What follows is a mish-mash of some of our favorite posts, our top-choice pizzerias, books we like and think you should read, and other fun slice-and-pie miscellanea. Buon appetito!
I've had a lot on Slice lately about Scott's Pizza Tours, but you know, there's another pizza tour out there, one that's been around for a bit longer and that takes folks through perhaps the best pizza borough* in the city. And that tour, my friends, is Tony Muia's A Slice of Brooklyn Pizza Tour.
Muia started his tour in 2005 and has been taking pizza-hungry folks around Kings County ever since, mixing stops at Grimaldi's and L & B Spumoni Gardens with spin around neighborhoods such as Bay Ridge and Bensonhurst. It's thanks to Muia that I can point out the house where Joe Pesci's Tommy DeVito character gets whacked in Goodfellas (it's in Bay Ridge) and that I know which pizzeria John Travolta's Tony Manero buys two slices from, eating them as a double-decker, in Saturday Night Fever (Lenny's in Bensonhurst).
Posted by Adam Kuban, January 19, 2008 at 11:00 AM
I'm obsessing over this Japanese stovetop pizza oven that looks like it would replicate the ideal baking conditions of a traditional Italian pizza oven. I say "looks like" because, honestly, could this thing really work? I have my doubts. Not to mention that the pies that come out look incredibly small.
I love this pizza-themed Lego vignette (left) by "Big Daddy" Nelson, a Hawaii-based Lego ambassador. Looks like it was made with pieces from the Lego Pizza to Go set (No. 6350), which is now discontinued and super hard to get. Trolling through his Flickr photos, I also found this playful representation of Seinfeld's Soup Nazi.
Posted by Adam Kuban, December 18, 2007 at 6:00 AM
Or, 'This Is Where You're Ordering Pizza From Now, Park Slope'
Peppe's Pizza & Panini
Address: 597 Fourth Avenue, Brooklyn NY 11215 (b/n 17th and 18th streets, Park Slope; map) Phone: 718-788-7333 Website:peppepizzapanini.com Oven Type: Gas-fired, steel-deck oven Hours: 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. daily Payment: Cash and cards Price: $16 for large plain pie (18 inches); $12 for small (12 inches) Recommended Options: Order the plain pie and ask for a mixture of regular mozz, fresh mozz, and the imported Pecorino-Romano. The Skinny: This newcomer to the Park Slope pizza scene is being compared to Di Fara, and while that side-by-side is a little premature, it offers a stand-up pie that's miles beyond that of any conventional-oven pizzeria currently operating in the neighborhood. If you live in the Slope, this is your new go-to delivery pizzeria.
A whole pie with fior di latte (fresh mozzarella). The lighting in my kitchen blows, so this doesn't look as good as it tastes.
Even so, apart from visits to Franny's on special occasions or delivery orders placed solely to stave off hunger when all other late-night options are closed, I hardly look forward to eating pizza in the neighborhood.
Enter Peppe's Pizza & Panini, which actually has me excited again about Park Slope pies and slices.
So the Friday after Thanksgiving, Ed Levine emails me some message about how he's going a pizza tour with Bob Kinkead (of Kinkead's in D.C.) and Mark Furstenberg (founder of the BreadLine and now a baking consultant and author).
Ed's all like, "These guys are totally serious about pizza and bread. We're going to Franny's ..." Blah blah blah. And I'm like, "Where's my invite, yo? What am I, chopped liver?" Whatevs. I had plans, anyway. I just wanted a chance to turn down the invite.
Anyway, on Monday, Ed's all like, "You have to see this crazy spreadsheet they had for evaluating and ranking pizza. It was insane!"
Ed asked Kinkead to send a copy, which he did. And that's what you're looking at above. Check that thing out! Kinkead says, "I have included The rubric we showed you and another score card I made [after the jump], which we didn't end up using. I still have not gotten around to tallying up and writing down our conclusions, but I'll send it when I do. There were 14 places total."
Posted by Adam Kuban, November 20, 2007 at 1:00 AM
Slice reader and graphic designer Norman H. manages to combine the concepts of coal-oven pizza and stoking a coal-fire in a brilliant little creation that's at once novel and obvious in a why-didn't-anyone-think-of-it-before way. Thanks, Norman!
Frankie and Mary Lou Cappezza, the former owners of the now-closed Corona Heights Pork Store, are my culinary E. F. Huttons. When they talk, I listen. So when they told me I had to check out Rose & Joe Italian Bakery in their old Astoria stomping grounds, I wasted no time getting there.
As usual, they were right. Rose & Joe's wondrous braided semolina bread has plenty of character and flavor. But as good as the bread is here, Rose & Joe's ultimate triumph is their Sicilian pizza.
In the back of the bakery a young woman sells slices: plain, broccoli, and sausage. The crust is crisp, slightly doughy, and surprisingly light. So don't thank me when you bite into your first slice of Rose & Joe's pizza. Thank Frankie and Mary Lou.
Most Sicilian pizza is just too thick for me, but Rizzo's in Astoria is the home of the wondrous thin-crust Sicilian slice. For 40 years, Joe Rizzo has been making thin-crust Sicilian pizza the way his father learned in Sicily. That means he uses homemade sauce (slightly sweet), full-cream mozzarella that lies ever so gently on top of the light—almost demure—crust, and just enough Romano cheese to give his pizza a little zing.
When you walk into Rizzo's, all you'll see on the counter are rectangular trays of fresh-out-of-the-oven Sicilian pizza. After years of maintaining Sicilian-only pizza purity, Rizzo's is now making conventional Neapolitan pizza. I can't tell you how it is, though, because I refuse to order it on general principle—I come here for the Sicilian slice only.
Rizzo's
Address: 30-13 Steinway Street, Astoria NY 11103 (Queens, between City Avenue and Dunway Street; map) Phone: 718-721-9862
At Denino's, the pizza box says it all: "In Crust We Trust."
They should trust their crust, because it is light and crisp and pliant.
