MIKE FILIAGGI MAKES DOUGH IN THE KITCHEN DURING SIR PIZZA’S EARLY DAYS. | PHOTO COURTESY OF THE FILIAGGI FAMILY

On multiple occasions in my life, I’ve devoured 24 pieces of pizza in one sitting. I’m not a competitive eater; I’m just a loyal subject of Sir Pizza.

March marks 50 years since the Midwestern brand found a home at 320 Sewickley Oakmont Road in Ross Township and brought Pittsburghers thin-crust, round pies sliced into bite-sized squares with crumbled toppings evenly distributed to the very edge.

Some call it party-cut or tavern-style, but, to me, it’s the ultimate comfort food — because Sir Pizza was my first pizza. The Filiaggi family’s long-gone Cranberry Township location was my parents’ go-to for takeout in the ’80s. After dinner, I would cut out the shield on the box and pretend to be the gallant, dragon-slaying knight, Sir Eats-A-Lot.

Kids like Sir Pizza because it’s already cut into manageable morsels, plus the crispy pastry dough is easier for them to swallow than, say, a Chicago deep-dish. Even as a 1-year-old, I bet I could’ve single-handedly housed a Royal Feast, the most popular menu item. It’s a 14-inch pie topped with a naturally sweet tomato sauce, smoked provolone and a confetti-like blend of spicy Margherita pepperoni, lean sausage, mushrooms, onions and red and green peppers.

PHOTO BY HUCK BEARD

I’ve probably eaten 10,000 of those festive squares in my lifetime. I am 46 now and still appreciate the culinary convenience offered by Sir Pizza.

Who says chivalry’s dead?

“You either love us or you don’t, but it’s worth a try,” says Suzanne Filiaggi, who co-owns the Ross and Franklin Park locations — the latter sitting at 2624 Brandt School Road — with her cousin Chris Filiaggi.

In 1975, both sets of Filiaggi parents — Ron and the late Marci Filiaggi and Rich and Sandy Filiaggi — staked a claim on a storefront at the intersection of Rochester and Sewickley Oakmont roads. In a town filled with more traditional pizzerias, brothers Ron and Rich, who are still actively involved, took the unknown brand from pauper to prince, creating a North Hills institution.

Today the eatery employs local high-school and college students, “lifers” such as DJ Skelton (who’s been a part of the business for three decades), and a small army of Italian relatives. It’s not uncommon to see Suzanne’s elderly dad making dough or Chris’ young son saucing pies.

The story of how the brand came to the ’Burgh is more complex than a “Game of Thrones” episode.

Sir Pizza is an off-shoot of Pizza King, which opened its original Lafayette, Indiana, restaurant in 1957. In the ’60s, Marci Filiaggi’s brother, Pete Jubeck, got a football scholarship to Ball State University in Muncie and ended up working at a Pizza King there. He later partnered with Pizza King management and franchised all out-of-state operations under the Sir Pizza banner.

Over the years, the Sir Pizza realm has included sites in Kentucky, Tennessee, Florida, Ohio, North Carolina, Pennsylvania — and even abroad.

Each of Jubeck’s Fayette County-born siblings, including Marci, received keys to the kingdom, taking over different territories with their respective spouses, so Sir Pizza could reign supreme. The restaurateurs — who also sell salads, sandwiches, calzones, pasta, six-packs and draft beer — have ruled the region with little advertising and no delivery service.

But the nobility knew what they were doing. The hardworking Filiaggi family is composed of teachers, doctors, lawyers and public servants, but everybody circles back to square pizza.

“We are an American success story,” says Suzanne, also a member of Allegheny County Council, whose great-grandparents left Italy in 1915 for the United States. “This is the center of our family. This is our identity. This is where we grew up.”

In Ross, wedding portraits hang on the wall under the painted word “Famiglia.” Generations of North Hills residents have made the empire part of their lives, too. The castle was packed on Oct. 31, when I arrived to trick-or-treat myself to a pepperoni pizza and an IC Light.

FOOD EDITOR KRISTY GRAVER. | PHOTO COURTESY OF KRISTY GRAVER

Dressed in a faux suit of armor and carrying a plastic sword and pizza-box shield, I waited to place my order. The crowd parted as I approached the counter, my long, red cape trailing behind me. Skelton smiled and grabbed a peel, a paddle-like tool that’s used to transfer food in and out of the oven.

With the long, wooden handle, he ceremoniously tapped my shoulders, turning All Hallows’ Eve into a bonafide pizza knight.