M.J. Pizza: "A miracle hasn't happened tonight."

I forgot to mention during last night's entry that on this particular day, I was treated to the distinct pleasure of pizza-eating with my firm, fast friends Chrissy Hewes and Willow. They were on their way back to Asheville from doing a cranberry harvest in New England, so their presence in my fair city came as a complete surprise. But on to M.J. Pizza.


M.J. Pizza was surrounded by some pretty tough characters, but I asked them if they could just "scooch" to clear the shot for me, and they willingly obliged. The men milling around outside shit-talking made me confident that this place might be great. Not the presence of men specifically, but the fact that there were a handful of sketchy folks loitering made me feel really at home.


The slice, however, was not great. It had decent ratios and was cooked okay, there was a nice crunch and shit. The ingredients, however, while not terrible, were certainly nothing to write a postcard to your mom about. Not horrible, not great, whatever. But I gotta keep this entry short. Berk and Keith are waiting on me to hit the strip club.

M.J. Pizza
1976 1 Avenue
New York, NY 10029

Finest Pizza Deli: "I think the person who named this place might be a liar."

Initially I thought the name of this place must be a misnomer. Perhaps I'm mistaken, though. Finest Pizza Deli may not have the finest pizza, but it may actually be the finest Pizza Deli. I don't think I've ever been to another "pizza deli" before, (and a cursory search of the blog affirms that I've not visited one in an official capacity yet). But now I'm think that perhaps I don't know for certain what constitutes a "fine" slice of pizza.


This slice was certainly pale and delicate like a porcelain doll. It wasn't exceptionally good, but it was warm decent enough on a rainy day. The cheese was decent, the sauce was a little too sweet, and the crust was undercooked (as is obvious from a quick glance at that crust-color). Ultimately it was nothing special, but nor was it horrible. Totally middle of the road. They did, however, have a number of charming misspellings on one of their signs:


Depending on what the pharmaceutical additions, I might be in the mood for that "Pilly Cheesesteak" as a little nightcap right now.

Finest Pizzeria & Deli
151 E 103rd St
New York, NY 10029

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Tonight I am in DC on the first night of Forgetters tour. It's off to a great start, they really packed St. Stephen's Church tonight. Check it out. Tonight was a benefit for We Are Family DC, a pretty rad sounding organization. And I got to meet Mark Anderson tonight! Old punks still doing rad shit are always an inspiration. I didn't get up the chutzpah to really talk to him about how amazing he is because I didn't think I could do it without coming off as some fawning teen, but yeah, that shit was pretty cool.

Dreamer's Pizza: "And juuuust befooooore the dawn... I awaaaaake to fiiiiind you're gone..."

Dreamer's Pizza is nothing out of this world, but their slice was probably the best that me and Bill had all day. The pizza shop itself is small and unassuming. Charming in the way that any decent pizzeria is, but not exceptionally so. In a sense, it's "just right," and that's kind of what the slice was like.


There was a perfect amount of grease, it was well cooked and had great ratios. The cheese wasn't AMAZING, nor was the sauce or bread, but they were all the embodiment of plain old Good. Can't complain, but won't rave about it, I will definitely eat here again if I'm in this neighborhood.

On the way out of here, I was yammering on and on to Bill about some unimportant shit and he said, "hey, Colin check this out," and pointed to his right. I was too busy talking his ear off about something totally unmemorable to pay attention and just sort of shushed him in order not to lose momentum on the briskly paced walk-n-talk I had going. By the time we were around the corner and I had finished my verbose philosophizing, Bill was like, "so did you see that sketchy dude sitting next to a box with a hole in the top and a question mark drawn on it?"
"What, no! Why didn't you point him out?"
"I tried."
"Oh. Well, whatever, what was in the box?" I asked as I turned us back around.
"I don't know. That's what I was wondering."
"Do you think he was busking? Like, he charges a buck and you get to reach in the box? That would be amazing. That is, hands down, the creepiest buskin routine I've ever heard of."
"I don't know, man! I don't know anything about it. You were too busy chit-chatting to notice when I tried to point it out."
"We have to look in the box," I declared as we trepidatiously approached our target.

And let me say, this guy really was one sketchy character. I don't think Celine could do his deviled-eyed, slack-jawed look justice. He was wearing an Oakland Raiders starter jacket like Naughty By Nature used to rock, and like, one of those biker bandanas that is head shaped and ties in the back with string and his like, bald eagles and tribal flames and skull and shit on it. He was sitting on a folding stool and in front of him was a stack of milkcrates with a box adorned with a question mark on top, a hole cut in the top. I walked over, mustered all my bravado, and said as tough as I could, "Hey, what's in the box?"
Dude just grunted. Like a fucking caveman.
"You mind if I look?"
No response.
So I peered in and there was just like, some tic-tacs, a subway map and a box of tampons. You might say that's anti-climactic, but it just reminded me how much I love this fucking city.

Dreamer's Pizza
1850 3 Avenue
New York, NY 10029

Pizza King: "At least the employees are exceptionally nice."

Walking into Pizza King was like walking into a best friend's parents house for the first time and realizing that, unlike most of the people you know who turned out alright in spite of their shitty families, this friend is who she is because her parents were such nurturing, loving people. What I'm trying to say is that it feels really nice and comfortable in here. The proprietors exude a kind of tangible warmth that is rare these days, especially in a city like New York where everybody is constantly on their guard. Sadly, their pizza blows chunks.


I've got nothing kind to say about this slice. There is no way I can spin it to make it sound even decent. This slice is horrible. Chewy, thick dough, canned sauce that tasted like it was sweetened with white sugar, plasticy cheese. This slice felt so HEAVY. It was horrible. I knew it wouldn't be good but I really wanted to like it because these people seemed so nice. But while they're nice, the world isn't and it's my duty to my readership to stay objective. In short, this pizza totally sucked. Boo hoo.