Denino's is a classic red-brick tavern pizzeria (with a separate dining room), but it is just as welcoming to kids after a little league game as it is to middle-aged softball players coming in for a pie and a brew after a game.
I'm crazy about Denino's sausage pie, which features fine sweet Italian sausage made fresh every day by a local butcher. If you want to go vegetarian, try the white pie, made with mozzarella, onions, fresh garlic, and a splash of olive oil.
After 53 years, you might think the Denino family has gotten bored with making pizza. Not so, according to third-generation co-owner Michael Denino: "We still put our heart and soul into every pie."
Denino's
Address: 524 Richmond Avenue, Staten Island NY 10302 (at Hooker Place; map) Phone: 718-442-9401 Related: All Denino's entries on Slice
Michael Bauer, food critic for the San Francisco Chronicle, continues his Pizza Friday series on his blog Between Meals with a trip to Pizzaiolo in Oakland, California. Pizzaiolo makes a Neapolitan-style pizza and is owned and helmed by Charlie Hallowell, a longtime pizza-maker at Alice Waters's famed Chez Panisse:
Bauer says:
Crust: The thin crust has well-formed blisters that shatter into a dozen pieces on contact, and a chewiness that gives the jaw a good workout.
Pizza tried: The classic Margherita has a restrained swipe of savory tomato sauce, pools of buttery mozzarella and shards of intensely flavored basil. We also tried a pizza with chunks of ground sausage, basil, and orange and yellow gypsy peppers, enhanced with a last minute drizzle of fragrant olive oil.
Giuseppe Pappalardo, an owner of Joe & Pat's in Castleton Corners, Staten Island, mastered his craft at three legendary Staten Island slice establishments: Nunzio's,Ciro's, and Tokie's. His slices are distinguished by a superbly thin, crisp crust.
"They're easier to digest," he says, "so you can eat a lot of them."
And believe me, I do.
Giuseppe's son Angelo has now joined him at the pizzeria. He's a serious chef whose last stop was at Esca in Manhattan. I'm sure he'll do wonders for all the other food at Joe & Pat's. The only way he could improve the pizza is to make it with fresh mozzarella.
Salvatore Pollito is a pie man, no two ways about it. Ten years ago he opened a solid slice joint in Queens. Then, when he felt he had mastered the art of the slice, he decided to tackle coal-fired, brick-oven pizza, inspired by his many ttips to Totonno's and Patsy's. He has done that successfully at Bella Via, which, with its brick walls and big windows, is one of the more cheerful pizzerias I have come across.
Pollito had a local guy build the oven at Bella Via, and tucked it into the back of the place in full view of the salivating patrons, who watch as he turns out beautiful pies. Pollito uses low-moisture, slightly aged mozzarella, Italian tomatoes, and fine locally sourced sausage on his pies. His crust is fairly thin, bready, and soft and doesn't have much chew to it.
Bella Via
Address: 47-46 Vernon Boulevard, Long Island City NY (at 48th Avenue; map) Phone: 718-361-7510 Related: All Bella Via entries on Slice
A slice from Nunzio's is a pristine exercise in elegant pizza minimalism. It's not very big, so pizza-by-the-ton Ray's fans should go elsewhere. Yet everything about it is right: the ratio of sauce to cheese, the crisp yet pliant crust, and the tangy sauce enlivened by fresh basil. I love the sausage Nunzio's puts on its slices. It's nubby, loaded with flavor, and has plenty of fennel in it. Nunzio's even looks the way a pizzeria should: It is a white stucco shack with a tiny dining room brightened by black-and-white photos of the original Nunzio's in South Beach, Sraten Island.
Nunzio's
Address: 2155 Hylan Boulevard, Staten Island NY 10306 (at Midland Avenue; map) Phone: 718-667-9647
Ladies and gents, the always opinionated DJ Bubbles has checked in once again. Because I never know when he's going to strike, I'd been unofficially calling his stunning dispatches "drive-bys." Now I'm formalizing it. Here's the DJ Bubbles Drive-By on Isabella's Oven. It's a must-read, so do click through the jump. —Adam
Words by DJ Bubbles | It has been said before that having a great meal can be a transcendent experience. When someone has poured all his soul, energy, and being into something so divine, you can taste it in every bite. It isn't something that happens all that often in these times, but when it does, you don't soon forget it. To say that I had one of these experiences this Saturday may be true—I'm still not sure. How is that possible, you ask? That's a good question, and all I know is it happened on my second trip to Isabella's Oven after a very mediocre first visit. The difference in pie quality was immediately apparent after I had my first slice of an individual Margherita while sitting on Isabella's outdoor patio. However, the questions regarding this newbie's consistency linger, and I have to ask myself—was this past Saturday the beginning of a beautiful friendship or a flash in the pan, mere pizza fool's gold?
My name's James, and I'm a fan of your site. Waaaaay back around 2001 or 2002, I wrote and recorded a song. It's called "Dom," and it is about a certain pizzaman in Brooklyn, about whom you know a little something. It's a little out of date now.
Listen to "Dom":
Dom
I know the guy that makes the bestest pie in town
His ass is not under the bridge
You will not find him in Coney Island
You will not find him in Bay Ridge
Wassup, Homeslices? Adam here. I arrived at at Serious Eats–Slice world headquarters this morning, sat down at my desk, and before I could do even a lick of work, the bossman, Ed Levine, started badgering me: "Whatever happened to the excerpts of my pizza book you were posting? I haven't seen one on Slice in ages."
City officials know a good slice of pizza when they see one: The street in front of Louie and Ernie's has been renamed Ernie Ottuso Square, after one of the owners. A Louie and Ernie's slice is a diminutive triangle of pizza pleasure in which grated cheese and full-cream mozzarella sparingly cover a thin-enough crust. Also worth the calories and the trip are the fried calzone and the white pie, both made with ricotta. The white pie, in particular, is Louie and Ernie's pièce de résistance. The overflowing ricotta was so sweet and creamy I could have had it for dessert. The mozzarella on it was clearly full cream, and there wasn't even a hint of tomato sauce on it. This was serious pizza. A word to the wise: Don't arrive too late. The pizzeria ends its day when the dough is gone. "We run out, we run out ... that's it," says John Tiso, an owner. "We close."
