Crust! It’s not a dirty word anymore. Crust is king. Yeah I know I’ve said toppings are king. I say lotsa things. Ask my friends & clients. But anyone can go get some San Marzanos, a little dried oregano, some bufala mozzy and basil, and have a fighting chance of making an edible pie. Plus that’s just good sourcing. And nothing against excellent ingredients, I mean they are absolutely necessary.

But the crust. Yes you can use double zero flour, filtered water, corn meal if you’re a hack. And whole wheat flour if you’re a real hack, at least according to a certain chef by the name of Sarah B:) But seriously  you really don’t have much to fool around with. It’s a classic ‘fiddle vs. fiddler’ debate. And lemme tell ya kittens there’s some serious fiddlin’ going on at Joe’s Pizza. My picture doesn’t do it justice! Dammit Jim I’m a Pizza Bitch not a Photographer!

So we scampered over to this funky little shack the other day, even though we had just strapped on the feedbags at…hell I can’t remember where…I’ll have to check my Foursquare log-ins…anyhoo, we had to have a slice of pie that none other than the greatest dramatic actor in the world Kevin Bacon (uhh…did you see My Dog Skip?). Ha, me neither. Then maybe Footloose or The River Wild? How’s that, punk?!

Oh yeah, back to Mssrs. Bacon and WTF that has to do with Joe’s Pizza: In response to a question from the most editorially respected magazine going, Maxim, who asked him “What would be your last meal?” KeBa responded “A slice of pizza from Joe’s on Carmine Street in NYC!” How’s that beeeyotch!

And while VdV might not take it quite that far (Del Posto, Le Jules Verne, anyone?! I mean I want my least meal to last awhile) we do concur that this pizza kicks some serious hiney. We grabbed a slice of the Fresh Mozzy ($3.50) and it brung it strong on all fronts – nice big blobs of fresh Mozzarella, melted just so; a sauce I would say is zesty and slightly sweet all at the same time and very fresh, I think made out of Cali vs. San Marzano tomatoes; all on a crust fit for the gods. I added a little crushed red pepper just to make it my own.

But back to the crust: Miraculously Joe (yup, good ‘ol Joe’s still making pies since 1975) tosses it very thin. I dunno how he does this, but it comes out pliable enough for the whole NY fold-over style of eating but still with a crispiness to it. I can hear ya now, I know I’ve said the best pizza is napoli style and it should be thin and ever-so-slightly chewy, not crisp. Well…1) Like I said before (refer to the first paragraph) I say lotsa things, and b) we’re not in Napoli are we Silvio?

And for all ya haters, if you don’t wanna take Kevin Bacon’s, GQs (Top 25 Pizzas in the world) or, clutch my pearls VinDivine’s word for it…then take it from Kelly Ripa!

“This is the one. This is where you wanna come for the best slice of pizza in Manhattan.”

And you can tell that’s a woman that hits the pies hard.

And if ya know shit from shinola (whatever the hell that means), you’ll know that J&J don’t often do the whole gastronomique thing. We’re more the ‘belly up to the bar and strap on the…feedbag, perv!

Mario, I know VdV gave you some shit about our experience at Esca. Maybe it was a case of the bar being set too darned high from all the killer reviews that place gets. Then we hit Otto (review to follow soon) where the lovely J was underwhelmed by the pizza. So when we made resies for the two of us + our stylin’ friends Kim & Marc, it was not without trepidation. We don’t wanna go 0 fer 3 with ya! Wait. You don’t want you goin’ 0 for 3 with VdV! That’s right.

Soo, bitches. How was Del Posto? Well, since this was a four+hour feed-fest, this review should oblige in kind. Meaning, if ya know us, we’d bore you to tears with detail and ADD-driven rants. But VdV likes to zig where others zag, so we’re gonna cut to the chase. Don’t get used it it!

