Posadas and I were on our way back from a quick roadtrip to Boston.  In the car en route to Manhattan, we discussed whether we should get dinner in Manhattan or grab something quick along the way.  “Yeah, I don’t know, I’m not really in the mood for crappy road food,” I said to her.  “Maybe we can hold out the 4 hours until we get into the city.”

 
We cruised along Mass Pike talking and admiring the view before it hit me.  “Oh my god!” I blurted out.  “There’s a place halfway between Boston and New York that’s famous for pizza!”  “Ok, let’s go!”  Posadas immediately said.  She is a very supportive friend for agreeing without knowing any details.  I could have been proposing a trip to the very first Papa John’s takeout, or a hike to some hole-in-the-pizza-wall place 45 minutes in the wrong direction down winding and hard-to-see country roads.  Fortunately, my idea was no such thing. 

Place:  Frank Pepe
Location:  New Haven, CT
Pepsi:  no.  BUT they did have a lovely line of old fashioned drinks, including cream soda.  If I can’t have a Pepsi, a cream soda is absolutely an acceptable alternative.  

Price:  $8.50 for a 12” plain pie

Setting:   Ok, we went to “The Spot” rather than the original Frank Pepe.  We were in the middle of a 4 hour drive, and waiting in line outside in the cold for an hour and a half felt amazingly unappealing.  A little internetting led me to the conclusion that the small pizza place in the middle of Frank Pepe’s parking lot was also called Frank Pepe and served the same pizza.    But it only had a 10 minute wait.  

The Pizza:  Huh.  I’m still mulling over this one.  I didn’t do any pre-research on New Haven pizza besides figuring out where to go.  I didn’t want to go into this with any preconceived notions.   It was chewy and crispy at the same time.  Thick but it snapped when I bit into it.  Maybe almost like a parantha?  Is there a reason why pizza often reminds me of Indian breads?  

It was decent.  I wasn’t blown away, but it was interesting.  I just kept chewing and saying, “Hmmm.  I’m not sure what I think about this.”  Based on numerous people I’ve spoken to since, I have two theories.  Theory One:  I shouldn’t have ordered a small pizza.  With such a big crust, there was only a little bit of sauce and cheese on each slice.   The other slices people where biting into looked a little more satisfying. 

Theory Two:  Although these two restaurants have the same owner, same recipe, same name, I think the smaller one may have been inferior.  If the pizzas really were the same, I can’t imagine why so many people would be waiting in line for over an hour for the original.  Which all leads me to theory three:  I need to do a full-fledged New Haven investigation in order to truly create a verdict.  

Notable:   I ordered a “tomato pie with mozzarella” as that seemed to be the way a plain was listed on the menu.  “A mozz pie,” the server said as she jotted it down on her pad.  “Um, yes.  A mozz pie.”
Weird Menu Items:  Nothing too weird to see here.

West Philly has more than its fair share of huge old Victorian houses with high ceilings and tons of bedrooms.  These houses are expensive to heat and far too big for a single family.  Over the years they’ve been cut down into apartments or taken over by groups of friends willing to share refrigerators and mold-filled basements.   The Lap House is a West Philly group house that’s been around forever, and has been having pizza parties for almost a decade. 

(our works stations.)
The idea is simple and genius:  They’ll provide the dough and you provide the toppings.  A pizza party at it’s most well functioning.  It also helps if you have, as The Lap House does, an enormous oven capable of cooking four pizzas at once.   Courtney, one of the organizers of the original party, was kind enough to tell me a little bit about the first one.

“I wish that i could remember how/what motivated the party but I think that we were just wanting to get together with people in the wintertime, with an activity that had a low threshold for participation.  People were creative with savory and sweet things, mostly vegan but some vegetarian, and always both gluten and gluten-free. We tried to name it different things, usually with a play on the word dough; one of my favorites was “Bavid Doughie.” 

(making the pizza political.)

During its most recent incarnation, I showed up on a Sunday night, exhausted from a series of transportation errors on my way back to Philly from Brooklyn.  But my energy level perked right up as soon as I walked in the front door.   A bevy of toppings laid scattered across counters and tables.   Two work stations were running at once, where party attendees peeled a circle of pizza dough from its Trader Joe plastic bag, rolled it out on a floured wooden board, transferred it to a baking pan, and added all the sauce and toppings to create their very own pizza.  Some photos are below. 