LOUIE AND ERNIE'S Phone: 718-829-6230 Location: 1300 Crosby Avenue (at Waterbury Avenue), Bronx NY 10461 [map] Rating:
Posted by Adam Kuban, December 18, 2006 at 4:41 PM
Internally at Slice and on my Flickr photostream, this site has used the term pizza upskirt to denote the type of photograph you see here, but we have never called explicit attention to this terminology—until now.
Slice first realized the value of shooting pizza undersides while perusing this post on eGullet, which compared the chars on the bottom of slices from Di Fara, Grimaldi's, and Patsy's. Believe it or not, until then, we had never thought of offering our readers photographic evidence of crust char.
We liked the eGulleteers' idea but weren't that keen on the way the slices were presented, hanging tip down, perpendicular to the table or being lifted timidly with the serving spatula. Borrowing the eGullet idea but improving upon it by holding the slice tip up in the frame, we felt we were able to convey the same visual information while capturing the majestic nature of pizza as a cuisine. A slice, after all, should not hang tip down like the head of a chastised dog slinking away from its angry master; it should point proudly to the heavens, toward the culinary heights it seeks to attain.
After two years of preparation, Carroll Gardens newcomer Lucali opened, somewhat fittingly, on Columbus Day. Not long after, the Chowhounders started yapping about it, with most barking their approval. At the urging of Slice reader Mark H., I headed over last night to see what all the fuss was about.
The joint is the creation of Mark Iacono and takes the place of a soda fountain once known for making some of the last real egg creams in Brooklyn. Locals can take comfort, however, in the fact that Mr. Iacono was raised in the neighborhood and still lives around the corner. Not only that, but much of the equipment—including the espresso machine—comes from Leonardo's Pizza, which was sadly replaced by a Dunkin' Donuts around this time last year. The recipes, too, are from the neighborhood, having come from Mr. Iacono's grandma and aunts.
Posted by Adam Kuban, September 8, 2006 at 12:26 AM
The break room was out of paper towels at work today. So, to microwave my square slice, I improvised. I grabbed two paper cups, tore them along the seams, and nested them together to form a makeshift cardboard basket. Bonus: The wax lining on the inside prevents melted cheese from sticking.
Just saw Boing Boing mention Turn Here, a video site that features fun footage of places (hopefully) near you. And you and you and you and you. We did a search for pizza and found a couple neat shorts starring competitive eater Crazy Legs Conti. In Part 1, Mr. Conti visits Koronet Pizza in Manhattan's Morningside Heights neighborhood and Pizza Gruppo in the borough's East Village. Both choices make sense, given his eating feats. Koronet's slices are known for their HUGEness (as big as your head) and Gruppo is so thin that you could eat tons of it before feeling all that full
Phone: 718-829-6230 Location: 1300 Crosby Avenue, The Bronx NY 10461 (Pelham Bay; map) Getting There: 6 train to Buhre Ave.; walk south along Crosby Ave. to 1300. It's a 10- to 15-minute walk Payment: Cash only The Skinny: Creamy, somewhat-sparingly applied mozzarella plus plenty of piquant Parmigiano and an ever-so-salty crust make this one of the best non–coal oven/nonartisanal pies I've had. Readily accessible only to those who live nearby in the Bronx's Pelham Bay neighborhood—and even those lucky stiffs have to make the trek there because Louie & Ernie's doesn't do delivery.
I was beginning to doubt my own sense of pizza judgment until I met a number of slices at Louie & Ernie's last Saturday night. It's easy to judge the merits of one coal-oven place to the next or among the pies of the growing legion of Neapolitan-style places popping up in the city. But when it comes to a good, honest down-home slice joint, things get dicey. They all seem to pile on the cheese, use the same boring sauce, and prepare their crust according to some tired, doughy formula they copied out of Passionless Pizza Recipes
Louie & Ernie's manages to avoid these faults, all the while restoring my faith that I can actually tell a good regular slice when I come across it. Louie & Ernie's also gives me hope that there are more places like it in New York City—preferably ones closer to my home and office.
When the subways stopped rolling, everyone tried to roll with the punches. Some people pounded the pavement while others simply slept in. I ate pizza.
Two weeks ago, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority illegally refused to negotiate a contract with the workers who move New York. This courageous yet unfortunate work stoppage brought the city’s transportation infrastructure to a screeching halt. It was like Independence Day without the bombs. For the Slice czar, it meant a treacherous commute by shoe leather. For me, it meant a car ride from Queens and an impromptu commuter club with three colleagues.
The commute was surprisingly pleasant, at times evoking memories of college road trips. Packed in a carful of strangers, after an hour or two—the time required to reach the Williamsburg Bridge from Chelsea Piers—we all needed to get out to flex our cramped muscles and recharge with food. This, however, beat any highway rest stop (with apologies to the Roscoe Diner).
Friends of Slice Listmaker and Youthlarge were car-sitting last week. Listmaker wanted to make the most of their automotive-having days, so he suggested a pizza excursion at some point during the holidays.
Wanting to make the most of car access myself, I suggested Tosca Café in the Throgs Neck section of The Bronx, a spot that would normally be a bit difficult to reach via public transport (right).
Listmaker, Youthlarge, and I set off around 7 p.m. on Friday, picked up their friend Dave, and we all made it to Tosca by 8 p.m. or so—after a few wrong turns.
Tosca Café's got a coal oven, and that's a big deal. Coal-burners are a sort of holy grail in this town, as some of the best and oldest pizzerias use them to produce amazing pizzas. Such ovens are capable of reaching the insanely hot temperatures needed to make a pie crisp and give it oven spring while still yielding a satisfying chewiness and pliability in the crust. This trip was a big deal for me, too, because Tosca's long been on the Slice "places to try" list.