Like I said, this was a marathon feed-and-drink fest, 10p-to after 2a. Hear that SF!? 2 AM. Nighttime! And it was divine. VIN divine I may say. Seriously, I’ll spill the beans right now and letcha know we bestow (sing it with me) Del Posto (keep it going, even though it doesn’t really rhyme) the gilted VdV 4.5-star rating! Woo Hoo! Pop a bottle, Batali! OK, 2 Thumbs Up will suffice. I’m sure we’ve made your day.  Frank Bruni who?

What’d we eat? What’d we eat? What does it matter! Eat the menu. Literally. It’ll make you weak in the knees. No, not like Mario ‘cuz he’s about 100 lbs overweight. Because it’s scrump-dili-umptious, sucka! Photos? We don’t need no stinking photos! (OK I lost my iPhone that night). We did the Tasting Menu ($115), which has changed by now anyway. Everything was prepared excellently, beautifully presented and tasted heavenly. That’s right I said heavenly!

So if you haven’t crawled out from under that rock of yours, this is an Italian joint. Ha. Joint. This place is pretty upscale. Big ‘ol NY spot, definitely not hip, but OTT traditional in design with a large piano, big ‘ol stairwell, and kinda out of the ’50s glamour type of vibe. Pretty cool. And the service rocks. They know when to be there and when to get out the way.  And…what else? Lets just suffice to say I’m not gonna articulate the experience and we’ll just move on, shall we?

In addition to the delish Tasting Menu, we found (after several cocktails) a kick-ass Nero D’Avolo on the wine list. MB, ya had me there. I love Sicilians and their wines.

Post Tasting Menu gorging? You thought we’d be done? This was an expense report dinner, people, come on! We then had the famous Rum & Chocolate pairing ($70). Something like 5 high-end Rums, all very different in their ‘taste profile’ each paired with a chocolate. Oh man, the pairing with whatever run it was and that salted choco was killer.

So like I said, this was an EPIC meal. And the bill matched it. So don’t come here if you are prone to cheap attacks. Come here with that friend of yours that just scored the big raise. Or the Trust Fund kid that just got her first distribution. Whatever, rob someone at gunpoint. Just go!

I’ll tell you one thing, pilgrim: Momo’s gonna fuku-p your brand new white shirt!

First hint: DO NOT enter Momofuku, Ippudo or actually any noodle bar (as I can’t blame this on anyone besides moi) wearing a brand spankin’ new white shirt. Unless you eat noodles like a Samurai. Well, probably more like a professional noodler, if they exist.

Plant your entire face in that bowl, kittens. Or don a bib. Or take your shirt off. Whatever. Otherwise all bets are off for your cool new John Varvatos shirt you picked up in SoHo (sniff). Even the Tide To-Go Stain Stick I picked up at Duane Reade on the walk back to our hotel didn’t stand a chance against the gnawrlyness of MF’s ramen juice.

Second, as a wise (ok, old), man (yes, a man, a homeless man), spoke (stammered) to me on the way back from MF to our hotel…Which we love, kittens, the Thompson LES…except they took 45 minutes to get a GD bottle of vino delivered to my room this morning…I mean this afternoon…Yes. Anyhoo, this wise, stinky elder in a suit went toe-to-toe with me and said “You never know too much too soon, Grasshopper”. OK, I added the Grasshopper part but I kinda felt it. And how much more timely could that directive be? “WTF kinda tangent (and drugs) are you on”, you shrug? Here’s WTF, bitches:

We don’t know too much too soon and that’s my lame-ass excuse (thanks stinky homeless guy in the suit) for postponing my Ippudo vs Momofuku throw down I promised 2 years ago today. See how it all comes around? It’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon. Word. And almost as painful as a marathon as well.

Soo. it’s downright chinchilla in NYC right now. Spring? WTF. Gonna pour snow any second. Yuck. But I digress. This is all about Noodle Wars! And Buns!

OK, so lemme break it down for y’all. Both Momofuku and Ippudo are very good. Next to Jonny Leitva’s (now at 10 Downing in NYC) and Matt Garcia’s (now running the Chef Show at Pier 23 in SF) ramen they would make special for us when Jack Falstaff was still in biz, it’s somma da best. Both. Bravo! And we’ve tasted each enough times to know.