(my creation had ricotta, pesto, tofurkey sausage, and fresh basil.)

(vegan veggie magic.)

It’s been a few years since I volunteered for a shift at Philly’s anarchist bookstore, the Wooden Shoe.    Last Friday night I found myself hanging out behind the counter once again. This time I was not stuck talking to cranky old Communist customers who want to school me about archaic political theory.  Instead my responsibilities were simply to order a pizza for myself and the two hungry volunteers.    James quickly shot down my first suggestion of Genarro’s.  According to him, Little Italy was the place to go.  Matt seconded the idea.  I never heard of the place.  As an intrepid pizza explorer, I like to think I know all the decent pizza places in Philly.   But with two strong votes of confidence for Little Italy, I was willing to take on an unknown quantity.

Place:  Little Italy
Location:  South Street, Philadelphia
Pepsi:  Nope.
Price:  $16 for a 16” White Veggie Combo Pie, $2.45 for a plain slice
 

Setting:   I got our pizza to go so we could eat while James and Matt were selling books.  At 9pm on a Friday night, the place was dead.   There’s no table service, just a bunch of tables in a dark room lit by the fluorescent lighting of soda refrigerators. 

The Pizza:  We ordered a white veggie combo pizza to split, and on my way out, I grabbed a plain slice just out of curiosity.  Dear lord.  Little Italy, who knew?  You blew this shit out of the water.  Sweet sauce that was virtually indistinguishable from plenty of stringy cheese, all of which was piled on top of a soft crust.  Yes please. 

The white pie was also good.  Vegetables on a pizza can go very wrong very easily.  All it takes is some cheap canned veggies and your pizza becomes worthless.  But the broccoli and tomato tasted fine, and were supported by tons of garlic and olive oil.  My only complaint is that I would’ve wanted more cheese and less vegetables, but that’s because I have the palate of a 4 year old child.  I like to whine about wanting to eat dessert instead of carrot sticks. 

(I’ve heard vegetables are good for you but I’m not convinced.)

Notable:   The most notable thing was that the plain slice was crazy, crazy good. 
Weird Menu Items:   Stuffed pizza rolls.  At $4.50 each, they’re certainly not the faux egg rolls that go by the same name. 

I got a hot tip at the coffeeshop I obssessively frequented while in Austin, TX.  It had amazingly strong iced coffee and a sign hanging up that said “Hoboken Pizza here.”  Interest piqued, I asked the counterperson, “What’s Hoboken Pizza?  I never heard of it.”  “Oh, it’s a pizza place here.  We sell their slices.”  She lowered her voice and leaned in.  “I wouldn’t bother.  I’d go to Home Slice.”   

Home Slice you say?  We decided to grab a slice on our way to watch the bats arise from their slumber under the Congress Ave Bridge.    Thousands of bats have chosen this bridge as their summer home.   They emerge in a huge moving cloud every evening at sunset.   Excited to see the spectacle,  I felt certain we’d need sustenance in the form of pizza to get us through the viewing

.   
Place:  More Home Slice 
Location:  South Congress, Austin, TX
Pepsi:  Nope.
Price:  $3 for a plain slice

Setting:   More Home Slice is a takeout place next door to the original Home Slice on South Congress Street.  Home Slice was closed the day we went, but we were only looking for slices anyways.  There’s a couple tables out front and a couple seats inside, but it’s mainly set up for carryout.  There’s a counter outside, so we ordered and found a couple chairs in the parking lot.

The Pizza:  I don’t have a lot to say here except: if the majority of what you serve is slices, why the hell would you hand me an overcooked, crunchy, hardened cheese slice and charge me $3 for it?  Even at an appropriate level of cooked-ness, this appears to be a very unremarkable slice of plain pizza.

Notable:   There was some very appealing neon signage outside.   If only they spent a little more time on pizza and a little less on graphic design. 

Weird Menu Items:   Who cares.

