Portofino Pasta & Pizza: "Get the fuck outta here!"

This review is going to be short, because I gotta run and meet my friend Cory to eat a bunch of pizza, and also because there is very little to say about this fucking horrific place. Before we even got to this place, it had three strikes against it:

• $2 can of root beer.
• Tried to short Aaron on change.
• Weird elaborate computer system that didn't make sense in such a tiny place, and which we probably wouldn't have even noticed if we weren't set off by strikes 1 & 2.

The slice: Pasty dough, crappy cheese, sweet sauce. NO GOOD.

Rating:



Portofino - $2.50
1091 2nd Avenue
New York, NY 10022

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And because I just don't know what else to do with them, here is a couple of pizza related images that have crossed my path. I'd like to credit the place where I found them, but it's a secret!

Cafe Daniello - "I'm a little distracted today, so no clever title."

Daniello's Cafe is right across the street from the High School of Art & Design, and me and A.C. were there just in time for the sidewalk outside to be swamped by children. Don't worry, I asked all of them if they minded being photographed, and unlike most people hanging around outside pizzerias, they had no problem with it. A million times over I have had some sketchy lurker call me "Officer" and ask to see my camera phone picture to make sure I left them out of it. Lord knows I understand security culture and so I warn anyone who may be stuck in one of my photographs that they will be documented standing where they are standing, but honestly, I think it is delusions of grandeur that make some of these two-bit nobodies think anyone even cares about where the fuck their sorry-asses are on a Monday afternoon. Sorry for the digression, but apparently it's been on my mind, I guess.

Well, anyway, once you clear the brat pack and get inside, Daniello's is a weird little place. It has that kind of bullshit air of pretend fanciness, the exact opposite of Prince Pizza, it kind of reminds me of Abitino's come to think of it, that totally turns me off because it's 100% disingenuous. I don't mind actually fancy shit, I just hate pretenders (except these ones and these ones). Aaron said, "although they aren't making me feel unwelcome, I feel LESS welcome here than the last place. This is a different NY."


Luckily, no one need wrest control of Daniello's from the Teen Titans, because the slice isn't all that hot. How convenient! Here's the lowdown: it's not bad, but it's nothing that exciting, which is way more boring than when something is bad. Think like, I don't know, the second Blanks 77 album. The dough needs a little salt, the grease is a tiny bit too orange to trust, Aaron said it was "not zesty enough." Sure.

Rating:


Daniello's Cafe - $2.50
1072 2nd Avenue
New York, NY 10022

Prince Pizza: "Every time I comb my hair, thoughts of you get in my eyes."

Prince Pizza is a wonderful place. I wish beyond wishes that every slice joint could feel the same inside as Prince Pizza. As I walked up to the line to order, Aaron walked straight back to the seating area. The hypervigilant proprietor watched intently as Aaron sat down at a table and then eyed me suspiciously. I returned his stone grill, "Lemme get one regular slice."
"Just one?" And his eyes drifted towards Aaron in the back.
"Yeah, one." I liked this guy, but he didn't trust me.
When I joined Aaron at the table, he said, "I like that guy, he's either got a dislocated shoulder or the best natural swagger I've ever seen."

The back seating area of Prince Pizza looks like a bathroom. Tiles and formica, tiles and formica, tiles and formica. You know the drill. There is years worth of Filth discoloring The Grout. This may sound like an indictment to anyone who is a totally shitty snob, but the fact of the matter is that everywhere should be this picturesqely decrepit. It didn't seem dirty, just well-worn, like my Dead Dog/Ramones split t-shirt. It can be straight out of the wash and smell so fresh and so clean, but it will never be pristine in color because it's got permanent Dirt.

While we were sitting back there, our companions were a couple of bored teenagers, a Bike Messenger (as opposed to a "bike messenger," which is what I used to be), and a few mumbling weirdos. Didn't seem like much of an Office Lunch crowd. More like the dregs of the neighborhood stopping in to chow down. And that was a real pleasant change of pace from most of the other place I've been to around here.


The bummer beneath the beauty is that the slice totally stinks. Aaron called it "loafy," I thought it tasted like sugar. The dough was too thick and not salty enough, the cheese was bland and the sauce had hell of Heinz. Wildly disappointing considering how smitten both A.C. and me were with the interior, and we are both Connoisseurs of Corrosion. If there was a Picturesque Shithole Aficionado magazine, we would be the editors. I will probably still come back here and suffer the bad pizza for the excellent environs.

Rating:


Prince Pizza - $2.50
642 Lexington Avenue
New York, NY 10022

Belmora Pizza: "Under new ownership?"

