I don’t understand why there aren’t macaroni & cheese parlors dotting the American landscape. You’d have your Kraft elbow mac places, not to mention higher-priced Annie’s eateries, with their little shells and no-preservative, genuine powdered cheddar.

Checking out a Federal Hill institution, Sicilia’s Pizzeria, got me thinking about this. There’s no kid in the country, after all, who doesn’t love pizza (well, the continental United States — teenagers in Maui might smush out poi and sprinkle on toppings). There’s something about food lusts acquired early, before the hormones kick in and distract us, that lasts a lifetime. Pizza is such a personal taste. For everybody who swears by a particular place’s offering, there’s someone else who will swear at it.

I don’t care much for Sicilia’s crust. There, I said it. I’ve encountered the praise of people who say it’s the best they’ve ever had, tasty as biscuits. Me, I’m a Jersey boy, so I like my pizza dough high-gluten and chewy, maybe blackened to charcoal here and there from a coal-fired brick oven. So sue me. That said, I want to settle any Sicilia’s partisans back into their chairs with hearty acknowledgment that what they cover those crusts with is pretty good. Sicilia’s offers three varieties of pizza, differentiating them by crust thickness: "Crispy thin," "regular crust," and Sicilia’s "famous stuffed pizza."

The last is what elsewhere is called Chicago deep-dish pizza. It’s two inches high, though when baked the ingredients are liable to settle down a half-inch or so. We tried the signature "Sicilia’s Original," which features mozzarella and either spinach or zucchini, topped with tomato sauce, plus optional mushrooms at no extra charge. We shared the single-serving "baby" size ($4.80) and enjoyed it well enough. Three larger sizes rise in price, to $13.85, and serve up to five.

The regular crust version comes in two sizes, $5.75 and $8.50, with just cheese and sauce. In addition to a menu suggestion of the stock pepperoni pie, there is a Hawaiian concoction — no taro paste, just ham and pineapple — and BBQ chicken. The "crispy thin" suggestions were much the same as for the deep-dish one: sausage, shrimp, and veggie, in four sizes, priced $5.25 to $9.50, with just cheese.

Although the default listings probably reflect the most popular requests, our server made it clear that we could choose from the 19-item list of toppings at the bottom of the menu — meatball not included, oddly enough — for any of the three pizza styles. (Pizza lovers do like their choices, so there are shakers of Parmesan, oregano, and red pepper flakes on each table.) We checked out a small size in each crust variety, and enjoyed anchovies with eggplant, olives with sausage, and a "Vegi’Sicilia’s," with mushrooms, green peppers, and onions, in addition to the "original." Ingredients seemed fresh, with no stinting on amounts.

The portion generosity extended to the antipasto. We shared the smaller size ($5.50) and were informed that the "for two" size ($6.79) doubled the amount of cold cuts, of which there was already more than enough along with the heaping iceberg lettuce. There’s minestrone soup every day ($1.95/$2.75), and it’s a tangier version than I’ve had at some fancier places. We came on a Monday, when cream of broccoli is supposed to be available. We were informed that the kitchen "doesn’t pay much attention" to the official soup, so chicken noodle (supposedly available only on Wednesday and Saturday) was our other option.

In addition to a few seafood opportunities, such as fried calamari ($6.95) and a fried seafood platter ($12.95), there are more than a dozen pastas. These are fresh Venda pastas from down the street, offered with Sicilia’s marinara or Alfredo sauces. We checked out the fettuccini Alfredo ($5.50) and appreciated more than the low price — it’s just creamy enough to taste sinful, not cloying.

A choice of inexpensive wines by the glass, six red and four white, plus nine each domestic and imported beers are available — including Morelli and Peroni from Italy. There’s a full bar, as well. Smoking is only at the entrance area.

They don’t make desserts here, but if we hadn’t been as stuffed as crust No. 1, we could have indulged in cheesecake or chocolate mousse cake for no more than $3.50, in addition to Italian lemon ice. If you go to Sicilia’s and order fewer than the three pizzas we snuffled through, maybe you’ll have room for one of these goodies. If you do so — and tell me you can never find lemon ice like you had as a kid in Cranston — I’ll understand.

Bill Rodriguez can be reached at billrod@ reporters.net