I went to California Pizza, a token late-night post-drinking stop for many Drexel students, sober last weekend. Well, I was hung over, and having not ingested the grease swamp the night before, my stomach and pounding head were craving it. I got my signature "small plain, well-done," and sat down at the granite tabletop with my plastic knife and fork to begin. Even in the daytime, it's drunk pizza - cheesier than it is saucy - with grease pooling in the mozzarella crevices. Prepared with a studied carelessness - no heart, no soul, no real skill. While delicious and serving perfectly its purpose in the wee hours of morning (as in 3 am), it’s take out pizza. Not first date pizza. Not birthday dinner pizza. In its greatness, it just simply, is.

I felt my hangover begin to wane as I polished off my third slice – not exactly “the hair of the dog that bit me,” but surely its cousin twice-removed. Once again, drunk-pizza was just what I needed.

I returned to my house with two leftover slices in a to-go box and my roommate gave me the stink eye. “We're getting pizza later!" she shouted. We were going to Zavino, a new pizza and wine bar in the Gayborhood, conveniently across the street from another wine bar, Vintage. "I know," I told her. "I’m not backing out, but that's like, nice pizza. Very different.”

As the taxi hit every light on the way downtown, I wondered if I should call the newly opened place to tell them we'd be a few minutes late for our reservation (taken only for parties of six or more). I decided against giving them the "we'll be 8 minutes late"-update because I remembered that, well, it was still a pizza place. Not a minute later, my phone rang, asking where Emily's party was.

We had to squint across the bar to see the menu, written on huge chalk boards that slid the length of the bar, like the library ladders I’ve always dreamed of gliding on, just the same as squinting across the sticky countertop to read the fluorescent back-lit plastic wall menus in basic pizza shops. But Zavino wasn't a Cali Pizza, or a Mad Greeks, or a Steve's Pizza or Corner Pizza.

Zavino had nice wooden chairs and fancy, dimmed lighting. They offered us still OR sparkling water, which requires a rant of its own. At what point does a pizza-serving restaurant enter the “water-option crowd?” When their toppings extend beyond pepperoni? When they add seafood or meat dishes?

It’s evident that not all “water-option” pizza joints are the same, in theory or in practice. Zavino is, literally, a wine bar that also turns out pies and random small plates. Pizzaria Stella offers fewer beverage choices but boasts a salad and antipasti-laden larger menu, somewhat similar to Cichetteria 19 (formerly Di Vino Wine Bar), though the latter also features panini. If we want to open the category up to “water-option” eateries that happen to serve pizzas, new Apollinare (formerly Vino) in NoLibs is a player, though sits bench on the “white linen table cloth” team. Dining at Osteria will grant you the H2O choice and pizza list, but you’re also left considering boar legs and chicken liver rigatoni.

For the indecisive, basic pizza bars offer a supportive environment. It’s therapeutic, really – I go, and there aren’t 32 pizzas to choose from or 17 salads, so I don’t have to eeny-meeny-miny-mo too many times. And I’ll be satisfied with my choice, since there are fewer items on the menu for the chefs to really master, further fostering my decisiveness. The more I hit up pizza bars, the more my condition will improve - I'll take it.

And if I don’t want veggies on my pizza, I can get my fill as a side at these places. But such sides are not the drunk-pizza-place side items. Vegetable options include more than jalapeño poppers.

Take Zavino - I tried their Romanesco: broccoli roasted and served with golden raisins and pine nuts, which looked, let’s just say, what broccoli would look like if one had taken a hallucinogenic. And with explosive flavors that shocked and pleased, let’s say again, as though one had taken a hallucinogenic. Would a “drunk pizza” place serve such a thing? Would we want Romanesco if we were heavily intoxicated? Would we get Romanesco “to-go” as we would half-a-dozen wings? Not Likely.

There's also the pizza size component. No 16-inchers at the sit-down, water-option spots - let alone a 36-inch South Street Lorenzo's pie. Baby 12-inch flying saucers with charred edges and carefully chosen toppings based on flavor, color, and texture. Big enough to share, or small enough to scarf down yourself. This also allows you to be selfish. He wants The Philly – béchamel, provolone, roasted onion and bresaola, but you’re lactose intolerant and don’t eat meat. No worries, your type has been considered, and there’s a pie just for you – the Rosa. There is care in the planning, care in the topping, and care in the baking.

And if at 2 am when Zavino closes, you’re Cabernet or Dogfish Head induced drunk-pizza yearning is calling you - by all means - Cali and Village pizza will be waiting. The world needs both - and so do you.

Emily Callaghan is managing editor of Table Matters and a graduate of Drexel University. Her work has appeared in Philadelpia Magazine, The Philadelphia Inquirer and TheSmartSet.com.

Article photograph from mccun934, via Flickr (Creative Commons), "Eat Drink Philly" photograph from suvodeb, via Flickr (Creative Commons), "Philly" photograph from camardella, via Flickr (Creative Commons).