Wow, the Link Fairy just barfed all over this blog. Enough! So here it is suckas. The Momofuku vs. Ippudo Smack Down!

Round 1: Ramen. The slightly more fine noodles and more well-spiced broth of Ippudo.We just has the Spicy Chicken Ramen at MF (the shit I cannot get out of my shirt), and it wasn’t spicy, it was smoky. And the noodles were a just little too thick for ramen.
Ippudo: 1, Momofuku: 0

Round 2: Buns. OK, I will admit Pork Belly is not my fave, and that is MF’s claim to fame. But the chicken buns with that awesome sauce at Ippudo rock it!
Ippudo: 2, Momofuku: 0

Round 3: Hmmm. R3, eh? Dang…OK, atmosphere! Ippudo is quite a bit more crazy, more…what is it…frenetic, I’d say. In a cool Japanese way (I don’t really know what that means, they just shout crazy shit in Japanese). Plus there’s a little cash bar to wait at, where they serve great buns, and an awesome downstairs communal-style room that’s just fun.
Ippudo: 3, Momofuku: 0

Knock Out! Ippudo wins, but it’s closer than it looked.

So, what to get at the winner? Prolly anything, but here’s VdV’s two faves:

Shiromaru Hakata Classic ($14), ‘The original tonkotsu’ soup noodle with pork loin chashu, kikurage, menma, 1/2 boiled egg, red pickled ginger, sesame & scallions. It’s simply f’ing awesome. Great spiciness, a pant load of pork, awesome textures and slurpiness.

Hirata Buns ($8) Steamed buns filled with choice of pork or chicken, served with Ippudo original spicy buns sauce. I like your yummy buns!

P.S. We were gonna hit Geofrrey Zacharian’s Lamb Club tonight but why patronize a douche, am I right?

Booooooooooooooooter. That G-D Paula Deen has forever decimated the pronunciation of so many words including that one in the English language.  Shit she even turned ‘oil’ into a one syllable word! OK back to the topic at hand, digging in to another Food Network personality.

So celeb chef Alexandra Guarnaschelli (she’s the one in the middle) is all over Food Network, judging people from anigh. You’re chopped….you’ve been chopped… So Chef Alex, it’s time for the judge to be judged!

First, the space is pretty cool. The main restaurant has an offset wooden dome roof with cool lighting that gives the area a groovy glow. I’m no acoustical engineer, but it does seem that dome ceiling plays some havoc with noise. Meaning…it’s loud, bitches!

There’s a small bar area upfront, and (shocker!) that’s where we planted our butts. I’d definitely swing by if in the ‘hood and grab a drink again, there’s some good people watching and for whatever reason the place still brings in the celebs. It’s a fave stop for the Olsen twins. Opps. Sorry, I said celebs. But I guess Cameron Diaz was just there, and Giovanni told my sweetie that CamDi had nuthin’ on her in the looks dept.! No shit, Gio.

OK, let’s get down to it. I didn’t particularly care for the menu. A whole lotta “So Whaaat?’ IMNSHO (you get that right?). So, here’s what we grazed on:

Cured Beef Carpaccio ($19) with homemade mozzarella, chili flakes, white anchovies and zucchini. I totally forgot to iksnay the most disgusting of all tiny, salt-laden slimy fish, so that was my bad. I just made sure I poked their beady little eyes out with my fork when they arrived. Redemption! OK, so I’ve dined on more than my fair share of carpaccio in my day. Houston, we had a problem. First the beef had zero flavor. Second, the ‘home made’ mozzy had the creaminess of a frozen kernel of corn…a chickpea…and tasted about the same. Not a fan.