With a cover reminiscent of a retro pizza box and contents almost as tasty as the real thing, Everybody Loves Pizza, by Penny Pollack and Jeff Ruby, has earned a place on the Slice Bookshelf.
Full disclosure: I know one of the authors. Mr. Ruby and I were in the same journalism program at university. Still, that didn't stop me from turning a critical eye on this book. In fact, my initial reaction when hearing about it was, "Oy! Another pizza book!? What more can be said?"
Fortunately, Penny and Jeff find plenty new to say, particularly with some interesting history and facts that, surprisingly, I haven't read elsewhere. Concerning one of Slice's favorite pizzaioli, Dom DeMarco, for example, the authors tell us that he ends each pizza-filled day by drinking a "$100 bottle of Amarone Valpolicella—he buys 1 bottle a day and 2 on Saturday because the liquor store is closed on Sunday." Who knew!? (More important, how does Dom get himself into work by 7 a.m. after drinking a bottle of fine wine post midnight?)
Following the biblical precept to visit the sick, the Slice czar found his way to Queens last weekend. Surely, he must have been wondering, where have all his stringers gone? At least one—me—has had his pizza appetite bedridden the past six months.
Our Leader even armed himself with a remedy for my ailment: the hair of the dog that bit me. Thanks to the good folks at AstraZeneca, however, the prospects of a revitalized pizza weblog have improved dramatically. With my high-acid diet having dissipated considerably, so have the pangs that accompany it, a doctor's OK notwithstanding. I had actually dipped my toes in the pizza water six weeks earlier at Di Fara, following Slice's fifth-annual warm-weather welcome party at the Cyclone and the Coney Island boardwalk. With nary a hint of heartburn found in the aftermath of beers at Ruby's and artichoke pie from Dom DeMarco, I have recently reactivated myself from the disabled list.
This reunion took place in Forest Hills, home to one of the city's finest pizzerias. These pages have long had an unspoken affection for Nick's Pizza. Each of us had been several times previously, but never in a journalistic capacity. It's particularly poor reporting on my part—Nick's is but a few subway stops from Casa Seltzer.
Posted by correspondent, January 24, 2005 at 12:30 PM
Sibling Rivalry: The sign on the left marks your arrival at De Lorenzo's Hamilton Avenue, a favorite of Chambersburg residents, as well as the celebrities whose pictures dot the walls inside. De Lorenzo's Hudson Street, right, is a converted row house with limited seating and no public restroom. Arrive prior to opening hours, as the hungry crowd grows quickly. Otherwise, a two-hour wait is not uncommon.
DE LORENZO'S HAMILTON Location: 1007 Hamilton Ave.,
Trenton, NJ 08629 Phone: 609-393-2952 Payment: Cash only The Skinny: Bigger and more diner friendly than its sister pizzeria; crust has a more consistent crispness
DE LORENZO'S HUDSON Location: 530 Hudson St., Trenton, NJ 08611 Phone: 609-695-9534 Payment: Cash only The Skinny: Preferred among locals. Smoky-tasting crust is even thinner than sister pizzeria. Get here early; dining room is small and lines—and wait—can get long
VALUE ADD The Yankees' Double A affiliate, the Trenton Thunder, play right around the corner from De Lorenzo's Hudson. So if you're a Yankees fan, you can catch a game and get a
pie and make it a cool day
WORDS AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY RICH DEFABRITUS, Slice Correspondent .::. Recently, while perusing Slice, I asked editor-in-chief Adam K. why there was no mention of the Trenton, New Jersey’s legendary De Lorenzo's Tomato Pies.
"Never heard of it," he replied. I was shocked; any pizza lover worth his or her sauce knows De Lorenzo's. [Hey: What are you saying, Rich!? — Ed.]
"Nope. Why don't you write a review?" Adam said. And with that, I gave myself (and my family) an excuse to make the trip before celebrating the New Year.
For those not in the know, there are actually two De Lorenzo's (one on Hamilton Avenue, the other on Hudson Street) in an area known as Chambersburg, traditionally a final stop for many Italian immigrants at the turn of the last century. Although the history is murky, Americho "Rick" De Lorenzo Sr. and Alexander "Chick" De Lorenzo opened up separate operations in what amounts to a friendly sibling rivalry. To this day, Rick's son, Rick De Lorenzo Jr., operates the Hamilton Avenue location, while Chick's son-in-law, Gary Amico, operates the Hudson Street establishment.
Ask any local about De Lorenzo's and the typical reply is "Hamilton or Hudson?" since each has its own rabid following. You see, while both make tomato pies, there are subtle differences and nuances that invariably pull the diner's allegiance to one side or the other. Both are wildly popular, and you’ll always see long lines of people waiting to get seated, even in inclement weather.
One more thing: In Trenton, it's called "tomato pie," not pizza. Although the terms are interchangeable, there is a body of myth and lore attempting to distinguish tomato pie from pizza. The generally accepted explanation is that a tomato pie is built as follows: dough, cheese, toppings, and then sauce.
Our plan was to go to De Lorenzo's on Hamilton Avenue for lunch followed by an early dinner at De Lorenzo's on Hudson Street for a comparative review. Since neither location takes reservations (and both often leave the phone off the hook), we were a little concerned that we may need to call ahead to "reserve" dough, but we threw caution to the wind and decided to take a chance on walking in.
Hamilton Avenue
Commonly considered to be the more "diner friendly" location, the first thing you notice is how cozy the place is. The sign says "De Lorenzo's Pizza," but don't be fooled, they serve authentic Trenton tomato pie. There is one small dining room with booths and tables, replete with wood-paneled walls and music in the background (think Jerry Vale). The open kitchen is straight to the back, and Rick De Lorenzo Jr. serves as your host and cashier. As long as I have been patronizing De Lorenzo's (15 years or so), Rick doesn’t appear to have aged a bit. He's still every bit as feisty, too—if you are fussy or difficult, he'll let you know you're agitating him.
