Yesterday evening, an email subject line caught my eye: “We’ve discovered the tastiest pizza in New York City!” Three weeks ago, I, like several other New Yorkers, would have translated this statement as meaning “the best pizza in the world”. A few headstrong New York-by-way-of-Chicago-ers would have asserted that this title belongs to deep-dish pizza (in all seriousness though, to all you Windy City locals, your Italian culinary pride and joy is a goddamn casserole, not a pizza). But regardless of what anyone says, the truth is that the best pizza isn’t in either these laces, but in a sleepy town. Specifically, New Haven, Connecticut.
Yes, contrary to our ungrounded formula that Big City equals good pizza, this quasi-podunk New England town of Ivy Leaguers and dive bars is also the birthplace of the best pizza known to man. When my friend Arun moved to New Haven for graduate school, he graced me with the knowledge of New Haven pizza; furthermore, he stated that he hadn’t missed a New York slice since moving. I was almost insulted. Given that this was such a bold claim for any New York-based pizza aficionado, I stole away to visit him one sneezy spring weekend, hoping to also understand the local buzz behind New Haven’s mystic pizza.
On the northbound train ride, I found myself doing culinary mental gymnastics trying to comprehend what sort of flavor-physics could explain the New Haven pie. “Tomatoes? Dough? Certain Cheese?” I quickly resigned to the fact that my efforts were getting me nowhere. Instead, striking up a conversation with a nearby local, I soon received in addition to a list of bars for cheap and fast booze, a two-minute lecture on New Haven Pizza 101.
To my surprise, Gary, the local, was astonishingly versed in his hometown’s pizza tradition, which traditionally is known as “apizza” (pronounced “ah-beetz”). According to the “professor”, the history of New Haven and New York pizzas are interlinked, being two sides of the same Neapolitan pie. Both came about in America via mass Italian immigration in the early 1900s, and both utilize fiery-hot baking temperatures to add char to the crust. And of course, both are beloved by the locals at all hours of the day.
But then the disparities begin. The New York slice is the standard fare and familiar to everyone: a lot of cheese, a little tomato sauce, and a heavy crust whose dough the pizza boys will throw to the sky. New Haven pizza, on the other hand? Not so much. “New Haven pizzas have barely any cheese,” he explained. “It’s just crust, a sizable amount of tomato sauce, and a dusting of cheese. That’s it!” My jaw dropped in shock, and along with it, a gluttonous stretch of drool.
For the duration of my trip in New Haven, I waited for pizza. My anticipation sitting in his dorm room studying for exams built tremendously from Gary’s purple prose of New Haven pizza. I found myself dreaming at night of those greasy slices, drenching themselves in tomato sauce, scrubbing their bods with Parmesan blocks. It was the most hardcore food porn I’ve ever self-induced. Finally, on Sunday, my patience was rewarded with my very own pie of New Haven-style pizza from Sally’s Apizza.
Traversing to the opposite side of I-95 via ZipCar, Arun and I passed by the projects permeating Wooster Street, the Little Italy section of New Haven. Unknowingly, we passed by Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana, which Sally’s co-owner Robert “Bob” Consiglio informed me was the founding institution of the New Haven pie. “My father’s uncle Frank [Pepe] started his pizzeria, and my father [Sal Consiglio] started working there as a young boy.” Unfortunately, even in family business, shit happens. Bob informed me that after several years of working at Frank Pepe’s, a fight erupted between Frank and Sal. Eventually, Sal jumped ship and bought a failing bakery with his mother Flo Consiglio that became Sally’s Pizza, the second of three flagship New Haven-style pizzerias in the town. Since its inception, Wooster Street has been the battlefield for which is the best New Haven-style pizza. (Modern Pizzeria, which also opened up around that time, enjoys New Haven-style authenticity, but it is neither within the Little Italy confines—Modern is located in the East Rock neighborhood—nor is it related to the family. As a result, it also enjoys freedom from this family drama). Nowadays, Sally’s is fighting for the title with Bob and his brother/fellow co-owner Richard at the helm.
By sheer coincidence (and some of Arun’s persuasion), I ended up at Sally’s, going a bit on the adventurous side by ordering a New Haven-original: the White Clam pizza. Its origins are dubious, but Bob claims it was a factor of people just loving oysters (he also admits someone else in the world has probably done the exact same thing). Like a true New Yorker, I originally ordered a slice of pie, but was informed that as with any true New Haven pizza, “there’s a minimum order of eight slices”, or a pie. Although Frank’s attempted a “by-the-slice” process for a brief period of time, true New Haven pizzas are sold by the pie. “It just happened that way,” Bob explained.
Flickr/Carl Lender
Admittedly, I was fortunate. Yelp reviews caution tourists of hour-long waits; our takeout took us all but 10 minutes. Still, it makes you wonder what could drive some, even New Yorkers visiting, to such pizza frenzy wait-time akin to the Ramen Burger. While many claim what New York pizza magic comes from the water (several restaurants around the nation claim to import NY water for their bread) or the high-gluten dough, Bob says it’s neither of these for the New Haven-style. Rather, it’s a simple equation: the thinness of the crust (“Our stuff is so thin, if I tried to toss it I’d be wearing a necklace,” he laughed.) and the coal- oven. The latter is an integral and tedious process, and unfortunately, it’s as hard to learn how to use a coal-fired oven as it is important to the flavor of the pizza. “It takes several months for you to just get a basic hang of coal-based oven roasting, and it takes years to even come close to mastering it,” Bob explained. “I’ve tried replacing a guy we recently lost for the past six months. I’ve already gone through three guys.”