Next, the soup ‘o the day, which was a Mushroom Soup ($12) with Chantrelles & Morels. Cream-free which we liked. That said, WE make a kick-ass mushroom soup (thanks for the recipe Chef Spencer!) that kicked this soup’s ass. It was fine. Fine? Alex, does fine get you through to the next round? Does it, punk? I mean, Chef?!?!

We finished with the Cavatappi Pasta with Spicy Lamb Sausage ($14) with Yellow Tomato Sauce. Cavatappi, for those uninitiated is macaroni that does yoga. ‘Nuff said. The Lamb Sausage was good, spicy, moist & chock full o’ flavor. The pasta was a bit dry, and a little too al denté. But it was the best of the appys we had, and we did lick that plate clean.

Soo, the verdict? Alexandra, you have been chopped! Spend more time in your kitchen and less in front of the camera!

So I’d heard the Sous Chef, or maybe Exec Chef at onna our fave tapas spots in nyc had ditched Boqueria. Sous, shmoo, we said. It’s Boqueria. It’s Tapas. It’s…Hell I can make tapas for chrissaskes, feel me?! So we dashed over to the SoHo outlet of Boq the other night for a tapas fix. Yes, NY rules on SF not just for Pizza, Italian, Coney Island, the NY Giants, and yes even the Jets, Ellis Island (although we do have the Farallons), but also tapas (except for you, Zarzuela on Russian Hill!).

So right when we were walking in, there was a group of Frenchies that cut in front and demanded that they had a resie, but…B doesn’t accept resies. So they got called out, just like when they said they had hand in winning WWI, got all agro pissed and bulled me over on the way out. We, on the other hand all smiles and charm;), got our choice of seats, and chose…yeah I know it’s been pretty spotty for us updating VdVbut don’t forget this one single truth- THE BAR, kittens! And not just any bar, the kitchen bar, too. I’ll tell ya fella they keep it spic and spam back there too.

So we ordered a pitcher of white sangria, and some of our go-to’s: Ham Croquettas, Padron Peppers (not to be a spoiler but which are supposed to be salty, read on), Wild Mushrooms and for a change some Seared Lamb. Yummy, right?

So I’m not gonna bore you with mindless drivel (is there any other kind?) with this and that about each dish. Unfortunately, I just have (I’m tearing up here people) two words for you: Salt Lick. Wait, WTF took the lid off the salt shaker? Who’s trying to give me hypertension?!?!

OK, the real two words: Don’t Go. At least not until further notice. If you are feeling brace check out the Flatiron location and let us know the verdict!

So we went on a mini-Pizza crawl today in NYC. Constantly searching for the best pie in the best pie town in the Continental U.S. (‘cuz y’all know Hawai’i and Alaska can rock Pizza, gotta leave them out!)

We also know, yeah we know…NYC has it over SF in most things. Not just most things in the culinary sense, just most things. Period. Pizza included. Most of us SF dwellers know and respect, and figure that #2 (AKA first place for losers) is A-OK in this case.

So wanna hear it? Here it goes: Wait. First, after a few hours trapped on the runway at JFK and watching bizzaro TV, I am hooked on ‘Kourtney & Khloe Take Miami‘. OMFG.

OK, other than that, this place, Motorino, has the BEST F’ING PIZZA IN NYC! And maybe the best pie outside of Napoli, Itlay itself. Or herself. Whatever. I can’t keep it straight after the sex change.

Why? So this is messed up. 1/2 way through our crawl, we hit MotoR. We likee. Cool, small spot, narrow and just simply pizza-parlour ish. No Italians here though, all Asian. And just like those Asians rule the automobile, technology and sushi industries that we created, they are now stealing the pizza industry out from under…the Italians! And I don’t care! R&D =Rip Off & Duplicate. Just serve me a kick-ass pie and I’ll shut my pie whole.

So we see this great-looking pie called the Heirloom Tomato Pie ($18), and bark out our order. It arrives. The other J hurls. Why? No Sauce. Bam. And janky cheese. Personally, I thought it was OK, dug the incredible green, red & purple heirlooms and thin crust. But did agree on the cheese, but with a side of sauce I coulda been happy.

