Posts from the ‘Pizza’ Category

Jul 19

Denino’s

Denino's filled two needs. James wanted pizza. "Old-school or hipster?" I asked, as if those were the only two styles on earth. Old-school, it was decided, Staten Island, preferably. Me, I wanted a clam pie, but New Haven wasn't in the cards on such short notice. Neither of us had ever eaten pizza in (or is that on?) Staten Island, which is a shame. Pat & Joe's and Lee's Tavern were also contenders that will have to wait for another time. I did not regret my choice because Denino's is awesome.

Any place with an old man bar attached, pitchers of beer on most (laminate wood) tables, and booths (booths are key) where half the clientele and staff know with each other, is going to be good. Plus, when was the last time you saw a Kiss tattoo?

Oh, and you can have buffalo calamari. You wonder who the grotesque target audience is for Sabra Buffalo Syle Hummus, and now you know. Me.

The pizza is thin crust with some chew, charred just a little, and non-floppy. I wanted to try half-and-half since it doesn't seem like you can do that in NYC and it's kind of a throwback to childhood when a pepperoni/Hawaiian was the crowd-pleaser at any gathering (plus, plastic pitchers of root beer and Ladybug, the Pac Man ripoff) but clams seemed weird with meat even if they weren't technically touching. I'll leave blending pork and shellfish in a single dish to the Portuguese. There was a good amount of cheese, but not so much that it overwhelmed the clams. And being a white pie, garlic and olive oil were also major players.

Despite wanting to stay for hours, Denino's is no place for lingering. On weekend nights there are waits for tables, despite multiple dining rooms, and if you talk too much (like I do) you'll soon realize the whole room has changed over and you still have half a pizza left. Eat up, box your leftovers and scram.

Denino's * 524 Port Richmond Ave., Staten Island, NY

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Jun 30

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Clinton Hill Times Three

SoCo I’ve been spending time in Clinton Hill recently, trying to assess the livability of the neighborhood (I would say the prognosis is good; we put an offer on a condo yesterday). I’m not a total stranger to the area since I did work at Pratt briefly in the late ’90s (my first-ever, full-time salaried job [$22,000] which I left to work at a food website–yes, they existed 13 years ago–for $3,000 more. Everyone got laid off six months later…) but Myrtle Avenue has ten million more bars and restaurants than in my day. SoCo was the craziest (well, the booming sit-down Chino-Latino place with the name I always forget technically was) in that there was a huge crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk. More club than restaurant. But the next afternoon, the post-brunch crowd seemed mellower so I joined in, lured by the promise of fried chicken and red velvet waffles on the window menu. It’s the most popular dish, too, I was told. I would estimate that at least half of the tables had at least one plate of red waffles on it. The mash-up was far less breakfast/dinner than dinner/dessert hybrid. The sweetness was there, and pumped up by the maple syrup, but the cocoa flavor almost grounded it. You really didn’t feel like you were eating chicken and cake, just a tasty new form of fat and carbs. Lovers of unnaturally colored food and nonsensical flavor combinations will be pleased.

Speedy Romeo I love processed cheese, not just Velveeta and Cheez Whiz, but thickly sliced deli cheese, too, all extra creamy and salty. I also love Hawaiian pizza, so it’s almost as if Speedy Romeo’s Dick Dale was custom made for me. Using popular-in-St. Louis Provel cheese (a melty, processed cheese that combines cheddar, swiss and provolone) plus pineapple and smoky speck ham on a wood-fired pizza is pure genius. Adding a spoonful of pickled chiles, the restaurant’s condiment of record, provides a sharp contrast against the smoother, sweet flavors, and makes this pizza one of my all-time favorites. That is not say, all will love it, especially considering ham and pineapple is a scourge to purists, never mind the utterly un-artisanal cheese. Oh, Slice covered this very pizza this week with a nice slide show and everything–I had no idea it contained béchamel.

Putnam’s Pub It’s a gastropub, nothing out of the ordinary, but good to know about if a late night roasted bone marrow or devils on horseback (not bacon-wrapped dates here, which is the usual interpretation, but fried oyster topped deviled eggs) craving strikes.

Sunset Park Diner & Donuts I never ate here once when I lived down the street, though that’s not really a judgment of the restaurant but more about my rarely eating at diners. It’s slim pickings for post-2am dining in the area, and they do a grilled cheese with bacon deluxe, i.e. with fries, as good as anyone. The restaurant is even on Seamless, which is surprising. It almost makes me wish I still lived over there just so I could have french toast and jalapeño poppers delivered to my door at 3am.