Dear Lorenzo’s,

Is it true?  I hear you’re coming back.   Please know that there’s still a slice-shaped hole in my heart waiting for you.  I could never replace you. 

Wishing and hoping,

Kate

Whenever a pizza “best of” list hits the internets, trust that friends send it to me six times within the first ten minutes it’s up.  I usually scan through, note the options that are in the tri-state area, prune out the fancy ones, and stick the rest in a gmail to myself with the subject line “PIZZA.”    The Philly places listed are generally the usual suspects: Taconelli’s, Slice, Osteria, Nomad, etc.  But as I agonizingly flipped through each of the 101 individual slides of pizza on Grub Street’s recent list, I was pleasantly surprised by a wildcard.  A wildcard in the suburbs that happened to be just blocks away from my MomMom’s house.

 
I immediately e-mailed my dad.  “Conshy Bakery just picked as one of the best 101 pizza nationally.  Can we go next time we’re at MomMom’s?”

He quickly responded.  “Tomato pie?   You’ve had it many times.  Any time you want, we can go there.”  Sweet.  After an aborted first attempt, we successfully made it happen.  

I will be transparent here and admit that the part I was most excited about with this whole adventure was getting some choice quotes from my MomMom.  In my opinion, Bernie is the perfect mix of sweet old grandmother with complainy side comments.  I am endlessly jealous of the silver color of her hair, and I dream of inheriting this perfect shade.  But I digress.  I was hoping for a sassy quote from my grandmother, encapsulating her sweet and snarky sides simultaneously. 

We sat down to eat at her dining room table.  I eagerly awaited her biting into a slice and held my pen hovering over the page to capture every word of her judgement.  But as the rest of my family dug into slices, Bernie dug into a turkey sandwich she made out of the fridge.  “MomMom, you don’t want any tomato pie??”  She told me she’d have a slice, but she didn’t really think Conshy Bakery had particularly good tomato pie.  What the hell.  All my plans for naught.  The best I could get out of her this time around was a lead on the place she thought had the best tomato pie, better than Conshy: Corpoleses in Norristown.  To be continued…

Place:  Conshohocken Bakery
Location:  Conshohocken, PA
Pepsi:  not sure, but probs not. 
Price: 

$14 18”x25” tomato pie
$6 Spinach, Feta & Pine Nut Stuffed bread

Setting:   My grandmother’s house.  Clear plastic tablecloth cover, big dining room table far too large for teeny dining room.   Embarassing photos of myself and most of my extended family.  Doilies and Hummels.   You get the picture.

The Pizza:  Whoa.  I give this tomato pie and the stuffed bread my first rating of “whoa.”  Fucking two Joey Lawrences up on this one. 

Despite my grandmother’s ruling against Conshy Bakery, the rest of us were in agreement: the tomato pie was a dream.  We ate it at room temperature, as you should eat a tomato pie.  The sauce was sweet and tomato-y.   The crust was perfection.   It was just the right combo of firm and chewy.  Not too dry, not too flimsy.  It was almost like a biscuit, with some olive oil mixed in.  A sprinkle of shaker parm.  Dear lord. 

The stuffed bread was also amazing.  First of all, how can you go wrong with feta AND pine nuts?  We heated it up and holy crap yes please.  My dad said “I’m not even a spinach eater but that is good.”  The proportions were all right, and they avoided the watery spinach disaster that often afflicts spinach dishes.  The crust was killer:  buttery, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside.  And $6 baked to order?  Conshy Bakery, you fucking win.  You fucking win.

 
Notable:   Conshohocken Bakery is literally a bakery.  In that it closed at 2pm and we had to have my kind Aunt Karen go pick it up before it closed.  Also,  they bake your shit to order if you call ahead.  This is a dream to me, especially because it is HELLA affordable. 

Weird Menu Items:   There aren’t a lot of weird menu items per se, but there are a lot of delicious menu items.  They don’t have any standard pizza, but they do have a few white versions of tomato pie, including one with anchovies. Gross.

