Apizza
Even New Yorkers sometimes admit that the best pizza in New York isn't in New York - it's in New Haven, Connecticut. A small set of traditional pizzerias in this college town share a distinctive heritage and approach to pizza that draws devotees from the big city and elsewhere.
New Haven pizza is referred to by the Neapolitan dialectic term "Apizza", which features in the names of the handful of local restaurants that vie for supremacy.
Apizza really is somewhat distinctive. The "pies" are large, free-form slabs of thin, crisp dough that manages to retain shape and bite despite its thinness and its toppings. The edges can be blistered, even slightly blackened, from fierce heat. The otherwise-expected tomato sauce and mozzarella are not part of a basic apizza, and asking for them may even earn a disapproving look.
Basic apizza can be either "white" or "red". White means olive oil, garlic and pecorino romano cheese. Red means the familiar simple marinara sauce (not to be confused with the seafood concoctions sometimes sold under this name in Australia). Then you add toppings according to taste, but typically just one or two - here Apizza is more like other pizza in the US than its separately-evolved cousins in Naples or Northcote. Mozzarella is a topping if you want it, not part of the base. In classic apizza at Sally's or Pepe's most of the toppings are what you might find elsewhere, but clams are prominent - New England produce and Italian tastes meet nicely here. The results are served on large rectangular trays spread with parchment paper.
Once the locals have determined that you're vaguely aware of the phenomenon, you may be confronted with the telling question: "Sally's or Pepe's?" For the New Haveners it boils down to a contest between these two restaurants, founded respectively in 1925 and 1938 a hundred yards apart on Wooster Street. Frank Pepe's Pizzeria Napoletana is the original, of that there is no doubt. For many it remains the standard, and it's hard to argue, but let's try to stretch the argument out a little at least). Devotees of Sally's - begun by Frank's nephew Salvatore Consiglio - will keep the discussion lively at least.
Sally's is the most distinctive; it is a small place being run by the Consiglio family. The restaurant is totally without pretension; it may have been renovated last in the 1970s (not the best time for fake wood panelling). The matriarch Flora holds court in the last booth chatting to the locals and adding up receipts; the second generation takes orders, runs the vintage cash register, and makes great pizza.
Were it not a bit further away on State Street, out of the Wooster Square neighbourhood, Modern Apizza would have a clearer case for being part of the essential comparison. Older than Sally's (1934), Modern is slightly daring in having some speciality combinations such as Clams Casino, combining clams and bacon with peppers, or the Italian Bomb which is comparable to a capricciosa in some places. There are those who think it as good or better than the Wooster St rivals.
Even a much more recent business, the brewpub Bar, does excellent apizza, with a popular version being its pie with mashed potato. Here you can also get an IPA made on the premises, and you may not stand in line for as long, but you can't see the signed Red Sox plaques at Sally's or the tinted pictures of Naples at Pepe's.
There's only one sensible answer to the perennial question. Try them all; and if you haven't made up your mind yet, keep trying.
New Haven pizza is referred to by the Neapolitan dialectic term "Apizza", which features in the names of the handful of local restaurants that vie for supremacy.
Apizza really is somewhat distinctive. The "pies" are large, free-form slabs of thin, crisp dough that manages to retain shape and bite despite its thinness and its toppings. The edges can be blistered, even slightly blackened, from fierce heat. The otherwise-expected tomato sauce and mozzarella are not part of a basic apizza, and asking for them may even earn a disapproving look.
Basic apizza can be either "white" or "red". White means olive oil, garlic and pecorino romano cheese. Red means the familiar simple marinara sauce (not to be confused with the seafood concoctions sometimes sold under this name in Australia). Then you add toppings according to taste, but typically just one or two - here Apizza is more like other pizza in the US than its separately-evolved cousins in Naples or Northcote. Mozzarella is a topping if you want it, not part of the base. In classic apizza at Sally's or Pepe's most of the toppings are what you might find elsewhere, but clams are prominent - New England produce and Italian tastes meet nicely here. The results are served on large rectangular trays spread with parchment paper.
Once the locals have determined that you're vaguely aware of the phenomenon, you may be confronted with the telling question: "Sally's or Pepe's?" For the New Haveners it boils down to a contest between these two restaurants, founded respectively in 1925 and 1938 a hundred yards apart on Wooster Street. Frank Pepe's Pizzeria Napoletana is the original, of that there is no doubt. For many it remains the standard, and it's hard to argue, but let's try to stretch the argument out a little at least). Devotees of Sally's - begun by Frank's nephew Salvatore Consiglio - will keep the discussion lively at least.
Sally's is the most distinctive; it is a small place being run by the Consiglio family. The restaurant is totally without pretension; it may have been renovated last in the 1970s (not the best time for fake wood panelling). The matriarch Flora holds court in the last booth chatting to the locals and adding up receipts; the second generation takes orders, runs the vintage cash register, and makes great pizza.
Were it not a bit further away on State Street, out of the Wooster Square neighbourhood, Modern Apizza would have a clearer case for being part of the essential comparison. Older than Sally's (1934), Modern is slightly daring in having some speciality combinations such as Clams Casino, combining clams and bacon with peppers, or the Italian Bomb which is comparable to a capricciosa in some places. There are those who think it as good or better than the Wooster St rivals.
Even a much more recent business, the brewpub Bar, does excellent apizza, with a popular version being its pie with mashed potato. Here you can also get an IPA made on the premises, and you may not stand in line for as long, but you can't see the signed Red Sox plaques at Sally's or the tinted pictures of Naples at Pepe's.
There's only one sensible answer to the perennial question. Try them all; and if you haven't made up your mind yet, keep trying.
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