Belmora Pizza has a beautiful awning. Absolutely marvelous. It hearkens back to a time when people cared about craftsmanship, when even the simplest tasks were approached with a certain aesthetic rigidity and a sense of integrity. Compare this awning to that of Heights Pizza, perhaps. This will clarify some of the points I am currently finding inarticulable because of the incredibly early hour. Why am I up so early, you ask? Well, dear reader, art doesn't move itself, now does it? When I can Sorcerer's Apprentice some arms and legs onto sculptures and paintings from bed, perhaps I will return to this entry and expand upon some of the points put forth.


Sadly, the slice here did not nearly match the beauty of the awning. It was totally underdone. Which makes me think the guy who ordered after me and said, "Gimme a slice, well done. Just burn the shit out of it if you have to," was probably on to something. However, even if it had been cooked through more thoroughly, that wouldn't really change the fact that the ingredients leave a lot to be desired. As we made our way through this slice Aaron and I became suspicious that perhaps the restaurant had new owners and they just looked down because of the credibility-inducing awning but were actually pizza posers. Sort of like if my dad went to some vintage store and bought beat up, old Flux of Pink Indians shirt and then went to ABC No Rio or something. Everyone would be like, "woah, that Old Guy is probably so cool." Little would they know.

Rating:


Belmora Pizza - $2.89
139 East 57th Street
New York, NY 10022

Buk: "Do not read a book or handle documents after eating this pizza."

Before I begin today's post I'd like to extend my thanks and gratitude to Winnifred O'Connell and her children and their children for taking me in on St. Patrick's Day, and to Janet O'Connell in particular for having raised one of my favorite people ever. The inner warmth provided by a crowded table and a good meal was not even eclipsed by the inner warmth provided by the fine Irish whiskey we drank. I find the general buffoonery of St. Patty's somewhat offensive and distasteful, and if I'm not mistaken, St. Patrick chasing the snakes out of Ireland is actually a metaphor for him killing off pagans and other non-christian folks, which is problematic to say the least. But any excuse to sit around and talk shit with someone else's awesome family is great and I'll take it. Not to mention corned beef and cabbage is like, hands down one of the best meals around.


When I saw Buk's awning, I thought, "another one bites the dust." I didn't even look inside, I just said to Aaron, "well, I guess we'll just go find the next place. This obviously isn't a pizzeria anymore."
But he was all, "I don't know, it looks like they serve slices."
And sure enough, I looked in the door and there was a pizza oven and all the accouterments of a pizzeria, though the place looked bizarrely fancy. We ordered our slice from this guy, and then he followed us to a table with it. The back opened up into a pretty big space and there was like, a bartender and well-dressed waiter standing around waiting for ANY CUSTOMERS. But we were not them, we sat at the weird tables in the front reserved for pizza eaters.


I'm not sure if this is actually pizza. It's like someone in New York called their cousin in Kosovo and was like, "Here in America, there is this thing called pizza and it is delicious." And then described it. And then Kosovar cousin was enthralled with the idea and he told his best friend about it, and then the best friend thought it sounded rad and so she mentioned it to her mom, and then the mom told her boss and the boss told his nephew and the nephew came to New York and opened this pizza place. And somewhere in that elaborate game of telephone, the true essence of pizza was lost and we got what we have here. Since the conflicts in Yugoslavia in the 90s, when there was mass immigration from that region to America, there has been an abundance of Albanian pizzeria owners, and they hold it down. This is actually a topic that Aaron is fascinated with and brings up all the time, so it was remarkably appropriate that he and I ate here.

This is possibly the greasiest slice I've ever eaten. The cheese was a totally strange texture from being way overcooked. It kind of felt like plastic. And the dough was so overdone it was brittle like a flatbread. None of it tasted burnt, though, so I have to imagine this is a deliberate decision. Maybe, rather than being the typical Albanian owned, Italian-style pizzeria, this place is trying to make Albanian-style pizza. It wasn't bad, but it was not what I was expecting at all. I might come back here and try some other food, though.

Buk - $2.50
55 West 55th Street
New York, NY 10019

Pizza Villagio: "You've gotta be crazy to come here with Bella Vita down the block."

Pizza Villagio is a dire scene. It is another of these weird cafeterias that I worry will become far more predominant in Midtown. Total yuppie purgatory. Bad scene, bad vibes. You have to order pizza in one place and pay in another, and Aaron tried to get me a coffee while I was getting our slice but the guy behind the counter yelled at him, so he slunk back to our table and scowled a bit.


This slice was horrible. My first bite tasted like tuna fish, later on it tasted like canned raviolis from the dollar store--I guess there was a kind of tangy sharpness to the flavor that was unpleasant and seemed unnatural. In general it was just a fucking mess and a half. Totally worthless slice. Aaron said, "you'll be here chewing all day." He also said called this slice "proof of total assimilation" of the Italians, because one of their cultural symbols has been eaten up by the American blob to the point where it becomes stripped of any of it's cultural significance and becomes a shadow of it's former self.

