We Don't Need No Stinkin' Pizza!

Strolling through San Francisco's Fishermans Wharf, I spotted the latest food gimmick, "Stinkin' Pizza", a couple of blocks from the birthplace of the now-ubiquitous clam chodwer in a sourdough bowl.  It made sense that Stinkin' Pizza was housed downstairs from the Franciscan Restaurant, owned by the same group as The Stinking Rose, the North Beach restaurant with a monopoly on garlic schtick.  I had to cross this one off my "been there, done that" list so I blew $4 on a rectangular slice, and ate it under the envious gaze of a bunch of seagulls.  I haven't fetishized pizza since my old New York days (when I knew when to hold 'em and knew when to fold 'em) so I have no insightful analyses to offer, other than the fact it was tasty, light (down to the thick, fluffy crust) and the garlic (five cloves) was good.  Garlic is good.