Entries tagged with 'Boston'
Posted by Adam Kuban, October 11, 2007 at 10:00 PM
In which Slice wades waist-deep into the plaintive muck of Craigslist's Missed Connections in search of pizza-related longing. So come with me, my love, to the swamp of love that spawns That's Amore. —The Mgmt.
saw you at TWO BOOTS pizzeria: thats my favorite spot...you were with a group of younger kids...i had my skateboard and i couldnt keep my eyes off you...im not a creepy guy but you just reminded me of someone i ued to know. if you see this hit me up and i'd like to get a slice with you soemtime..ciao
- cute guy with glasses in bedford ave pizza shop - w4m: I saw you Tuesday night, in the pizza place on Bedford. You were really cute and we walked out together, at the same time, but walked in different directions. I thought (?) that maybe we were making eye contact, and I should've just sat down with you! Maybe there will be a next time?
- Hottie at Pizza Place on East Ave - m4m - 36: Hey there you were riding your bike you stoped in the pizza place on east Avenue and then came out I was in my car you are hot. tell me tell me what place you stopped in at so i know its you and what you were wearing if interested
- hot slice at sal's pizzeria - m4m: saw you tonite around 7-ish. you had a red t shirt, skinny black pants, little plugs. me and my buddy were sitting at the window. hit me up if you know what i'm talkin about. would have said hi, but you bounced with your food.
- Yankee Fan at CPK (by bloomies) on Friday Night around 8:15-8:30pm - w4m - 24 (Midtown East): Was at California Pizza Kitchen on friday night sitting at the bar with my mom eatting. You were waiting for your take-out order and said hi to me when my mom went to the bathroom. I know my missed my opportunity to give you my number then but i didnt realize how cute you were. I think you were wearing a red shirt (maybe) and you were watching the yankee game on tv...it was maybe around 8:30ish (it was in the 10th or 11th inning by then). We were taking to you about the flies on tv surrounding the players....Don't know if your single (looked for ring but didnt see one). I know that is is a long shot...but if you are this brunette white guy or know who it could be forward this to him....
- JUSTIN - cute hispanic guy with a birthmark in his right eye - m4m - 23 (Chelsea): You were at the pizza place on the corner of 9th and 30th with some of your friends. I'm that dude from Chicago you briefly talked to. Wasn't sure if you were extra friendly due to all the booze you drank that night, or maybe cuz you were interested...Anyhow....I think you're super cute. Very very sexy man!!!! Drop me a line if interested ;)
- Naomi - m4w: I wish I could say goodbye to you again and again. But I would settle for buying you a slice of pizza.
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Posted by Adam Kuban, August 2, 2007 at 4:42 PM
In which Slice wades waist-deep into the plaintive muck of Craigslist's Missed Connections in search of pizza-related longing. So come with me, my love, to the swamp of love that spawns this That's Amore. —The Mgmt.
New York City
- Dean & Vanderbilt 10pm-ish: Woman in red t-shirt with pizza - m4w - 28: When you entered my field of vision I stopped in my tracks.
The way you came around the corner with that pizza balanced so perfectly on your right hand while you didn't simply walk, but traveled with speed, grace, and style was a breathtaking sight. Simultaneously, a sway and strut pushed and pulled on eachother to create liquid strides of ease and determination.
I had spent all day in Manhattan, witness to more beauty, style, and sensuality than can be expected from any average day on the island, and yet 100 yards from my front door was the most beautifully stylized display of sensuality I had felt all day.
I would feel guilty about my blatant glare, but your facial features did not contort to the often ugly shapes that convey fear, disgust, or complaceny. Instead, your eyes glowed. Your lips curled slighty up. Your nostrils flared the slightest bit.
For me, that may be the only moment you play a part in. Without doubt that pizza was shared with the person that had made you feel so light on your feet that you could glide so effortlessly along the Brooklyn sidewalk. That quick moment still had power and dripped with humanity and will stick with me.
- I had a pink rose and was writing a song on a note pad you=curly hair - m4m - 23: me: i had a pink rose. i was writing on my note pad... i bumped into you. you said sorry...
I looked up and said it was fine and looked down. It took me a while to realize how beautiful you were. you went into driggs pizza i was going to follow you but i was kinda high. i can't believe i am posting this. this is fun. hope life is swell.
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Posted by Adam Kuban, April 17, 2007 at 3:00 PM
“I’ve never caught a foul ball in my life. It’s been my dream to catch one. That’s the closest I’ve ever come. The pizza just thwarted it,” so says Red Sox fan Jason Sole, who's seen getting hit with a flying pizza in the video that follows:
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Posted by Adam Kuban, October 30, 2006 at 11:48 AM
Pity poor Ed Levine. When his workday doesn't involve ordering one of each doughnut at a well-regarded New York City doughnuttery, he gets to eat pizza from some of the country's best pizzerias and write about it for Details magazine. His findings cover some familiar ground to readers of Slice and of Mr. Levine's 2005 book PIzza: A Slice of Heaven, but there are some new entries to be savored.
