I suspect that my family is not unique in the way in which Pepe's has taken on a near-mythic significance. I suppose it might be different if my brother and I still lived in New Haven and could decide to go – or not to go – to Pepe's on any given Saturday night. But from the perspective of Texas or Nevada, a week-long New Haven Hajj is nothing if it doesn't include a visit to Wooster Street. Or two. Or three.

I know that many other people feel the same way. One need only read through the heartfelt Pepe paeans at pizzatherapy.com to understand how pervasive the Pepe reputation really is.

When my parents visit me in Nevada, or my brother Carl in Texas, they always make a stop on Wooster Street a few days before their flight. The clam pies are then frozen and packed in an insulated container (constructed by my father) with enough dry ice to keep the clams safe and secure for cross-country travel. For a few months afterwards I can pop a piece of clam pie into the toaster oven, and create a virtual-reality Wooster Street right here in Reno.

If Pepe's were to tap into this widely-dispersed market, I'm sure they could have a successful web-based business plan. For example, my daughter Elana's favorite part of the yearly Pepe ritual, the Foxon Park White Birch Beer soda, is now available for ordering on the web. But making ah-peets so easily available might take a hit on the Pepe mystique. And besides, dry ice DOES create problems. Just ask my dad, who found himself in an argument at the airport with a Homeland Security officer about the terrorist potential of a frozen clam pie with dry ice.

My brother and I have evolved our own Pepe's family ritual, a (mostly) friendly rivalry of clam pie coup-counting. I think it all began when, after a visit to Pepe's without my brother, I bought him a Pepe's t-shirt and mailed it to him with no note. He apparently took this the wrong way, as the next time he was in Connecticut without me he called from my parent's home in West Haven to explain how good the pizza was that night. I upped the ante on my next visit, and called him from Pepe's pay phone and asked him if he could tell where I was from the background noise. The introduction of the cell phone has made all this much easier; last year I called him from our booth, held the phone down next to the pizza, and asked him if he could recognize the aroma.

But it's all in good taste.