The place was packed, but we lucked out and found an open booth. We sat down and were quickly greeted by our bow-tied clad waiter. Each table has a small, laminated menu, and you can have anything you like—as long as it’s a tomato pie. If you're looking for calzones or garlic knots, try someplace else; the next person in line will gladly take your spot. Since it was just me, my wife, and our two young children, we decided one large pie would suffice. As a purist, I normally eschew any toppings, but for some reason, we elected to try half of the pie with sausage, the other half "tomato and cheese," otherwise known as "plain." Keeping with local tradition, we both ordered birch beer to drink.
The piping hot pie was placed on our table in about 10 minutes, which is decent given the amount of customers they have to serve. Immediately your eyes are drawn to the bright red color of the sauce, not the darker "burgundy" color you might find on a run-of-the-mill pizza joint's offerings. There is also a lot less cheese than you'd expect, and just the slightest bit of charring and bubbling at the top crust's edge. The pie was cut into 10 triangular slices, most likely with a pizza-cutting wheel.
Halfsies: The De Lorenzo's Hamilton Avenue tomato pie. We ordered this pie half sausage, half tomato and cheese. Lines at this location begin to form around noon. The shop then closes at 1:30 p.m., and reopens at 4 pm for dinner.
We reached for the plain slices first. Everyone has his or her own reason for craving a De Lorenzo's tomato pie. Mine is the crust. When picked up, the Hamilton Avenue crust stood perfectly horizontal from crust edge to tip and was in no way weighted down by sauce, cheese, or oil—no small feat for a thin-crust pie. A look at the crust's bottom showed charring similar to that on the top crust edge as well as what appeared to be corn meal in the dough, conceivably used in lieu of semolina to prevent the pie from sticking to the peel or oven.
A bite into the slice was accompanied by the requisite "crunch." I am always disappointed by pizza that is soft at the center and gets crunchy toward the edge; somehow the pizzaiolo at De Lorenzo's consistently avoids this pitfall. Every bite snapped, crackled, and popped. The crust was light and airy, with excellent flavor and chewiness, seemingly deep-fried. Keep in mind that this pie is cooked in a traditional gas-fired oven yet had many of the qualities you would expect from a brick oven.
The sauce tasted as good as it looked, tangy and sweet with no unnecessary additives floating in it; adding salt or pepper to enhance the flavor seems blasphemous. Another peeve I have with "traditional" pizza is the blanket of cheese that is formed on top. Many of us have experienced that eager first bite only to have all the cheese slide off in one piece, burning your lips and chin. Not so with De Lorenzo's. This is a tomato pie, so the cheese is sprinkled in much less abundance. As a result, each bite leaves cheese-string trails from your mouth back to the retreating slice but never whole globs. The balance struck between the sauce and cheese is about as close to perfection as you could get, this is really great eating!
The sausage slice was a different story. The taste was fantastic, no doubt, but the extra oil from the meat drenched the crust and weakened it. That meant the crust didn't crunch like the plain slices did, a disappointment from my perspective. While sausage is one of the more popular toppings at both De Lorenzo's locations, my suggestion to first timers is to go with a plain pie for a true representation of the shops' craft.
In the end, our tab was about $15 (excluding tip, cash only), and Rick rang us up on a circa-1950 cash register, a testament to how mom-and-pop De Lorenzo's still is.
Hudson Street
A few hours had past since our lunch at De Lorenzo's Hamilton Avenue, and we were excited about our upcoming dinner at De Lorenzo's Hudson Street. Our time of arrival was 4:30 pm, just prior to the mad crush usually experienced around 5:00 pm or so.
Hudson Street is nowhere near as diner friendly as Hamilton Avenue. First, the restaurant is a converted row house, so accommodations are tight. At most, there are 15 booths or tables, with not much wiggle room. Second, there are no public restrooms, so make sure you take care of "business" prior to your arrival—and keep drinking to a minimum. The décor was quite similar to Hamilton Avenue, again with wood paneling, only in a much smaller setting. There are two ovens in the center of the floor, and a single television is usually tuned to a football game during the winter months.
We were second in line for seating, and it was quite a chilly day, so we were fortunate to be standing indoors rather than outdoors. There is no host, and seating is first come, first served. The queue resembles more a jumbled mass of loiterers snaking out the door and down the street, relying on self-management to ensure people sit in the appropriate order of arrival.
It took about 20 minutes before a booth opened up for us. Unlike Hamilton Avenue, there are no menus, so you have to order as if you know the deal. Here's a primer: There are small and large pies, eight and 10 slices, respectively. There are fewer varieties than Hamilton Avenue, but the mainstays are the usual—tomato and cheese, pepperoni, anchovies, sausage, peppers, even a white-clam pie that is said to be amazing.
Having eaten at Hudson Street before, I was well aware of these peculiarities. Gary Amico, who operates the restaurant, took our order. Given our earlier experience with the sausage topping at Hamilton Avenue, we opted for a plain pie. Birch beer accompanied the meal (of course).
PLAIN AND SIMPLE:The De Lorenzo's Hudson Street tomato pie. We ordered this pie with tomato and cheese only, to maximize crunch. Note the fine charring and golden crust, which tastes as good as it looks. Note the hours at DeLorenzo's Hudson (right); they're open for lunch on Fridays only.
It took about 45 minutes before our pie arrived, largely due to the limited cooking capacity at Hudson Street. With only two ovens, there are only a few pies cooking at any one time. Actually, the entire tomato-pie-making process seems to be done with more care than any other pizza establishment I've seen, so you feel like the result is a bit more special. The pie was cut in front of us with a knife—first in half, then into asymmetric slices.