Pizzeria Bianco [623 East Adams Street, Phoenix AZ 85004; map]
"The sauce tastes like a distillation of the ripest tomatoes."
Di Fara[1424 Avenue J, Brooklyn NY 11230; map]
"... a Di Fara slice has a one-of-a-kind flavor."
Totonno's [1524 Neptune Ave., Brooklyn NY 11224; map]
"Order the white pie, made with ricotta, mozzarella, and enough fresh garlic to ward off a roomful of vampires."
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Posted by correspondent, May 15, 2006 at 9:00 AM
PIZZERIA REGINA
Location: 11 1/2 Thacher St., Boston MA 02135 [map]
Phone: 617-227-0765
Cost: Margherita (plain), $9.69 for small and $15.99 for large
Payment: Cash only
WORDS AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY DAN S. .::. Boston, per capita, is probably home to more expats from the New York metro area than any other place in America. Particularly among the college and graduate student populations, Boston and Cambridge are packed to the gills with folks who call the Garden State, Long Island, or one of the outer boroughs home. This gives rise to several areas of tension, particularly during baseball season, when thousands of Yankees fans are forced to root in the privacy of their own homes (thank god for MLB.tv!) or risk affronts to their personal safety (Mets fans seem to enjoy relatively harassment-free existences; most, in fact, adopt the Red Sox as their AL team of choice out of a shared distaste for the Bombers).
Food, however, is also a problematic issue. Boston's population of tri-state exiles are usually thrilled with the quality of the lobster rolls and littleneck clams. If you want a burger or a steak, you're in luck, as Boston is home to plenty of fabulous pub-style burger joints (Bartley's and R. F. O'Sullivan) and two of the best steakhouses this side of Peter Luger (Abe & Louis' and Grill 23 & Bar). However, Lord help ya, and I mean Lord help ya if you are ever in the mood for one of those two New York classics; a fresh bagel or a good old-fashioned slice.
The bagel issue is for another blog (does someone want to start nybagel.com?); it will suffice for now to say that the bagel situation is grim, quite grim. But our concern for the moment is pizza. Simply put, the vast majority of pizza in the Boston area is awful—I mean, just lousy. The student areas of Allston and Brighton are chock full of slice joints that look like something you'd recognize from a Manhattan street corner, but, trust me, what they're serving up is nothing like what you or I would call pizza. The predominant style in the Boston slice joints is some abomination called "Greek style." I'm not even sure how to describe it, but it's somewhere between New York and Chicago style, with a thick, greasy crust that ususally tastes remarkably similar to cardboard or one of those bread sticks from Pizza Hut. Slices sit out in those heated carousel things behind glass, and god knows what kind of ovens the places use, because I almost never even get my slice reheated.
I came to Boston for graduate school after spending my whole life in New Jersey, and many were the nights during my first year when I would just about weep over some tasteless triangular something that was described as pizza while secretly I longed for a slice from Pizza Town in Elmwood Park, New Jersey, or PJ's in New Brunswick—anything foldable, thin, and dripping with olive oil.
Thankfully, all is not lost! Unlike New York City or North Jersey, you are unlikely to get a decent slice just by wandering into any old slice joint, but good pizza can be found if you seek it out. There's Santarpio's in East Boston, Ernesto's in the North End, and even a little New York–style slice joint in the Back Bay called Newbury Pizza than can all do in a pinch and if you feel like riding the T. And, of course, there is the bisnonna of all Boston pizzerias: Pizzeria Regina.
I'm not too much of a histoy buff, but Pizzeria Regina has cred. It opened in 1926, making it, I think, the third- or fourth-oldest pizzeria in America (someome can check my facts on that). It is tucked into Boston's North End, one of America's great Italian-American neighborhoods, a charming network of narrow streets full of fantastic restaurants, pastry joints, cafes, and historical monuments (Paul Revere's house is in the neighborhood). A tirp to the North End is all but a guaranteed good time (try Taranta's for some fantastic gnocchi).
My girlfriend and I decided to meet up with some friends on Friday Night to give Regina's a try. I had been there a couple of times before and had always been impressed. On a trip back home over Easter weekend, I had taken my girlfriend to Patsy's in East Harlem, and I was curious to see how Regina's would hold up to a classic New York coal burner.
If you go to Regina on a weekend night, be prepared for a wait. There are no reservations at this cash-only joint, and folks are taken on a first-come, first-served basis. Our wait this time was mercifully brief, perhaps due to our somewhat late arrival (8:30 p.m.). Inside, Regina's is all atmosphere: crowded, noisy, and bustling, tables packed with hungry pizza seekers, surly waitresses crisscrossing the space dishing out pies and pitchers.