Here’s a true story.  I had a date with my dad and my grandmother (aka “MomMom” to law enforcement agents).   We made plans to check out the tomato pie at Conshohocken Bakery, which recently made Grub Street’s list of awesome American pizza and happens to be just a few blocks from my MomMom’s house.  All plans were go until the day before when I got an email from my dad:  “MomMom has plans tomorrow night, we have to reschedule.”  Um, did I just get blown off by my 81 year old grandmother?  Does she have awesome Saturday night party plans and is too embarassed to bring her granddaughter?   Does my grandmother think I am uncool?? Fuuuuck. 

My dad, stepmom Terry and I decided to salvage the night by checking out some Delaware County pizza a little closer to home.  I had a hot pizza tip to check out Carmen’s, so we drove out in the fuh-reezing cold February weather to check it out.

Place:  Carmen’s Pizza
Location:  Milmont Park, PA (on MacDade Blvd in Delaware County)
Pepsi:  nope.  but they did have fountain cherry coke, which is an acceptable (but not equivalent) alternative.
Price:  $10.95 for an 18” plain pizza.  Holy crap that’s an amazing price.  Especially because you can get one topping with that.  My dad wanted extra cheese, because he’s a man after my own heart.  We got half plain, half extra cheese, for both journalistic integrity and also because my stepmom didn’t want extra cheese. 

Setting:   Carmen’s is pretty adorable.  They obviously do a lot more delivery/takeout and the seating area is on the small side.  It’s quiet and low key, with Christmas lights and plastic tablecloths.    The server was a very sweet teenage boy with an orthodontia-related lisp.   He entertained my odd questions with nothing but sweetness.

The Pizza:  We ordered our pizza “Broadway style” which then menu said would be “ultra thin NY style.”  When they served us the pizza, the crust was so thick that Terry checked to make sure we had gotten the right pizza.  “Is this the ultra thin crust?”  she asked.  “Yes.  It’s thick but thin when you bite into it,” our waiter told us, the light glinting off his braces.  I’m not really sure what that means, and it was not really a thin crust.  But it was airy and chewy and I’m ok with that.  We all agreed that it was a good all-around pizza, with a sauce that tasted like tomatoes and mozzarella that was melty and stringy.  Everything fit together pretty much the way it should for a pizza. 

We also ordered a Carzoni which I have never heard of before.  I assume this must be their own invention as a google search also turned up nothing except some entries on Car Zone.  We ordered a macaroni and cheese Carzoni.  When it came out, it looked pretty much like a small version of a football.  When I cut it (no easy task with a butter knife) it immediately deflated. Oddly, the closest thing I can think of to compare it to is poori, Indian fried bread.  It was thin, puffy, and deep fried, which obvs spells delicious.  Inside was your standard issue mac and cheese.  Overall, the whole thing tasted exactly like you would think it would if you put mac and cheese inside thin deep fried bread.  Which is to say it was fine, but didn’t really mesh.  With a different filling, I think it would’ve been killer.  Our waiter said he was all over the dessert version, with apples and cinnamon. 

Notable:   They have a whole vegan menu!  Which is awesome and I have no idea how a little pizzeria in Delaware County wound up with vegan cheesesteaks and pizzas with Daiya faux cheese.  I didn’t try anything this time, but it was certainly tempting. 

Weird Menu Items:   Dear lord, there were an endless supply of weird menu items.  I could pretty much do an entire blog dedicated to trying all the weird shit on Carmen’s menu.   Here are just a few.  Stuffed crust pizza.  “Spiced garlic loaf.”  “Famous Jami’s Spinach Surprise.”  They also served the aforementioned vegan menu and also a whole menu of Carzonis in different flavors.  I would like to move in with the family that runs this place and stay up all night brainstorming the next weird items to throw on the menu. 

“Pizza Suprema is the only slice so far to receive an 8 out of 8 slice review.”  When I read that in Slice Harvester zine, I knew it was to be taken seriously.    Slice Harvester’s goal is to review every pizzeria in Manhattan and he totally did it.  That is NUTS.  “This slice is great and if you are a connoisseur of simple street pizza, it is worth going out of your way to try.”  Well, I don’t know if I’m a connoisseur, but I fucking love unfancy pizza.  Plus I planned to leave Manhattan from Penn Station, so it seemed worth the 2 block walk to try it out.

