Tuesday, March 31, 2009

New Haven-Style Pizza



I was relieved when I got back to Portland and my friend said "I've never heard of New Haven-style Pizza." I'll blame it on my west-coast upbringing, but I'd never heard of it either...until I went to New Haven. God Bless the pizza lovers who have never been there, but now you have to go. My friends took me to Little Italy on Wooster Street, where the two famous pizzerias reside two blocks apart. They are Pepe's and Sally's. We picked Sally's because the line was shorter, albeit ten parties long out the door. (We froze a little while waiting, but we watched the Mayor walk in and out! Thank you, sir, for not experiencing the plight of the regular man.) We were glad at our choice, because on that Sunday night Pepe's down the street had run out of clams! As I learned, it's not quite New Haven pizza without the clams, bacon and white sauce.

Two other characteristics give New Haven pizza its style: it is oblong, so the slices are really long and thin, and it is burnt. Really actually very burnt. Check it out:





Apparently, the New Haven pizza gains some distinction in its presentation, too: the oval-shaped pie gets served on wax paper atop cafeteria trays or sheet pans, they take up the entire table and are served with paper plates. Strange for the tree-hugging westerner, but I won't judge.

This pizza was special. The cheese and clams were milder than I expected -- very easy to eat. The carbon fiber was laden with oil (I watched countless guests, even my friend Todd, absorb the floating oil with their paper napkins), but it enhanced the experience in a surprising way. It wasn't like burnt toast at all. I actually wanted to eat the burnt parts, though they were impossible to avoid. The burnt crust was super thin without tasting like a cracker, and even delightfully chewy in places.

With all the rave about Pepe's and Sally's, I preferred the pizza at "Bar." Todd took me there because they brew their own beer AND throw a reputable New Haven pizza. The beer was terrible (beer flavored soda, actually) but the pizza was extraordinarily flavorful and perfectly balanced.

From their extensive list of toppings, we chose basil, onions, garlic, spinach and fresh tomatoes. We ordered two (one white, one red) and polished them off. The pies came with a rare touch, already topped with oregano, thyme and parmesan. Delicious. This was a pizza where I forgot to put crushed red peppers. It was that good.

NOTE: look at their menu closely. Which one of these things is not like the others? Guess for yourself and then I'll tell you the answer: Mashed Potatoes. Meatballs. Now but them together and you get a pile of food that I find hard to put on a pizza, but guaranteed these two toppings make a lot of people very happy.

ANOTHER NOTE: at the top you see the category "Base Pies." The first is "Red Pie." My guess is that's the classic, marinara sauce, so I'll order that. But no, you wouldn't be getting a pizza with cheese (is it really pizza without cheese?) unless you ordered the next base pie: the Red Pie w/Mozzarella. I have never been to a pizzeria where you have to affirmatively specify that, indeed, I would like cheese on my pizza.


p.s. If you click on the picture itslef, you can see the picture of the clam pizza up close and personal, like you were really there yourself, floating on top!



Monday, March 30, 2009

The real pizza whore?













I think this lady might be the real pizza whore. Check out the seduction. She's covering her bosom with a pizza missing a slice in the most opportune location! There might be a whole new fashion concept in her style: pizza as clothing. Strange but, you must a admit, a little exciting, no? 

About Bella Faccia herself: her pizza was mediocre and unmemorable, nothing special. No zest in the sauce and no zing in the toppings. Me and the Bella Faccia had no chemistry. I might have set my expectations too high -- she was the one pizzeria on Alberta (besides Hot Lips, sorry, I'm loyal to the EcoTrust location), so I was hoping and praying she'd come through. On yelp.com, 3 (of 21) reviews claimed she had "the best pizza in Portland." Wrong, plain wrong. One of the reviewers even hailed from NYC. Blasphemy! The reviewers must be part owners. 

We ordered take-out with olives, onions, fresh tomatoes and basil but the flavor was just not there. The slices are huge and inviting, but there was no follow through to keep me wanting more. I know good flavor when I can take three bites without remembering to add crushed red pepper (which I love). My first bite wasn't even chewed before I was compelled to add my own zing. Bummer. But lady, thanks for trying! If she lived around the corner, I might say hi more often, but I'm sticking to my trusty favorite: Mississippi Pizza Pub (who I'm sure will have several up-coming appearances on Apizza Whore, so stay tuned).  

Footnote: My friend and fellow pizza-lover joined me for this tasting, and his opinion was contrary to mine. He said it got a solid "good" rating. If you're tempted, go try for yourself!    

 

Sunday, March 29, 2009

My first love

My first conscious memory of loving pizza was at Pizza Hut, the restaurant. Remember when they had sit-down tables and a salad bar? I remember the greasy crust and thick, gooey marbled cheese. Even at age 8, at the nation-wide chain restaurant that serves pizza that some food critics might not even acknowledge as food, I knew I met true love. If I don't eat it every day, I surely dream of it. I salivate even at the thought of the perfect dough/sauce/topping combination, of which there are thousands.

Last week I professed to my best friend's husband to be a "pizza whore." What I meant was I LOVE PIZZA. I could eat it all the time. I am always in the mood for it. So why did I use the word "whore?" Would I sell my body for a slice? Is there something raunchy about my obsession? It is true that my adoration for pizza is less principled than my taste and criticism for other food, so I feel less than prude when I crave the grease. Still, I've been somewhat conflicted about labeling myself a whore of any kind. Does it work to say that I have multiple pizza partners? Maybe. But then dictionary.com's word history saved my self-proclaimed title. The Germanic root of the word is "horaz," which means "one who desires," and the Sanskrit derivative "kamah" means "love." Ladies and gentleman, this is the kind of pizza whore I am! I love and desire Pizza!

I hope you'll join me here, in blogger land, on my pizza whoring adventures!