It was definitely a rule violation. Mojo and I had spent a busy morning shopping at Target and fussing at the house. I thought we'd get some lunch before heading back to Strongsville to watch the Mets and Indians on ESPN play a spring training game.

Mojo made me drive past the McDonalds because it had no playground. So I drove to the next cluster of shops. There were several fast food options here: a Breugger's Bagels, a Quiznos, a Panera. Surely Mojo would like something. There was even a small pizzeria which I considered a last resort -- foraging as I was in one of the many strip malls that leaven the pasty flavorless heart of Wonder-Bread America, I considered it a meta-physical certainty that the pizza there would be mediocre at best and likely much worse.

But of course, Mojo didn't want a sandwich. So I walked dejectedly into Capri Pizza. The lunch special was two slices and a drink. Perfect. I would feed Mojo while fighting down a slice of my own.

But a strange thing happened when we got the food to the table. The pizza was good. Not Ohio good; Brooklyn good. I couldn't believe it. I got another slice -- sicilian. Good stuff. I congratulated the guy behind the counter on a job well done. I took a menu. Because we will be back.

I had broken the Ohio Pizza Rule (which is itself authorized by an increasingly destabilized constitution of NYC-snobbery). And for it I was rewarded handsomely.