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Mar 24

Eaten, Barely Blogged: How Do You Like Them Apples (and Andouille)?

Donovan’s Woodside on St. Patrick’s Day is like marching into the belly of the beast, though far more family than the fratty scene I envision at the Irish pubs of Manhattan. We waited an hour at Donovan’s for a table where we were serenaded loudly by drums and bagpipes (that’s me pretending not to notice the ruckus) as one does. Corned beef, cabbage, and a single boiled potato should’ve been on my plate (I do love that meal and am surprised so many dislike it) but you know, Donovan’s is famous for its burger and I wasn’t changing my usual order just because it was a holiday.

Sripraphai All the usual suspects: crispy pork with chile and basil, duck curry with eggplant, crispy watercress salad (which I love so much that I recreated it at home the following weekend but forgot to photograph because I was in a hurry to get it made before The Walking Dead season finale aired) plus a rarely ordered larb and never-before Thai mojito. Remind me again, to never go to Sripraphai on a Saturday night (and kick me for pretending to be Thai-knowledgeable with never having tried Centerpoint on the next block). Beyond the insane crowds and weirdo orderers who eat dishes like individual, non-sharable entrees, the spice just isn’t there. Thai-wise, I’m looking forward to the new Chao Thai branch, and I suppose Pok Pok, as well, but as a Portland transplant I have weird feelings about fellow Portland transplants.

Toby’s Public House “Weird but good” was my honest response to “How was the special? The cook wants to know.” Both pizzas we picked were oddly sweet. I happen to be a freak for sweet-savory mash-ups so that’s not a knock. The special in question paired andouille with green apples, a not-unpleasant though untraditional combo. The surprise was more from the asparagus pizza that was nearly candied sweet from caramelized onions, and I don’t know, there had to be something else at work. I want to say that the stubs of asparagus were cooked in balsamic vinegar? If it were up to me, I might combine the apples with the onions, add a little bacon, and pretend the pizza was a tarte flambee. I’d also sprinkle some blue cheese, thought that would dilute the Alsatian theme. At that rate, there was no way I was going to opt for the much-lauded nutella-ricotta calzone. Who needed dessert?

Blue Ribbon In my 20s, I never understood it when friends a decade older would say “I can’t drink like I used to” or genuinely old folks might have to forgo spicy or rich food, i.e. “I like butter, but butter doesn’t like me.” What? Shut up. As I approach middle age, though, I’m afraid some of this is becoming a reality. Thankfully, painfully hot food is not a problem…yet. The night after a night of over-imbibing I was still feeling too rough to handle the roasted bone marrow at Blue Ribbon. The pure fat coupled with a rich oxtail marmalade was wreaking havoc. Weird as it may have been, I just had it wrapped up and ate it the next day no problem. Why not eat bone marrow on toast for breakfast? As the regular Blue Ribbon and the sushi version next door morph into one, they’ve begun offering raw fish preparations at the original. The small plate of sashimi was a welcome relief from the intended appetizer (which would’ve been better for sharing, except that Lent is still a thing) though I still think everything at Blue Ribbon is overpriced and yes, the crowd leans heavily Bay Ridge/Staten Island even if that characterization (not by me) offended a Chowhound four years after the fact.

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Dec 3

Pizza Hut Saratoga Springs

A $20 Pizza Hut gift card has been stashed in the armrest of James’ car for probably the past two years. Just in case, you know? Really, it’s only a gift in the way that buying things for yourself while Christmas shopping can be considered gifts.

Unlike the cards for Olive Garden and Cheesecake Factory, also languishing in their cache between the front seats, I’ve hoped that James would forget that he bought it. Pizza Hut, like Sizzler, feels second-tier, someplace old and tired that I’ve known my whole life. Not necessarily the source of good nostalgia.

Yet during a rain storm, hungry yet hours earlier than normal dinner time you might see Pizza Hut advertised on a sign on I-87 while approaching Saratoga Springs from Montreal. This is no occasion for glitzy trappings or voluminous menus. And maybe it’s a sit-down? Standalone Pizza Huts are a rare breed, at least around NYC. We struck-out with the first location we found on the GPS. It was just a strip mall takeout version like the one I worked at in the summer of 1990. But the counter woman was nicer than I was during my stint and directed us to a full-service one just a block-and-a-half down the street. Why Saratoga Springs is so saturated with Pizza Huts is another issue.