Place:  NY Pizza Suprema
Location:  Midtown, right across from Penn Station.

Pepsi:  No. There were cups that said “tacos” on them and had a Pepsi logo.  But there were no tacos to be found and they filled the cups with only Coke products.  It felt like a slap in the face.   Why would you do that to me?  I am easily hurt in matters of caffeinated fountain beverages.

Price:  $3 plain slice/$3.50 mushroom slice

Setting:    This place is what I think of when I think pizzeria.  Lots of huge booths, Italian flag color scheme, a big counter with plexiglass displaying the pizza wares.   Nice old dudes shoveling cold slices into huge ovens while pulling whole cooked pies out of others.   Giant tables with high wooden booths around them so you can pretend like your booth is your own personal hideout, just you and your pizza, bffs hidden away in a tree fort no one can see. 

(my tree fort.  i’m not really an outdoorsy person.)

The Pizza:  I will own that I may have had overly high expectations for this place.  But c’mon, the only place in Manhattan to get a perfect score from a passionate pizza reviewer?  How could my expectations not have been high? 

And the plain slice was definitely a good slice.  Lots of sweet sauce with chunks of tomato in it.  The crust was decent, nothing stand out-ish.  The slice was a little greasy for me.  The thing that really threw this slice off for me was that it tasted overwhelmingly of parmesan.  I’m guessing it was mixed in the sauce, and it wasn’t really my thing. 

(remnants from the plain slice)

I wouldn’t usually order a mushroom slice, especially because pizzerias often will try to act like canned mushrooms are edible, as opposed to disgusting rubbery pieces of trash.  But when I saw this slice, I wanted in.  There were clearly fresh mushrooms, along with fresh parsley, cheese, and a huge plop of sauce in the middle.  My first thought when biting into the mushroom slice was that it was closer in flavor to pasta then pizza.  It was good, Italian, solid, but not particularly pizza-ish.   The parsley seemed a little unnecessary and the slice didn’t really mesh too well into a whole.  If you had thrown all the ingredients minus the crust over pasta and threw some red pepper flakes onto it, I would’ve been into it.  As a slice, it was fine. 

Notable:   The place was filled with people wearing sports gear.  Filled. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to realize that we were next to Madison Square Garden and they were grabbing pizza before heading into a game.

Weird Menu Items:   Lasagna pizza?  What?! $40? What?!

Amalle, who is one of my best pizza informants, sent me an article about the best “under the radar” Brooklyn pizzerias, many of which are unknown outside the neighborhood.   I found myself in New York with a free afternoon when S.O. offered up their car for a pizza adventure.  And so I busted out the list.  According to the article, “Their locations may prevent them from making the best-of lists, but they all serve pizza that’s worth the bus or car ride.”  Well, we will just have to see about that. Because of time constraints, and because Brooklyn is so goddamn big, we(Star, S.O., me) only hit two of the ten places: Ramagi Brick Oven Pizza and A&V Pizza.

 
When we approached the outside of Ramagi, my fancy pizza radar went up and I immediately grew suspicious.  A sleek looking building stood out from everything else on the block, including the Domino’s directly across the street.   When we went in, my hackles were raised even further.  They had thought-out lighting design, exposed brick walls, and a modern color scheme.  Hmmm.  Even worse, there were wine bottles arranged on the wall and pizzas with lobster on the menu.   I was concerned.  This seemed to be a fancy pizzeria, and I have nothing but well-documented negative feelings on that subject.  

But—they served slices.  $2 slices.  Delicious looking slices.   Soda in a can from a cooler.  Paper napkins and no table service.  Katy Perry on the radio.  Was this place fancy or not?  With nary a mention of truffle oil to be seen, I was willing to proceed forward despite my hesitation.

Place:  Ramagi Brick Oven Pizza
Location:  Prospect Lefferts Garden, Brooklyn
Pepsi:  in a can.  thank you.  
Price:  $2 plain slice/$3.50 white slice
Setting:   The guys working here were really sweet.   As mentioned above, the place was fairly fancy looking for a pizzeria.  