But the other J is waaay sharper than I. She said “F this pie it sux ass. Let’s order the Margherita Pizza ($15)  and see if it redeems”. Or something like that. So we order the Margy. And….Holy Crap it is the BEST F’ING MARGY IN THE CONTINENTAL UNITED STATES!

The crust is so thin, and so perfectly blistered it’s not even funny. Perfect. And the tomato sauce is dead-on sweet/spicy San Marzano, and the Mozzarella just-so melted gives the entire pie a wild creamy texture that will rock your world. Almost pornographic. Top that with copious (yes, copious, look it up) amounts of basil and…well, first: Why do so many pizza pie pushers skimp on Basil? I mean, I can buy a bushel of basil for a buck. And VdV, bitches for Key Ingredient Distribution (KPI! Live, Learn it, Love it), get a little bummed and bitchy when pizzialos skimp on the basil. Know what? Do ya, punk?! MotoR brings it! Yee Haw! Lotsa slightly burnt basil too. So good and a magic meal maker. my people.

Bottom line: Go! Yeah, they served us $10 per glass Greco Di Tufo in dixie-cup glasses. But WTF cares?! This Margy pie is da bomb. Go! I said!

So what’d we decide to eat in NYC the day before leaving for France? French food, bien sur! Talk about bringing sand to the beach. But just to throw in a dumb curveball, we order…Chicken Wings! Hey, they had them as a special, don’t blame us.

So this place is authentic French. Done deal. Georges Forgeois knows his stuff, I believe this is his fourth or fifth spot in NYC. From the slight attitude (hey, they’re French), to the the design & ambiance. You know. And if you don’t, get yer fat white yankee ass to Paris and find out. Then thank vdV.

It was a humid mo-fo in nyc, so we sat inside although there’s beau coup outdoor seating. I just didn’t want to sweat my ass off. And yes, we grabbed two seats at the bar. Allors! And went in for some vino. And we worked that wine list like our bitch. Sancerre, Chablis, Burgundy, oh my!

And then we went for a lite lunch, even though it was 5p and we had not one morsel of food in our bellies all day. Since that 2a pizza pie at Pulinos, that is. Still, that’s 15 hours!

So we ordered the Seared Tuna Salad ($14), which came on a bed of Friseé, which we usually hate. I call it throat-tickler lettuce. But for some reason it really worked. The tuna was plentiful, fresh and seared spot-on, with a very light vinaigrette, red and golden beets, which reminded us of the simple, fresh salads we enjoyed each day in Paris. Just something about the freshness of the ingredients and basic-ness of it all. Gigiddy.

And then, the Cercle Wings ($10), their Houe Special Chicken Wings. Holy crap! Where do they raise these bizarro chickens? They are the plumpest little drumsticks ever.  It’s like you dip a little chicken bone into a swirling cauldron of chicken and out pops this masterpiece. Kinda like making chicken cotton candy at the county fair. Woo Hoo!

Hey, these wings kick ass. There’s only 4 of the little suckers, but ya get tons of plump, tender, juicy meat, with light breading and, by French standards, some good heat. I mean, not like sports bar spicy wings, but give these people a break, they wave a white flag if you look at ‘em sideways!  Just Joking, my Francophile comrades. VdV loves the crap outta you. The wings are served with the thickest blue cheese ever. It worked. I would come back here just because of these wings. This is some seriously tasty  bird.

So what did we really think? Check out the before and after:

We just missed you at Centrico, where we had a fab lunch at the bar, and your main man Juan mixed us some mean Partida Repo Ritas. BTW, Juan was overall just as awesome, nice guy that gave prompt, friendly service.

So. You may (not) remember us – we (fictionally) met at a (make believe) event a year or so ago. Anyhoo, that’s what I told Juan as I slipped him my VdV biz card in hopes of it finding it’s way to you. See, I admire your success and fame. I aspire to it. I lied, yes. But you are here, so my crafty little plan is working.