The faded, family-friendly style that I’d been thinking of as dreary turned out to be charming in its refusal to modernize like an uppity Red Lobster. This photo could’ve been taken decades ago: '70s suburban church italics, '80s checkerboard tiles, three-bean salad. The menu wasn’t laminated and photo-driven, but simply a Xeroxed piece of paper listing the basics. There is a small salad bar and pizzas you can order half-and-half—or Hawaiian with no shame.

I picked hand-tossed crust because I couldn’t handle the breadiness of pan, and not thin crust because I remember hating having to make it since it was the only style you had to roll through a machine out on demand. This is childhood pizza, sweetish sauce encased in mozzarella, completely inoffensive. The pepperoni had the perfect singed ends and pools of oil. The odd thing, and I hope it’s not a case of my palate maturing, was how bland the ham and pineapple was. Maybe it was always this way.

The most shocking part of the experience was that after paying, we still had 88 cents left on the gift card. I practically spent as much on a lobster roll and naturally sweetened blueberry soda for lunch last week. No wonder Pizza Hut is such a family favorite (with the exception of the tottering elderly couple drinking white wine and Molson in the primo corner booth, the diners were all parents and children). You might not be treated to a bubbly coal oven pie adorned with mozzarella di bufala, and who would expect to for $11.99?

Pizza Hut * 22 Congress St., Saratoga Springs, NY

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Jan 30

Lou Malnati’s & Portillo’s

Before February hits and all of 2010 gets away from me, I must post a straggler from my New Year's Eve excursion to Chicago. I saved the quintessential regional items for last, mostly because I have the least to say about them.

I wasn't even intending to eat deep dish pizza on this trip. Out of duty, I tried Gino's on my last visit. It was perfectly likeable, but there are friends, and then there are acquaintances and I don't feel compelled to keep in touch with deep dish on a regular basis.

Yet within an hour of landing, a big ol' saucy pizza bubbling in a pan sounded like the best thing ever. Was it the chilly weather commanding my body to bulk up? Who knows, but instead of walking over to Xoco for tortas, as originally planned for first day lunch, I declared, "We're going to Lou Malnati's!"

A pitcher of beer and casserole masquerading a pizza (don't kill me—at least I didn't call it a lasagna with a crust) are good fun. We split a small sausage with a butter crust, two slices each. I love how the sausage isn't portioned out across the pie in blobs but comes as a solid disk the same circumference as the pizza. I have no idea if the 75-cent addition of butter slicked on the dough is wildly different from the original crust, but no expense can be spared on vacation. I will say that the crust was very flaky despite its heft. It may be chain pizza but it’s hardly a Pizza Hut (at least not the one I recall from my teenage stint as a dough maker there—though I doubt the formula has changed much since the '80s unless they decide to take a cue from Domino's) pan pizza, which is springy and bready.

In a perfect world, we would've ventured to a more acclaimed joint, but carless in the cold, I was only willing to travel so far. With that said, I still wouldn't try Burt's even if the pizza is amazing, just because I can't stand the rigmarole of a quirk overload place that gets on the cover of Saveur, shows up on No Reservations, only seats 30, runs out of dough unless you call an reserve a pie ahead of time. Whew, it’s a lot of effort. Maybe if I had more than a weekend.

Great Lake, however, was a 100% no go, no matter how many best-pizza-in-the-universe lists it makes. Lucali kills me and I can walk there in four minutes. I'm just not going to spend two-plus hours waiting for my pie to find its way into the single-batch oven. I don't begrudge the owners their craft and seriousness of purpose, and I'm certain the final product is delicious, I just don't have the patience to participate in it.

Now, the Italian roast beef I came to with some prejudice. Isn't it just a cheesesteak without cheese? I still kind of think so, and I missed the gooey orange cheese from a can. I like the pickled giardiniera you can add, though I can never see that word spelled out and not think giardia.

My main reason for going to Portillo's, literally wall-to-wall with tourists, was to see the indoor food court setup, akin to a hawker center but with pizza, hot dogs, Italian beef and spaghetti at different counters. You don’t really see the multiple counters with central seating arrangement outside of malls in the US.

Lou Malnati's * 439 N. Wells St., Chicago, IL

Portillo's * 100 W. Ontario, Chicago, IL

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Dec 13

Casa Mario Lombardo

1/2 Oaxaca was freeing. I could indulge in Hawaiian pizza, the love that dare not speak its name in New York City, with no shame. Ham and pineapple is revered, ok, enjoyed by Mexicans in a way that is not allowed in the Northeast but likely still holds traction in many parts of the United States (growing up a half pepperoni/half Hawaiian was a standard family-pleasing order).

