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The Mac-and-Cheese Slice at Hell's Kitchen Pizza

Posted by Adam Kuban, October 7, 2009 at 4:45 PM

Yesterday I asked if we had any Madison, Wisconsin, expats in the audience who could compare the mac-and-cheese slice at Hell's Pizza Kitchen to the legendary mac slice at Ian's Pizza in the Dairy State. Stefanie J. took the bait. And in a crazy turn of events, it seems that she may have snagged the last MaC slice of the day, if you read between the lines of Brooks Jones's post on Pizza Commander. Anyway, take it away, Stef! —The Mgmt.

[Photographs: Stefanie J.]

Words by Stefanie J. | As a former Madisonian, I was stoked when I stopped by Slice the other day and saw the post on mac-and-cheese pizza. New York City has been a sad, barren place without my Ian's fix, and here was Slice trying to make it all better. I stopped by Hell's Kitchen Pizza to see if its pie had anything new to offer me.

The place feels like I've walked into my father's living room, which might deter you until I point out that Dad's a raging member of the H.O.G. and it shows. The entire place is themed in black and flames, down to its signature pie, The Hell Fire. The owners know or greet everyone who stops in or walks by. There's a real rapport with the neighbors, who can tell this is a local secret. The pizzeria's Hell Fire pie is topped with spicy Italian sausage, cherry peppers, and pepperoni, and, being a woman on a mission, I couldn't keep from trying it. The brainchild of co-owner Russ Brunelli, it has two levels of spice: a quick kick followed by a slow burn. It's clear why this is what the regulars ask for.

Cheese was my goal, though, so I dove into a fresh slice of the Mac & Cheese next. They do a nice, chewy crust at HKP, light on the flavor side but with just the right thickness. The texture of the noodles is important for such a starch-heavy slice. If the noodle texture is too similar to that of the crust, it can be overwhelming and boring simultaneously. The mac and cheese needs to be its own element, though one that has gloriously ascended to the top of a pizza and, once there, melded with the whole--all accompanied by an angelic choir, if possible.

The noodles here could have stood to be a touch more al dente, but they weren't bad. They were layered with two cheeses. One was a mix of mozzarella and Parmesan, but I couldn't tell because you can't really taste anything but the other: slabs of sliced American cheese. Let me say that again. American. Cheese. On a pizza.

New York has a lot to offer a Wisconsin transplant, but whether cheese is one of them remains to be seen. Let me dish a bit about Ian's so you can get my perspective. Ian's was designed for (drunk) college kids, right down to the décor. No matter when you go, it will be full of them. But it's locally owned, and Mad City's pizza hounds know that in many ways it offers some great pies.

Ian's crust is its strongest suit: if you're not looking for coal- or wood-fired, it's perfect. I have yet to meet another crust with the perfect blend of chewiness and crunch, with the perfect crust-to-topping ratio, all with a not-overwhelming yeasty flavor and bubbly texture. Ian's makes Sicilian pies as well, and at bar time if that is all they have left, I will go home hungry because it's not the same.

Ian's mac and cheese slice has firm noodles imbedded in a secret cheese-type sauce, which I suspect is a combination of Gruyère, Parmesan, and Neufchâtel. This is topped with a generous sprinkle of local Wisconsin cheddar. Each element sets the other bits off perfectly: the contrast of the cheeses with the noodles and crust, the complementary sharpness of the cheddar with the creaminess of the sauce, the textures of the soft sauce, perfect crust, and melted cheese. So when I bit into this slice in Hell's Kitchen, in New York City, you can understand how I felt.

At first I cried a little. But I kept eating. And I thought, as I ate, about Dad and how, if he were going to eat mac-and-cheese pizza, he wouldn't want a fancy fucking pie like Ian's. He'd want a slice like this, where the mac tastes like the kind you make from a box, artificial cheese flavoring and all. For him, this might be the best kind of mac-and-cheese pizza—a whole lot of cheese, without fancy fixings.

So, New York, Hell's Kitchen Pizza isn't going to teach you anything about cheese. But it might get you some tasty nostalgia or some spice-seared taste buds. Check it.

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