It makes me think of this Lenelle Moise essay I read recently in the We Don't Need Another Wave anthology. Reflecting on the racism faced by many women of color in America, and the different forms it takes, she decries the notion of the "melting pot" that's been bandied about so consistently for so long, and instead puts forth a vision of "rice tight with beans," an image inspired by the entwined limbs of herself and he partner. She says, "although we are comforted and empowered by our cultural similarities, we are stronger for articulating and learning from our differences.... Rice and beans are stuck on each other, but they are distinct."

And this might seem to have little to do with pizza, but in fact, it has EVERYTHING to do with pizza. If we aren't careful, pizza will be stripped of any of it's nuance and merit and sucked into the Capitalist Death Culture, left to rot alongside Punk Rock, Dropping Out of Society and Drug Use. The battle may already be lost. But as long as there are still a few old, surly pizzamen scowling at their customers and serving up greasy, warm slices, we still have a chance in the war! Let's just hope that the metaphorical three pointer we throw at the last second doesn't bounce suggestively on the rim and ultimately fail to score, like it did in last night's literal battle between good and evil.

Pizza Villagio - $2.50
1412 6th Avenue
New York, NY 10019

Bella Vita Pizzeria: "It's a beautiful life, oh oh oh-oooh."

Since Thursday when I went and ate pizza with him, I've been thinking of a concise way to describe my friend Aaron. Mostly I've been thinking about whether or not to share the totally embarrassing things I did when we first met. Since I can't decide, I will say this much: Aaron has been an inspiration to me since I was a teenager, and it's nice now that I'm a grown up that I get to be friends with someone I looked up to back then. A few years ago he used to sell books on Astor Place, and one day I was walking around down there with my sister after going to our cousin's kid's bris. We walked by Aaron's table and he said, "hey Colin, why the fancy clothes?"
"Oh, I was at a bris. It was weird. There was a funny mohel."
"Funny mohel?"
"Yeah, like, he was basically doing a standup routine while he snipped junior's junk. It wasn't sure how I felt about it at first, but in the end I think I'm into it. Anyway, I gotta run."
As we walked away I was thinking about all the different ways I could let it slip, casually of course, that we had just passed Aaron Cometbus and that he had just said hi to me on the street. I was thinking about all the other ways that my adult life had pretty much become my teenage punk dream life and about how proud I was, (and rightfully so!), and how proud my kid sister would be and how impressed she'd be that her big brother hung around with "famous authors". And at some point these mile-a-minute thoughts were interrupted by my sister saying, "ewww, you know that weird old guy?!" There are many meanings to extrapolate from this seemingly simple story, but I'll leave that work to you, dear reader.

When Aaron and I met up on Thursday neither one of us had ingested even a sip of coffee, so we were both far from top form. I, however, was totally elated from having just ridden my Nice Bike in Manhattan for the first time in months. I owned the streets! Bless the Great Pizzaola, for in her constant benevolence she has endowed me with the ability to Understand Traffic, a gift I vow to never take for granted. I was talking a mile a minute about nonsense as we sat on the curb and smoked. Aaron was trying his best to keep up, but we soon realized that without some caffeine and some food we'd never be able to carry on a coherent conversation. So we headed to our first pizzeria, Bella Vita.

There was a ton of construction outside, and a big cement truck parked pretty much on the sidewalk, so there was no way for me to take a picture of this place. As such, I've stolen a picture from Midtown Lunch. This is not an endorsement (though it's not not an endorsement) because I've never read that website, but I figured I should give them credit for the photograph I pilfered.

Bella Vita Pizzeria is a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle of 58th Street. There's a weird sense of calm within the restaurant. I don't remember if there was music playing, but I do recall that it was far more quiet and serene inside than it was on the sidewalk, which is not always the case with a pizzeria. Either way, it was a pleasant shift, to say the least.


The slice here is one of these bizarre mutant combinations of a traditional street slice and a neapolitan slice. It's not quite as good as Little Luzzo's on 96th, but it's of the same ilk. The ingredients were insanely high quality, the slice was warm and hearty in that way that warms your whole body, but it was still delicate and light. Aaron said the slice was "light and tasty, like Vietnamese food," and I will take it on faith that the comparison makes sense, but I don't quite understand. Although every time I eat Vietnamese food I eat like, an entire cow's stomach or something, so that might explain a little bit. I guess, come to think of it, that a good Bahn Mi is delicious and flavorful without ever being heavy and overbearing, so the comparison works, because that's what this slice is like. It is absolutely not the ideal street slice that I am questing after, but this slice is easily as good as many of the margherita pizzas I've had at fancy Italian restaurants and at $2.50, it's kind of a fucking steal. When your tastes are feeling fancier than your wardrobe, this is the place to come and not feel out of place eating something delicious.

Bella Vita - $2.50
158 West 58th Street
New York, NY 10019