I woke up under a table today, because ADD/C and Future Virgins were in town this weekend, and let's get real, Chattanooga likes to party. I am indebted, in no small part, to my friend Kate, who refused to let me bike home from the show last night and fixed me a bed underneath the table in her room before going to sleep and told me, "Colin, come sleep in here when you are done RAGING." And let me tell you, 3 long hours, 6 big cans, and 300 tall tales, (both recited and heard) later, I managed to stumble up the stairs, find my luxurious digs, and fall asleep like a little, tiny, drunken baby. So you'll understand my alarm when I suddenly woke up under a table at 1 in the afternoon, with initially no idea where I was.
More people should listen to the Future Virgins. They are easily one of the best rock bands playing right now. But I am not here to discuss The Rock, and you are not here to read about it, for that, you go to Jason Duncan's mysterious blog, if you can find it. You are here for the pizza.
Well, after a lovely Porch Sit with the Chattanoogans before they packed into their van and left, I rustled up the energy to walk to the subway and take the train up to Washington Heights to meet my friend Kevin, whose new band, forgetters, had played their first show at last night's lovely soiree. I missed them, of course, because I was at work, but I did get there in time to revel with Kevin, drink heartily, watch the startlingly good other new local band Weird Weather, and ultimately pass out under a table in my friend's room.
But I digress, let's get back, in our rambling way, to the topic at hand. After quite a bit of trouble with our fine city's otherwise flawless and immaculate public transit system (perhaps it's only flaw is it's utter perfection, like The Underground Man's Crystal Palace--think about that, brah), I arrived in Washington Heights only two hours after I'd left, to find Kevin awaiting me on a street corner, looking and feeling only slightly less haggard than myself, and we walked to our first slice, Pizza Delia II:
Longtime readers (ha!) of this blog may recall that my experience with the original Pizza Delia was far from excellent. (What is the diametric opposite of 'rad'?) But I hoped that perhaps the two places were related in name only. Pizza Delia II charged $2 instead of the outrageous $2.25 at OG Pizza Delia, and it looked totally different inside.
Kevin and I were hungry, the place looked fine, and really, how bad could it be, right? And they had a special going where a slice and a soda was only $2.50. That's a deal! So we each ordered our own slice, and our own soda, because I either totally lack foresight or have no short term memory. And then our slices were pulled out of the oven and the reality of the nightmare we were living set in:
I was still futzing with spices when Kevin took his first bite, and I could see a glimmer of despair in his usually serene eyes. After I took my first bite, Kevin looked at me and said very frankly, "I think this is the worst pizza I've ever had in my life," which is saying something because he's from Florida. Here is the rundown:
Firstly, the slice as majorly overcooked. The cheese was burnt to shit and any semblance of moisture that may have been in the dough had long dissipated. Biting into it, I felt like I was biting through a layer of chewy plastic into a piece of cardboard. And there were no flavors at all. It just didn't taste like anything. The crust was a horribly bland, brittle mess, and it dried out my mouth like I was eating sand. One thing I will say that impressed me about my collective Pizza Delia experience is that they managed to cook two slices of pizza that totally sucked in totally different ways.
In short: avoid this place.
Pizza Delia II
New York, NY 10040