Once you taste it, you know the wait was worth it. The taste was completely different from Hamilton Avenue. The crust has a smoky taste, not unlike something from a wood-fired oven. The crust is thinner than Hamilton Avenue's already thin crust but still substantial enough to maintain balance with the cheese and sauce. If there is an Achilles heel to Hudson Street's tomato pie, however, it's the inconsistent crunch; the pie is crisper at the edge, and gets softer toward the middle. However, at its crispest, it is without equal. This suits some people just fine, but to me, it was a small letdown compared to Hamilton Avenue's consistent crunch and firmness.
No other apologies needed, this pie rocks. The ingredients seemed slightly more fresh and flavorful than Hamilton Avenue, although not enough to quibble over. Interestingly, where the Hamilton Avenue tomato pie provides a consistent taste experience from bite to bite, the Hudson Street tomato pie shakes things up a bit. Some bites impart the taste of crust and cheese, with a smidge of olive oil. Other bites give you amazing tomato flavor and a crunch that is near potato-chip perfection. Each bite is something to look forward to with anticipation, and you are never disappointed. Examining the pie should indicate as much—it looks a lot like an authentic Neapolitan pizza Margherita, with splashes of tomatoes (seeds intact) and bits of cheese sprinkled about.
This pie was my wife's favorite. I have always preferred Hamilton Avenue to Hudson Street, if only for their consistent taste, but my wife has never shared my enthusiasm. From the second she tasted the Hudson Street pie, I knew she was hooked. To her, this was by far the best pie she had ever eaten. I can't argue with her—this is a darn good tomato pie, and I'd put it up against pizza from any place in the country.
Our tab was about $14, before tip. The mechanical cash register here seemed even older than the one at Hamilton Avenue. Our stomachs filled, we left pondering the wait for the eager souls lined up around the block and looked forward to our next excursion to Trenton for De Lorenzo's.
In restrospect, my favorite was the Hamilton Avenue pie, but I could be swayed. My wife (and 3-year-old daughter) preferred the Hudson Street version. You can't go wrong with either location, but given the ambiance (or lack thereof) and legend backing it, Hudson Street is generally the preferred choice among locals. Do yourself a favor and make it a point to visit one (or both) De Lorenzo's to taste the best tomato pies Trenton has to offer.
Posted by Adam Kuban, November 10, 2004 at 2:45 PM
Two Oafs By Sea:Slice's Adam K. and E-Rock made a trip out to Staten Island on Saturday to visit Joe & Pat's, one of the borough's better-known pizzerias. Joe & Pat's neon sign (top left). E-Rock sneaks a beer aboard the S62 (top right). Joe & Pat's amazingly thin plain pie (above). Joe & Pat's, on Victory Boulevard (right), is easy to get to by bus.
words and photos by adam k. .::. Taking advantage of what may well have been one of the last halfway decent weekends of the year, Slice roving reporter E-Rock and I took a ferry ride two Saturdays ago to Staten Island to visit Joe & Pat's, one of that borough's respected pizzerias.
JOE & PAT'S Location:1758 Victory Blvd., Staten Island Phone: 718-981-0887 Getting there: If you're a Staten Islander, you already know how to get there, I'm sure. For everyone else, take the ferry to S.I. and then the bus. Go to the ferry terminal's Ramp A, and hop on the S61, S62, S91, or S92. Take it to the Manor Road stop. It's about a 20-minute trip; watch the building numbers as you ride. The skinny: Skinny is right. This is some seriously thin crust. If it's crisp you like, you'll get it here. Sometimes veers toward "crunch." Perfect balance of crust, sauce, cheese.
Despite having employed three modes of public transport that day, it was relatively easy to get to the place, thanks to some simple directions from one of E-Rock's coworkers. We started on the R train, which we took to the Whitehall–South Ferry Station at the tip of Manhattan. From there, we boarded a ferry to make a fogbound crossing.
The Staten Island Ferry is one of the best deals in the city: It's free. E-Rock and I remarked that we wished we had more reasons to make the trip. Despite the ongoing renovations threatening to slickify both the Staten Island Ferry terminal in Manhattan and the Saint George terminal on Shaolin, the boats themselves remain quaint reminders of a bygone New York. Wooden benches burnished from countless commuter asses (below left) and PT-boat-era lifejackets overhead only reinforce the feeling that you've boarded a floating time machine of sorts. On this particular crossing, the fog (right) added to our sense of false nostalgia. Reminding us that we were indeed in the year 2004, however, was the armed Coast Guard escort cruising just off our stout ship's starboard side (above right). Perhaps that's why E-Rock needed a Foster's Lager (a relative bargain at $4).
By the time E-Rock quaffed his can o' beer, the boat had docked. We disembarked and made our way to the bus ramps, looking for the S61, S62, S91, or S92. Our veteran ferry-commuting readers probably know that these bus lines depart from Ramp A of the Saint George Terminal. E-Rock and I did not, and so we missed the first round of buses into the interior of the mist-shrouded isle. No worries. We killed time watching a gentleman of the street chase intruders—cars, pigeons, buses—from his little corner of the ramp.
After a ten-minute wait. the S62 appeared and we boarded it, relieved that, even though Staten Island seems so different from the rest of the city, its buses are still MTA buses and therefore take MetroCards. The ride itself is not too bad. It took about 20 minutes. Joe & Pat's is on Victory Boulevard, just off Manor Road. Even if you don't know Staten Island's streets, all you have to do is watch out the window as the building numbers increase. Joe & Pat's is at 1758 Victory Blvd.; it'll be on the left side of the bus as you meander out there. With its green-and-white striped awning (third photo from top), you can't miss it.
We debused just past Manor Road and backtracked a half block to the place. Walking in, we immediately spied a just-out-of-the-oven pie going into a take-out box. It was as thin as the devil is evil and exhibited signs of being properly balanced in terms of crust-sauce-cheese, as there were little islands of caramelized mozzarella floating among a splash of deep-red sauce.