But don’t worry Mr. Aarón, I’m no chef. No throw-down here. I’m just a foodie looking for a modicum of fame. Even 14 seconds. But better yet, the amount of time it takes to be a guest judge on Chopped or any of those other Food Network shows. Or somehow be involved on Chefs vs. City. A cameo! I know you can exert influence, and will hopefully recognize that our juvenile insights and (some think) witty banter could add some pizzazz somewhere or other. Drop me a line! Or have your agent call mine (me).

So, we just left Centrico for lunch. First impressions, the space is tres cool. Large and open, with high ceilings and awesome natural light from the tall windows on each corner. Centrico exudes authentic design without going overboard. Know what I mean? No La Cucaracha going on here, fella.

We bellied up to the bar, and got down to business. I mean, we had a flight to catch in a couple hours. One that I am on as we speak, Air France from JFK to CDG. Why oh why can’t they offer WiFi (pronounced wee-fee in Paris. And I guess elsewhere in France) on their flights?! Is it that expanse of H2O called the Atlantic? Hey all I know is, they  (no, not the French, silly) can land a man on the moon…just sayin’…So don’t blame me for the lack of real time-ness. This’ll get posted tout a suite when we arrive in Paris.

OK, we ordered. It’s a good menu, lots of range and creativity. Like ‘Mexican Pasta with Albondingas’. Not that we were in the creative mood. But there was still plenty for us.  Let’s take it from the top:

Chips + Salsa ($5), hmmm, I was a little concerned about the meal when these arrived, I gotta tell ya. VdV knows chips + salsa. Our man Juan gave us some comp Guacamole with our order (very nice), but we’re not huge fans of the avocado. How would he know, unless the other J was wearing her ‘I hate avocado’ shirt?

So, back to the matter at hand. Sorry Aarón, but the chips tasted out of the bag. They did, man, I was

bummed. Some had lotsa salt, others, none. And they didn’t taste like they were cooked on the premises. Blah. Waaah. Hey I can rhyme! The salsa? Well it was freshy fresh. Dougie Fresh, even. Nice and in-your-face tomato flavor, but…lacking spice, my man.

But dude, after that, aces! Your Grouper Ceviche ($12) was soma da best, if not…wait, it was THE BEST Ceviche ever. And I almost passed ‘cuz it was Grouper, and as any of you know I don’t like eating fish that is ugly or has a creepy name. You may remember my whinings about Cuttlefish at Betel in NYC (yes, yes, some d-bag emailed me to say it is a mollusks, not a fish).

Anyway, Grouper is a weird-looking fish. Kinda bloated and funky. But we went for it anyway and were handsomely rewarded. It was prepared with yellow peppers and mango, the fish was super tender and, put on one of the plantain chips with a little cilantro was the purrfect bite. You could taste the fish, but it didn’t taste fishy! Sweet + heat too, Bobby Flay would love this dish!

Next, the Beef Tacos ($12), two tacos with a pantload of charred steak on each double-stacked, obviously cooked on premises, flour tortilla. Nice and simple, folks. The way it should be. Tortilla + steak + grilled white onion + a sublime (sublime?), green chile salsa. Nice and fresh, vibrant tastes that tasted damn good together.

Next? Well, we ended with a salad. That’s how they do it in France! The Ensalada de Primavera ($9), with Arugula, Friseé, micro-greens of some sort, Fennel, Walnuts, Bleu Cheese and a light sherry vinaigrette. The other J scoffed at my decision to order salad, but she came around. The salad was very fresh, the spicy arugula rocked it and the fennel was sliced thin enough to add a soft texture to the crisp lettuces.

So all-in-all. The bottom line and all that. Would we come back to Centrico? Hells yeah! Sure, I would humbly suggest, Chef Aarón Sanchez to take a good look at your chips + salsa. But other than that, we dig the good vibe, very well executed dishes, rocking Margy’s, fresh ingredients and the overall kick-ass meal & experience we had. And that f’ing Ceviche! Bam!

