobody who’s been through a fraternity initiation will ever forget this taste, this smell. It was dog food. ]