Our waitress showed us to a booth in the middle section of the restaurant (right), which, though established in 1960, appears to have been recently renovated, what with its freshly painted and papered walls, blonde-wood accents, and trompe l'oeil blue-sky-and-clouds ceiling.
The menu offered many kinds of pizza and much more than pie, but we knew we had to get the benchmark plain pie. Shortly after we ordered it, the waitress came out with a stack of paper plates and one of those devices we wished every pizzeria would employ: the pizza-tray rack (left). The pizza itself was not too far behind; it arrived about five minutes later. The quick turnaround pleased us both, as we hadn't had anything to eat yet (well, except for that hot dog and Coke on the ferry).
For component balance, our plain pie matched the to-go one we had seen upon walking in. This augured well, we thought, because our one recurring complaint with too many pizzas in the city is that they're often overloaded with cheese. As you can see in the large photo at top, the cheese on Joe & Pat's plain pie was carefully applied, which left opportunity to actually taste the sauce. Not only that, but this distribution makes it easy for pizza tasters to take carefully tailored bites, sampling bits with just sauce or with sauce and cheese.
According to food writer Ed Levine, Joe & Pat's uses a sauce made with California-grown tomatoes that come from seeds of Italian San Marzano tomatoes. Though some swear by the Italian variety, we found Joe & Pat's sauce fresh-tasting, sweet, and sufficiently tomatoey.
As for the cheese, it was caramelized from what was either a very hot oven, more time than usual in said oven, or a little of both. The mozzarella on Joe & Pat's plain pie reminded us of the pies at Frank Pepe's and Sally's Apizza up in New Haven, Conn., cooked to the point where the oil had rendered from it and had sort of fried it. It was crunchy and creamy at the same time, which was interesting, but it burned the roof of my mouth (I was hungry and couldn't wait for it to cool down a bit).
But it was the crust that set Joe & Pat's apart. It was superthin, supercrisp, lightly charred and had an almost undefinable Staten Island–pizza quality to it, marked by a somewhat salty, yeasty flavor akin to the crust at Denino's, another Shaolin pizza mainstay. E-Rock liked the crispness and declared that it, and the overall taste and balance, put Joe & Pat's in his top-five list of New York pizzerias. I enjoyed the crispness from the tip to the part of the pie where the sauce ended but thought that the crust crept too close to the border of Crunchville; when folded, it simply broke instead of bending flexibly into a U shape. The endcrust—the arced part of the slice that is nothing but dough—made a full-on incursion into Crunchville, showing no sign of softness or chewiness whatsoever. I was almost tempted to leave it on the plate as many novice pizza eaters do.
Even with that complaint, I thought Joe & Pat's was worth the trip that day and could understand why E-Rock's coworker liked it so much, claiming she ate there at least once a week. Her praise was seconded by a Staten Island&3150;native freelance editor at my job; this gentleman lives near Joe & Pat's, eats there as often as he can and has an undying affection for it, too.
Had we stopped there, we would have been happy. But E-Rock, reasoning that we had come all that way, suggested we get another pie, this one with toppings. I knew my limit but didn't feel like I had reached it yet that afternoon. Boy, was I wrong. We ordered a small pie this time, half pepperoni, half garlic and onion. The one was one inch, maybe two, smaller than the large. E-Rock got through his half of it, but sadly, I had to leave one lone pepperoni-topped soldier on the battlefield. The Battle of the Bulging Stomach was over and done without his help. I don't feel I can fairly assess the pepperoni portion of the pie, as it was not even pleasurable eating it. I do know that folks who like well-done, crispy pepperoni would enjoy it. Like the cheese and crust, these rounds had been exposed to considerable heat. They were curled into little bowls of sausage, trapping the oil of the meat within. The lesser cooked ones were tasty, with a satisfying crunch at the edges and meatiness toward the bottoms. But those that were overcooked tasted almost like bacon, a flavor that was hardly appealing to me by the time I'd reached my seventh slice.
After lunch, we explored the area a bit and made our way to a bar called the Beer Garden, where we were too full to enjoy the brewskis. On the bus ride back, I noticed an indoor ice rink and made a mental note of it. While Joe & Pat's didn't blow me out of the water the way it did E-Rock (or the way the Coast Guard escort boat could blow sneaky evildoers to kingdom come), I could see myself going back in conjunction with a summer ice-skating trip.
Next time, however, I won't skate on the thin ice of overindulgence.
Posted by Adam Kuban, October 18, 2004 at 10:12 AM
Last Friday I mentioned briefly that one of the guests at the Slice One-Year Anniversary, Joe S., won a book in the raffle drawing we had. That book was a copy of American Pie (right), by Peter Reinhart.
Slice received its copy of this book from GirlyNYC, proprietor of Hottpants, a blog about panties (see: There really is a blog for everything!). Ms. Girly thought American Pie would be right up our alley, and it was. (Many thanks to her!) We liked it so much that we knew it'd be the perfect door prize. *
American Pie is an account of baking instructor and cookbook author Peter Reinhart's search for the perfect pizza. His journey takes him to the motherland, Italy, to get at the dish's roots, before it leads him around the United States looking for the best pie in the land.
Posted by Adam Kuban, October 15, 2004 at 11:08 AM
UNA PIZZA NAPOLETANA
Location:349 12th Street (East Village, b/n 1st/2nd aves.) Nearest train: L Train to First Ave. Phone: 212-477-9950 Hours: Thurs. & Fri., 5 p.m. until sold out of dough; Sat. & Sun., Noon until sold out of dough Payment: Cash only The Skinny: Get there early; proprietor Anthony Mangieri stops making pizza when the day's allotment of dough runs out. For now, it's BYO on the ALCO. No take-out, no delivery.
It took some convincing to get me out to Una Pizza Napoletana last night. I'd already eaten enough pizza for the week: an entire plain pie at Patsy's on Tuesday, then six slices at Patsy's again on Wednesday night. But when co-worker Honey P. reminded me of my plans to visit the new Neapolitan pizza shop that had just moved from Point Pleasant, New Jersey to the East Village—and offered her pleasant company for the excursion—I knew I couldn't shirk my pizza-eating duties.