Anyhoo, So ya wanna know why VdV loves the shit outta nyc? Here’s just a small example: 1) We start off the trip scoring an upgrade on Virgin, so knew it was gonna be an awesome trip 2) Sitting across the aisle from us was none other than Robin F’ing Williams! Cool dude too, BTW told us one of his fave go-to spots is The Spotted Pig. 3) We randomly ran into our buddy Kevin walking down Prince St., and grab a drink at Bar 89 4) Went to see our rock-star chef pal Jonnatan Leiva at 10 Downing, and ended up hanging out with a crazy mushroom-eating dude at the bar that we have no idea the name of, who took us to a bar we have no idea the name of, listening to a kick-ass band we have no idea the name of. Can’t wait for Day 2!

OK, back to our regularly scheduled programming. Look out for some nyc reviews, with Paris and Capri, Italy coming up! Life does not suck.

OK sucka, if you call it ‘Apizz’ make it ‘Apizz’. Hear me?! Straight outta New Haven, Connecticut, bitch! Somma the best thin crust outside of Capri, Napoli or certain areas of NYC or SF. That’s Amoré. Oops. I mean, that’s Apizz. And gimme a little more grease on top, OK? So we (literally) stumbled across this spot after getting shafted at Stanton Social for some nighttime snacks. Stanton Social was slammin’, and ultimately we got no love. Even after the kick ass review we gave them before! Where is the justice? Hey Stanton, we still love ya.

So we’re wandering around and see this cool little sign…Apizz. Beckoning us like Sirens of the Sea. And lovers of nothing about the state of Connecticut except for the killa thin crust like we get at Peluso’s in Tahoe (oh yeah, and that kick-ass mall in Danbury, lol), we got all hot and bothered and dashed in. And y’know what? This is a very cool spot. A cool, cozy spot tucked away that you feel kinda lucky to find. No shit. Waaah. Now put away the nappy, quit your crying and grow a set, OK? But it is a cool little spot, some good old brick, a very warm seeming room with a nice garlic fragrance coming out of the open kitchen. So we grabbed a couple seats at the bar, and went in for some small bites, AKA Apizz!

So, of course we ordered a pizza! A Margherita, sucka. We wanted Arugula on top, just for kicks and the bartender got a nervous tic. Said the pizza chef was pretty freaky-deeky about going ‘off menu’, so we acquiesced and ordered the Margy, and a ‘side’ of arugula… JHC. Egos kill. Wait. Egos don’t kill. Pizza Chefs with egos that have guns kill.

Anyway, the pie came, and it was not ‘Apizz’. But at that point we were already over the true ‘Apizz’ meaning. So how was it? Well, it was thin crust, fo sho. It was rectangular in shape, with all the requisite ingredients – mozzy, sauce, basil. Actually, the mozzarella was the base, with sauce and basil on top of it, a little twist on the usual. Kept the crust crispy, for sure.

And it was ‘fine’. But the crust was too ‘cracker crisp’ the whole way through, it needed a little more doughiness to it. Not much, but some more body, and a little chewiness. Word. The sauce was OK as well, fresh with a nice consistency…not too smooth, but with a little body and tiny tomato and spice chunks in it. The basil was somewhat bland, unfortunately. The Mozzy was in blobs, which was cool. They are pros, it wasn’t shredded or anything. The side of arugula, which was very fresh and added a great kick to the pie, was worth getting a whole bowl of just to munch on. But overall, this was a ‘good’ but not a killer pie by any means.

Now, that’s not to say that you shouldn’t go to Apizz. Remember, we’re pizza bitches! And they have way more than just pizza on the menu, so graze. Apizz is a very cool, cozy spot you really want to hang out in. And go ahead and grab a pie, it’s good! It’s just not world-class pie. So if you have your expectations set you’ll be a happy camper. We’d definitely go back, and try some more grub. But outside of CT, we’ll grab our Apizz at Peluso’s in Truckee.

Hours:
Mon-Sun 6p-11p