Fat Sal's: "This place doesn't make a goddamn lick of sense."

Yesterday I promised readers a lengthy introduction to my friend Ernie. However, the more I've thought about it, the less I feel like I'm capable of describing him. Every anecdote I'd like to relay, every yarn I'd like to spin, is too simple, or two one-sided, or too essentializing. Or just simply not something I feel comfortable sharing, either for Ernie's confidentiality or my own. I will tell you this, though: Ernie is one of the three most magical people I know, he has ridden freight trains through more continents than I've been to, and when he is calm he is one of the most placid and soothing folks I've ever met, but when he is wild he will bring the devil right outta me.

Now, new readers may not know this, but a few months ago I had the pleasure of eating pizza with Famous American Babe of the 80s, Phoebe Cates. While wandering around with Phoebe, her really cool daughter Greta, and my good buddy Caroline Paquita, we all had the shared misfortune of eating at Fat Sal's UES establishment. It was among the worst pizza I've ever had in my life, so I was hesitant when Ernie, Kevers and I looked across 50th street after leaving Livejournal Pizza and saw a Fat Sal's looming ahead.


For some reason, although I was entirely cognizant of my prior experience at another of this small chain's locations, this Fat Sal's didn't fill me with dread. In fact, it just made me think of the fat Sal in my life. Maybe it was Ernie's mystical influence, or maybe it was the fact that I am in some crazy energy vortex lately where the whole world seems to be spiraling out of control with me at the epicenter, the fucking locus of all this seemingly anonymous but ultimately deliberate and graceful chaos, but I felt an instinct that we would get a decent slice here despite the crimes of history, and I was not wrong. Moral: trust your guts.


This slice was pretty impeccable. Ernie, who was pretty stuck on rating slices on a one to ten scale, gave this one an eight. (He gave the slice at LJ a five, by the way.) This slice lacked all the total weirdness of the other Fat Sal's. In fact, it was damn good. Great crunch, great textures, great taste. I was shocked, and I said so to my companions. Kevers remarked, "it's possible we got lucky, because I saw some of the other slices and they looked like they should be spinning around on a wire tray under a lightbulb at some Midwest Bowling Alley." I hoped Kev was wrong, but after we finished our first one, Ernie ordered two more slices and they were BAD! Too much cheese, too little time in the oven! Fuck! What is going on! Current verdict on Fat Sal's: INCONSISTENT!

Oh, and I doubt he reads this, but to the motherfucker who took up the whole table by himself and wanted to make me and Ernie and Kevers stand in a crowded pizza store even though there were three empty seats at the table where he was sitting and ample room: Sometimes you gotta share your table, ding dong! If you don't like it, move to fucking Alaska where everyone has personal space. This is New York City. I hope you trip on the subway steps and you don't hurt yourself but you land with your mouth in something nasty like some pee or vomit. And I hope you don't get sick from it, because I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but I hope it really grosses you out and ruins your day.

Fat Sal's - $2.50
730 10th Avenue
New York, NY 10019