Pizza King
188 East 104th Street
New York, NY 10029

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So, I got my computer working again, which is rad, but it seems a little bit tenuous. Hopefully it'll at least hold out through the New Year. Send vibes/cross your fingers/ask Satan for me. (Is there a Patron Saint or small local diety from a polytheist religion who tends to the well-being of tenuous but important appliances to whom I can make an offering?) I'm going to need a computer next week, because I'm leaving on tour with forgetters again and will thusly be updating from the road. Hopefully I get a chance to eat some horrid out of state pizza and make another hilarious travelogue. I was looking forward to possibly having the first issue of the S.H. zine finished by then, but it looks like I'll actually have to wait until the New Year. I'd rather not rush it and possibly sacrifice quality. But let me tell you, this thing is gonna be good.

If you live in or near any of these cities, come out and see forgetters, they are some of my best friends and, independently of that, a really amazing band. I will be the surly teetotaler selling their merch, so say hello if you want.

Friday, December 11: Brooklyn, NY (Market Hotel)

Saturday, December 12: Washington, DC. (St. Steven’s Church, Columbia Heights)

Sunday, December 13: Richmond, Va. (Gallery5) Matinee!

Monday, December 14: Charlotte, NC. (Milestone)

Tuesday, December 15: Atlanta, Ga. (Drunken Unicorn)

Wednesday, December 16: St. Augustine, Fla. (Nobby's)

Thursday, December 17: Gainesville, Fla. (1982)

Friday, December 18: Pensacola, Fla. (Sluggo’s)

Saturday, December 19: New Orleans, La. (Nowe Miasto) Early show.

Sunday, December 20: Memphis, TN. (Hi Tone Café)

Monday, December 21: Chattanooga, TN. (Sluggo’s North)

Listen up, jerkoffs.

Sorry for the lack of updating. My computer broke. I am going to try to use my roommate's computer when he goes to school to write some updates. Until then, if anyone wants to donate me $1000 or a fucking computer, be my guest, this shit is fucked.

Sun Deli Pizzeria: "Awful, just awful."

There's not much more to say, really. Excellent exterior, horrible pizza. The only perk about this place was that while we were in here, some yuppie was having a conniption about her sandwich being made wrong and the guy behind the counter just didn't give a fuck in the most amazing and zenlike way.

Sun Deli Pizzeria
1544 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10029

5 Star Cheesesteak & Pizza: "Like eating a sponge."

5 Star Cheesesteak and Pizza, how do I begin to describe thee? First of all, it is weirdly silent and sterile and awkward in there. It is like a black hole for any kind of ambiance. Seriously weird vibes. And the pizza, oh the pizza.


This slice was way too thick and I don't think it was made of food. As you can see from the above image, it began to fall apart as soon as I lifted it up. For something so dense and thick, that it a horrible sign. Texturally, this slice was a nightmare. The cheese was like plastic, the dough was like a sponge and it was SO DRY. It seemed like before they put the cheese on this slice, they had second thoughts about the sauce and wiped it all off with a paper towel. They couldn't get every bit, so there was some residual sauce in the crevices, but they succeeded in getting rid of most of it, leaving my mouth a dry, dusty wasteland after taking my first bite. This slice is almost so bad that I feel compelled to recommend it on the grounds that it is such an anomaly. True pizza connoisseurs should taste this pizza in order to understand the full range of just how bad pizza can get. Ultimately though, it's not even worth that. Maybe their cheesesteaks are at least decent, though the cheese on this pizza doesn't make me feel hopeful about that.

5 Star Cheesesteak and Pizza
2039 1st Ave
New York, NY 10029

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Two endnotes to today's entry:
1. It is about time for me to remind you all that there is a Donation button, located at the top right of this page. If you enjoy reading Slice Harvester please consider donating as little as $2.50 a month to help me fund my pizza. I don't expect to make money off this thing, but if it could fund itself that would be MINDBLOWING.

2. I recently got a copy of 3 The Hard Way because I was trying to track down this totally excellent Reggie Stepper song If You Want To Leave. The first song on there is a Cutty Ranks track called Culture Fi Lick, which is a rumination on the moral and ethical bankruptcy of the young people of the 90s. In it, Cutty Ranks discusses some of the skewed priorities of his generation's young people. He says:
"Give me punani," some of them will say.
"And give me pizza," some of them will say.



Having read about the difficulties queer folks have faced in Jamaica, I've been readying myself for years for what I thought would be the inevitable moment when I would have an ethical qualm strong enough to stop listening to a certain reggae artist. Having grown up on grimetime New York gangsta rap, I have a really complicated relationship with misogyny and homophobia in popular music and we could discuss the definitely complex and likely hypocritical nature of my fondness for Mobb Deep or Nine all day long. And at some point we should, because the patriarchy's not gonna smash itself and everyone should examine the innoccuous shit they do that helps bolster and support oppressive structures. However, and here's the real pressing issue, I never thought the repugnant lyrics I would find in a dancehall song would have to do with equating Pizza Eating with The Sorry State of Our Youth. I don't know if I'll be able to listen to Cutty Ranks the same ever again.

Coincidentally, while I was writing this post, my roommate was in the living room listening to my Pump Up the Jam LP. Check this shit out:



Maybe I'm wrong, but this is how I'm hearing these lyrics:
People don't you know, don't you know it's about time.
Can't you hear the jam is pumping while you taste the pizza mind.
Many different flavors and the spice is strong.
Get into the hot stuff something something blah blah blah.

Chuck was asking me tonight about my favorite modern poetry. Well there's your answer pal.