Hardly “Pie” in the Sky We’re all for the white oak as Connecticut’s state tree, and the robin as our bird, but feel a bit dubious about the sperm whale as the official animal, and it’s a guilty pleasure to cheer on the praying mantis in its role as the Nutmeg State’s insect—but that term right there, Nutmeg State, has to go. Even if there weren’t the inglorious nature of the nickname to dislike—given because early residents allegedly sold unsuspecting folks fake nutmegs made of wood—there’s a far more palatable new nickname we’d like to offer: The Great Pizza State. That’s right, when judged per capita especially, Connecticut could legitimately make an argument that it’s the gourmet pizza capital of the U.S. Only a single slice of the case is made by the fact that one of our legends, Pepe’s in New Haven, is honored eagerly and often as having the best, or among the best, pies in the country. Starting on page 46, we present the best of the best in gourmet apizza, including a handful of “Legends” and some “Legends in the Making,” along with places that best combine pizza and craft beer, and spots where finding really good pizza is a serendipitous surprise. And all that pizza is a prelude to a robust and full-flavored dining section—and a complement to our story on how Connecticut’s craft beer scene is thriving and will continue its ascension. Of course, we don’t expect our readers to live on great pizza and craft beer alone (well, maybe they can), but we have a few more items “on the menu,” as it were. This issue also offers an investigation of the “militarization” of the state’s police departments and the “rediscovery” of a local baseball pioneer, along with a heaping helping of arts and culture. On top of all that, we showcase not one but two terrific Connecticut homes—a sensational renovation and a stunning new construction. (Think of it as helping yourself to some seconds.) And this month more than any, don’t miss our fun punctuation mark story on the last page. We like to think that if pizza had existed back in the 18th century, the Winsted Wildman would have feasted on it daily. Enjoy! Ray Bendici rbendici@connecticutmag.com Douglas P. Clement dclement@connecticutmag.com