My theory is only bolstered by evidence found in the freezer case at Soriana.

Domino’s are not foreign to Oaxacans. In fact, I was kind of excited to see their delivery ad showcasing Hawaiian pizza propped up on the television in the Hotel Aitana, my second of three lodgings. This one was geared toward middle class Mexican travelers, a little pricey and no concessions made to English-speakers.

When you get the swan towel treatment you know you’ve made it.

That didn’t mean I was going to order Domino’s, though. Casa Maria Lombardo, an Italian restaurant featuring dishes cooked in the wood-burning oven seemed like a more serious option. When I stopped in after Spanish class everyone was eating pizza and I was initially surprised at the lack of tourists, considering every relatively nice place–wines served, quirky décor like cheese grater lamps, stand-up metal purse hooks–I’d been to up until this point were inhabited by Americans.

So, Hawaiian it was. Size chico. The sweet-salty combination neither Italian, Mexican nor Hawaiian was transformed even further by the two condiments presented to all diners: salsa and ketchup. Clearly, there is an audience for the ketchup though the only people I’ve ever known to add the sweet tomato sauce to their pizza were Filipinos. Salsa made perfect sense, however, I always drizzle a little Sriracha on my slices. This was just a chunkier, fresher rendition. And the style at Casa Maria Lombardo was very sparing with the tomato sauce foundation. A little extra spicy tomato-based moisture didn’t hurt.

The crust had even scattered leopard spots charred on the bottom but this is not the thin bubbly Neapolitan style appreciated in NYC. This was fork and knife pizza with enough structure to allow easy cutting. I don’t only enjoy pineapple on my pizza, I also refuse to fold, always going for the knife and fork even when plastic. Yes, I liked Mexican pizza.

Solo dining, I was generally invisible to all but bauble hawkers (who oddly never made an appearance in this restaurant) so I was surprised that a gentleman, one of two businessmen drinking lots of wine by the glass (they really should’ve just ordered a bottle) at the table next to me offered to take my photo. I think he felt bad seeing me by myself snapping shots of my food. Then I felt weird and explained that I actually like taking photos of my food and didn’t need a photo of myself then relented at the last minute because it might be the only one I’d have from this vacation. Unfortunately, it’s a blurry unflattering photo. He didn’t know how to use the camera and the flash was off and I have horrible blobby posture and was sunburnt. Even so, if I am to only have one photographic reminder of my Mexican vacation it should really involve Hawaiian pizza.

Casa Maria Lombardo * Abasolo 314, Oaxaca, Mexico

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Jun 30

Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana

For not being much of a pizza aficionado, I managed to try two very good, very different Neapolitan pies in one week. First Brooklyn’s Motorino, then New Haven’s famous Frank Pepe. I know I was just bemoaning the lines at Lucali (Saturday at 5:25pm there were already about eight people out front and they don’t even open until 6pm) so it might seem nonsensical to drive two long hours in a violent rainstorm in order to stand in line at a potential tourist trap.

But it all ended up being worthwhile, the 35 minutes or so, mostly under an awning, didn’t kill me. (I didn’t partake, but I did like that drinking bottles of beer from paper bags while waiting outdoors seemed perfectly acceptable.) And the pizza was better than expected.

The non-New York-ness of being in a genuine pizza parlor–spacious wooden booths, enormous $11 pitchers of beer and big metal serving trays clanging around–was refreshing. I perked up immediately; the second I picked up the laminated one-page menu, I felt less bedraggled and damp. Or maybe it was the heat of the coal oven that they claim burns at 2,200 degrees Fahrenheit.

The menu was kind of baffling in the amount of variations offered. Maybe I'm not used to choice. Small, medium and large then fresh tomato pie or original tomato pie, mozzarella or not, toppings were grouped into different prices and you could also go half and half. We were confused because there’s a pricing matrix at the bottom of the menu as well as prices listed at the top. We had to pull out a calculator to determine if they were the same (they were).

Getting a clam pie was a given, but if we drove all the way up there we needed to try another style too, so we piggishly ordered two mediums: a white clam pie with no mozzarella and another with spinach and bacon. I guess that’s a weird combo but the novelty of bacon on a pizza was impossible to resist and the clumps of greens gave the illusion of a healthy counterbalance. The other vegetables like mushrooms or broccoli just didn’t seem right. I have a hard time with broccoli on a pizza. As you can see above, there is a fair amount of cheese on these pizzas.