   
The Pizza:  The white slice was nothing special, which I found very confusing.  The ingredients separate from each other were really good.  The ricotta was certainly not the crap squeezed from a tube used at so many places.  Spinach, olive oil, mozzarella, I could taste that all of them were quality ingredients.  But somehow it didn’t come together as a slice. It looked delicious, but its parts were better than their sum.

As for the plain slice, it was pretty good.  Especially at $2, which might be among the cheapest slices I’ve ever gotten in NY (save the $1 slice places, which are in their own separate category).   Again, you could tell that the separate ingredients were good quality, the slice was thin but not crispy, and the sauce was light.   All traits I like in a slice.  At the price, it was a good goddamn bang for my buck.  I’d definitely go back.  

Notable:   There was a lovely arrangement of toppings brought out to our table along with our slice.   This included sweet chili sauce, which I wasn’t really sure about.  But you know I’m always up for a weird new pizza trick.  Turns out the sweet sauce was a pretty nice complement to both slices.  Also notable, Star pretended like she had never been there before when IN ACTUALITY she had been there before but concealed that fact, “because i didn’t want to ruin your virgin experience.”

Weird Menu Items:   Baked ziti pie, which looked tempting.  But I knew I had a few slices ahead of me that afternoon, so I opted for a medium order of carbs rather than an extra large.   Also, the “Taste of the Islands” pizza sounds delightful: jerk chicken, pineapple, jalapenos, and “spicy sauce.”  

Place:  A&V Pizza
Location:  East Flatbush, Brooklyn
Pepsi:  yup. cans for $1.  
Price:  $2.25 plain slice/$2.75 grandma slice
Setting:   Tiny little pizza place in a block of Carribean bakeries and clothing stores.  Your standard counter with three little tables on the side.  Italian language soccer playing on the tv.  It was a little on the dingy side.  Also, I have absolutely no idea why I didn’t take any photos while I was here.  Here’s one I found online.

(this man was not there when i was.  but he does look nice.)

The Pizza:  Dear lord.   S.O. and I split a plain slice and a grandma slice.  I can’t remember how the counterguy described the grandma slice, but it was pretty much a sauce heavy Sicilian slice  with a very very thin crust.  It was terrible.  I didn’t even finish my half slice, handing it over to S.O. 

S.O. liked it, saying “It tastes like Spaghetti-O’s.  But it doesn’t taste like a slice of pizza.”  It was overcooked; the cheese was plastick-y.  The sauce made me think how air freshner purports to be a particular scent, say lemon, but smells very little like lemon, and actually just smells like horrible chemicals.  That’s what this sauce was like-I sort of knew what they were going for but it in no way shape or form resembled a marinara sauce or a red pizza sauce.

As for the plain, well, it was below average.  Again, shitty cheese, meh sauce, no seasonings whatsoever.  BUT.  The crust was amazing.  S.O. was not as sold on the crust but I really, really  was.  It was clearly made in house, not frozen, and tasted like a delicious salty hoagie roll.  It wasn’t enough to balance out everything else wrong with it, or for me to ever even think about getting another slice there, but it was really, really fucking good.

Notable:   The most notable thing about A&V Pizza, quite honestly, was the flirty Italian gentleman working behind the counter. (not the one pictured above.)  He winked in the most charming way possible while chatting me up.  Usually I would find flirty, winky men minorly irritating at best.  But not this guy.  Mr. A&V, I’m single and I respect your profession like a motherfucker.  Hit me up.

    
Weird Menu Items:  Chicken caesar salad pizza.  Which is not that weird in and of itself, but it looked to be topped, post-baking, with fresh romaine lettuce.  I asked my charming Italian friend at the counter about the pie and he explained “It’s a diet pie.  You know, sometimes the ladies like a diet pie, when they’re trying to lose weight.”  Dear readers, I never, ever want a diet pizza.   Nor do I think that a plate of dough smothered with caesar salad dressing would be considered diet food for anyone, but that man could have told me anything and I would’ve giggled and agreed.   If he had told me pizza blogging was a worthless endeavor, I would’ve immediately deleted my blog and awaited further instructions from him on how to spend my time.