And, ladies and gents, I'm glad I didn't. Una Pizza Napoletana was amazing. We arrived shortly before 7 p.m., worried there'd be a line. This wasn't the case, but as we stepped into the small, warmly lit space, we didn't see an open seat in the joint. Lucky for us, though, a couple had just gotten up from a four-topper table, and the friendly waiter told us he could seat us immediately if we didn't mind sharing a table with a gentleman who was on line just ahead of us. Hey, we're friendly folks at Slice, so of course we didn't mind.
It turned out that this gentleman had been a longtime regular at Una Pizza Napoletana's former New Jersey location. He and several other regulars had made the pilgrimage into the city to get their hands on some of Anthony Mangieri's (left) pies. That they were aching for Mr. Mangieri's pizza after having been deprived of it during the relocation, well, we took that as a very encouraging sign. Our de facto dining companion told us about Mr. Mangieri's exacting standards, about his passion for producing authentic Neapolitan pizza, about his history as a bread baker before turning his attention to pies, and about how Mr. Mangieri often closed up shop for weeks at a time while he traveled to Naples to hone his technique. "His grandfather owned a popular gelato shop in Newark," he informed us. "So the food business is in his blood."
Indeed, Mr. Mangieri is hardcore. From his menu:
Pizza—a word known all over the world, from New York City to Los Angeles, from Paris to Tokyo. It is a word used to describe many products; deep-dish, cracker thin, stuffed crust, etc. However, the meaning of the word "pizza" has been misunderstood and misrepresented over the years. Pizza only means one thing. It is Neapolitan—the word, the definition, the product. The word is a slang Neapolitan pronunciation of the word "pita." The history of pizza possibly can be traced back to the very beginnings of man and fire. Certainly, the pizza eaten today in the backstreets of Napoli is linked directly to the flat bread baked in Pompeii 2,000 years ago. This said, all the square, round, thick, stuffed and over-topped pieces of dough may be to your liking, but don't call it pizza.
Honey P., our dining companion, and I all agreed that this single-minded focus on doing things right and not cutting corners was to be admired and was exactly what's needed in the New York City pizza world, whether you're a pizzaiolo striving for authentic Neapolitan style or for the more common New York–Neopolitan style.
After about about 20 minutes of conversation, I ducked out to grab some beer at a bodega a couple doors down (Una Pizza Napoletana is BYOB for now, pending a license for wine and beer), and shortly after coming back to the table, our pies arrived. We had ordered the Margherita (San Marzano tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, extra-virgin olive oil, fresh basil, and sea salt) and the Filetti (fresh cherry tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, fresh garlic, extra-virgin olive oil, fresh basil, and sea salt). A quick pre-consumption examination of the crust revealed areas of careful charring—just the right amount—distributed across an otherwise crisp golden-brown background. The Margherita itself looked perfect, with dots of creamy melted mozzarella floating atop a bright-red layer of sauce. Fresh basil leaves that appeared to be just-wilted from the wood-fired oven's intense heat were scattered across. The Filetti appeared much the same, except for a smattering of halved cherry tomatoes that promised a burst of sweetness upon bite.
As delightful to the eye as the pies were, we were hungry, so, picking up knives and forks, Honey P. and I dug in. Yes, knives and forks: True to the Neapolitan way, Mr. Mangieri serves his 12-inch pies whole, and it's up to the customer to cut them at table.
The pizzas were stupendous. The crust was crisp and chewy with a pronounced but not overpowering woody flavor that complemented the satisfyingly salty dough. Every bite yielded easily discernable flavors: sweet fresh tomatoes, mild creamy buffalo mozz, and an oil of such an unbelievably high quality that it tasted like liquefied olives.
Remember all the Franny's frenzy of a few months ago? We at Slice predict that Una Pizza Napoletana will garner such praise in the weeks and months to come. As Cindy Adams says, "You heard it here first, kids."
Now let's talk about prices. These pies don't come cheap. At $16.95 per pie, Honey P. and I got out of there after dropping $50 (that's with tax and tip and two orange-flavored sodas, not counting our BYOB bottles of Stella Artois). But, as Mr. Mangieri's menu says (click on the images at top for a larger view), "We have no quarrel with the man who sells a cheaper pizza ... he knows how much his is worth!" Whether Una Pizza's pies are worth the price is up to you to decide. We think they are; we just don't think we could afford them as often as we'd like.
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FURTHER READING
For more on Mr. Mangieri and Una Pizza Napoletana, read this story from the Asbury Park Press. Our de facto dining companion tipped us to it and told us that the reviewer is notoriously hard on local restaurants but raves about Una Pizza.
And, if you haven't done so, click on the menu images above to enlarge them. They contain a history of pizza and explain Mr. Mangieri's pizza philosophy.
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Friends of Slice 
With a cover reminiscent of a retro pizza box and contents almost as tasty as the real thing, 
It turned out that this gentleman had been a longtime regular at Una Pizza Napoletana's former New Jersey location. He and several other regulars had made the pilgrimage into the city to get their hands on some of Anthony Mangieri's (left) pies. That they were aching for Mr. Mangieri's pizza after having been deprived of it during the relocation, well, we took that as a very encouraging sign. Our de facto dining companion told us about Mr. Mangieri's exacting standards, about his passion for producing authentic Neapolitan pizza, about his history as a bread baker before turning his attention to pies, and about how Mr. Mangieri often closed up shop for weeks at a time while he traveled to Naples to hone his technique. "His grandfather owned a popular gelato shop in Newark," he informed us. "So the food business is in his blood."
As delightful to the eye as the pies were, we were hungry, so, picking up knives and forks, Honey P. and I dug in. Yes, knives and forks: True to the Neapolitan way, Mr. Mangieri serves his 12-inch pies whole, and it's up to the customer to cut them at table.