There's nothing delicate about a Frank Pepe pizza. The browned crust is stiff and more than a little chewy. These are filling irregularly shaped slices. The squiggles of briny clams are substantial as well, with nice chunks of soft garlic, rivulets of olive oil and a dusting of parmesan that all meld into one oozy layer. I think mozzarella would've been too much, though the popular addition of bacon I could totally get behind. But it's best to experience tradition before going wild with extras.

I'm not sure if this original location is the best (there are currently branches in Fairfield and Manchester) but I didn't want to take any chances. Pizza-loving gamblers should note that they will be opening a Frank Pepe location inside Mohegan Sun this coming Wednesday. In some ways that makes more sense than transporting Rao's, Bouchon and the like to Las Vegas. At least they're keeping it local.

Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana * 157 Wooster St., New Haven, CT

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Jun 27

Motorino

Motorino was one of the two new wave pizzerias that made The Village Voice blog’s (not sure why I can’t just say Fork in the Road but it doesn’t sound right) recent top ten list. I can see why. I’d swap it for Lucali, mere blocks from my apartment, if such feats were possible. With its overly eager patrons huddled outside, that Henry Street star has completely discouraged me from paying a visit for quite some time. Now, I assume all well-regarded pizza places will be equally prohibitive. Not so, Motorino. On a Wednesday evening there were plenty of free tables, no problems, no nonsense.

If you ever read lame diet advice for fun (I’m still not cool with epicurious recommending only eating three bites of your food to lose weight. Yes, duh, but really?) you’ll be familiar with all the menu descriptors that signal you should stay away from an item—obvious stuff like crispy, smothered, breaded, etc. I’m certain that bacon-wrapped would make such a list but everyone knows that phrase usually signals deliciousness. This creamy, salty and gooey appetizer was a promising start. Hmm, and realistically these figs enrobed in smoked porky strips dotted with crumbly goat cheese fit the three-bite restriction if divvied up amongst three diners like I had at my table. We followed up the tiny decadence with a simple arugula salad.

I do like that both purist and non-traditional pies are available because I lean more toward the latter. Of course, I can also appreciate the simplicity of a margherita, and we opted for the version with flor di latte rather than mozzarella di bufala. The proportions of ingredients seemed just right with nothing dominating. I guess the crust was a little puffy (I happened to be with a crust avoider and didn’t think about this until I saw the uneaten remnants sitting on his plate) and took up space that could’ve been devoted to more toppings. The pizza was overwhelming good, despite a bit of sog in the middle of the pie. The flimsiness didn’t even detract. And I certainly ate more than three bites.

The soppressata piccante also used cow’s milk mozzarella, as well as spicy sausage, garlic and chile oil. The little charred rounds of soppressata added character you don’t get from pepperoni and the spiked oil added a layer of fresh hotness that complemented the sausage. When we asked for crushed pepper we didn’t only receive a small dish of flakes but also extra slivered red chiles in oil.

I would like to try the cured meats and cheeses so another visit is definitely in order. I left feeling happy (though that could’ve had something to do with the $5 glasses of pinot noir), happy enough to check out goth night at Legion up the street. I’m still coming to terms with 40-something men in full-on make up, teased hair and brooches spinning Siouxsie and the Banshees for 22-year-old guys in denim shortalls and espadrilles.

Motorino * 319 Graham Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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May 29

Anselmo’s

1/2 I knew the end was near when I recently started seeing ads tacked up on corners all over SW Carroll Gardens. (12/30/09)

I’m still very suspicious about all of this coal oven discovery in NYC. I was under the impression that they were rare beasts but it seems like they're common as twin strollers in Brooklyn. Maybe coal ovens have been unearthed during building renovations for decades yet only in recent history has there been an insatiable market for coal oven pizza.

And pizza in general. I haven't given in to burger or cupcake mania and it seems that in my hesitation I've also missed out on the new and semi-recent spate of pizzerias: Veloce, Co, Keste, Motorino…what else…ok, I’ve never eaten at Roberta’s or not-new-at-all Franny’s either. I’m just not a pizza fanatic. I do feel kind of blessed to live three blocks from the country’s second-best pizza according to GQ, not that I can ever actually get a table at Lucali. (I really wanted to work a fuhgeddaboudit in there but refrained because I'm not 100% cornball and this isn’t the New York Post, though now writing about what I omitted then typing it anyway is a worse crime.)

So, I figured I could handle trying Anslemo's, a recent addition in Red Hook. Definitely no mob scene there; on a Saturday night over Memorial Day weekend there was only two other tables occupied, one takeout order, two EMTs who wanted to see a menu, and a couple of neighborhood kids playing hide and seek under the tables until getting shooed away. First they were asked to leave nicely, then after getting no response, the kids were questioned, "Do you speak English?" The grade schoolers in Carroll Gardens could use a little such harassing. (Actually, I’ve recently noticed when I work from home that the shrieking hormonal pre-teens who hang out in front of my ground floor windows start getting yelled at by some authority figure around 3:40pm. A woman pops out of the school's door, where a policeman is currently standing, directly across the street from my living room window and starts screaming, “It’s time to go home! Let’s move along, people!” I like her.

At this point, Anselmo’s strikes me as more of a fast food joint dressed up as a restaurant and that's fine. The lack of a liquor license (they do serve unsweetened black tea, which I greatly appreciate as a sweet drink loather) smallish pies and current absence of air conditioning (a blasting pizza oven coupled with 80+ degrees and high humidity was kind of brutal) don’t exactly encourage lingering.

They don’t do slices, which seems to have stymied locals, but the individual 10" pizzas are only $6 and that's what the single walk-ins are steered toward. I'm still not clear on the math of the 14", the larger size offered being $14. Wouldn't it be more economical to order two smaller pizzas? Toppings are $1.75 each regardless of size so if you were loading up, I supposed one pie makes more sense.

We split a 14” pepperoni and artichoke heart, which we plowed through in no time. The pizza isn't filling. The crust has a nice char and so too the rims of sliced sausage. The mozzarella was generous and the strands of basil were well distributed. While the crust is fairly thin, it is still firm with no bubbling and sags a bit under the toppings.

I would be inclined to return and try more toppings (though maybe not the brie). If it were walking distance, I would stop by regularly. And that might end up being the trouble, it's not quite a destination, nothing in Red Hook really is despite how the media portrays the area. It’s a ghost town at night. But if you’re someone who breezes through the neighborhood to shop at Fairway or Ikea, it’s worth stopping by.

Anselmo’s * 354 Van Brunt St., Brooklyn, NY

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Sep 16

South Brooklyn Pizza

If I am offered free pizza a few blocks from my apartment, the odds are that I’ll say yes (though I might balk at Papa John’s chicken bacon ranch, also nearby). And so I sampled a few of South Brooklyn Pizza's new offerings this weekend. I'm cheap and lazy. Why not?
On my first and last visit to South Brooklyn Pizza I was a little put off by the unabashedly burnt crust. But that was my only beef—there weren’t any service glitches and I wasn’t wildly bothered by the margherita-only menu (I never did get a cookie, though).
Not that I didn’t think it was odd to serve only one style of pizza. Now they are trying to rectify the situation with three new pies. Clams and oregano appear to be the highlight. In addition to the clam pie there are also clams on the half shell and baked breadcrumb-topped clams oreganata.

Having never tried Frank Pepe’s New Haven original or even a new-breed Brooklyn version a la Franny’s, I can only judge this on its own. The flavor was a touch salty, though I’m not sure if that came from the clams or the pancetta. I tend to think it was shellfish brininess and not unpleasing. I liked this pizza, but I’d be curious to hear other opinions on it.

I started doubting myself when I was told that this was an oregano pizza because there was no way all that arugula-looking foliage was said stemmy herb. It turned out to be pizza verde.
Now, this is a slice of oregano pizza. The classic pizza herb comes on strong. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to eat it.
The crust has much improved. Now there’s just a little char, enough to stave off doughiness. Hopefully, this is a new standard and wasn’t a one-night-only fluke. I wouldn’t say that South Brooklyn Pizza is a destination pie like Lucali’s but I think it’s a fine enough addition to the lower end of Carroll Gardens. We don’t have much down here. (9/15/08)

Posts from the ‘Pizza’ Category

Denino’s

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Clinton Hill Times Three

Eaten, Barely Blogged: How Do You Like Them Apples (and Andouille)?

Pizza Hut Saratoga Springs

Lou Malnati’s & Portillo’s

Casa Mario Lombardo

Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana

Motorino

Anselmo’s

South Brooklyn Pizza

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