Regina only serves four things: pizza, beer, wine, and soda. The place has a storied reputation for curt servers (it's actually considered part of the charm), but our waitress was actually quite friendly—probably because we ordered quickly. There's a great variety of pies (you can get the list on the website), and, like a steakhouse, you are given the option to order to your desired doneness: lightly done, regular, or well done (what kind of sick freak would order a pizza "lightly done"?). Our party of five decided to go with two large pies, both cooked regular (I really wanted to get one well done, but I didn't think the rest in my party would be as high on char as I am): one classic Margherita (right) and one Saint Anthony's, a white pizza topped with homemade sausage, roasted peppers, onions, mushrooms, fresh garlic, and mozz. Of course, we also ordered the Boston requisite: two pitchers of Sam Adams.
While we waited for the pies, we chatted over our beer and soaked in the atmosphere. Like Totonno's, the place is a true throwback; the decor hasn't changed in 80 years, right down to the red booths and cramped quarters. The brick oven is open to view from the dining room, filling the whole place with the smell of bubbling cheese and char. As said, the place was crowded, and the pizzaiolo (right) gives attention to each pie, so we did have to wait a bit. But, after about 15 minutes, the pies came out.
The Margherita (right) was, in my opinion, about perfect. The crust is thicker than what you get at Pasty's or Grimaldi's, more the thickness of a typical slice joint, but it's sublimely crisp on the outside and chewy within. The pizza heel gets a nice char from the wood-burning brick oven, though in a regular cooked pie, the bottom of the slice is disappointingly char free (I imagine ordering a pie well done would correct this sad particular). While a bit of tip sag was evident, it hardly detracted from the pie, and was actually much less of a problem than at my last trip to Patsy's (the thicker crust no doubt helps). The sauce is wonderful: full of flavor and not too sweet (I believe California tomatoes are used), while the cheese is a straight shredded mozz but spiked with a dusting of pecorino Romano.
Like 
The Saint Anthony's pie (right) was also quite good, but I'm not really into lots of topings. The sausage is made fresh and tasted delicious, as did the roasted peppers. But, of course, with that many toppings, mushrooms in particular, the Saint Anthony's pie was significantly soggier than its Marghertia cousin. Still, a fine loaded pie, indeed.
In short, Pizzeria Regina does the job when it comes to alleviating the pizza withdrawal that so often afflicts the displaced tri-stater who comes to Beantown. You can even stop at Mike's or Modern Pastry on your way back to the subway for an amazing cannoli. Buon appetito a tutti!
This entry comes to Slice via a Slice correspondent. To find out how you can contribute to Slice, click here.
Posted by Adam Kuban, April 28, 2006 at 1:42 PM
And they are:
- Zachary's Chicago Pizza: Berkeley, California
- PIzzeria Regina: Boston
- Patsy Grimaldi's Pizzeria: Scottsdale, Arizona
- Vic's Bar & Restaurant: Bradley Beach, New Jersey
- Tacconelli's: Philadelphia
- John's: New York City
- Star Pizza: Houston
- Imo's Pizza: Saint Louis
- Home Run Inn: Chicago
- Mellow Mushroom: Atlanta
- Windy City PIzza: Tampa, Florida
- Anthony's Pizza and Pasta: Denver
- Papreza's Pizza: Henderson, Nevada
Well, they say 13 is an unlucky number, right? I mean, only one New York City pizzeria on this list? And it's John's? John's is good, sure, but not the best in NYC. And maybe we should hold our tongue until we've had pizza from the Grimaldi's branch in Arizona, but how can it be any better than the homegrown original Grimaldi's? I guess AOL had to tailor its list to please people across the country. And it's further evidence that these lists are always flawed. Heck, even if Slice put out a list, I'm sure someone—lots of someones—would find fault with it. But they're always good for debate, so have at it. Comments welcome.
13 Perfect Pizzas Across America [AOL Cityguide]
Posted by Ed Levine, February 16, 2006 at 8:43 AM
Here's the American Pizzeria Timeline, which includes only two non–Pizza Belt entries, Tommaso's and Uno's:
1905: Lombardi's, on Spring Street in New York City, is granted the nation's first license to sell pizza.
1910: Joe's Tomato Pies opens in the Trenton, New Jersey, Chambersburg neighborhood.
1912: Papa's Tomato Pies in Trenton opened by Papa, who learned his trade at Joe's.
1924: Anthony (Totonno) Pero leaves Lombardi's and opens Totonno's in Coney Island, New York.
1925: Frank Pepe opens on Wooster Street in New Haven, Connecticut.
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Posted by e-rock, July 29, 2004 at 8:39 AM
P As In Pizza, That Is
BOSTON RECON Slice Roving Reporter E-Rock swooped in on Boston (above) for his latest Slice To Go report. His adventures are detailed below. [This image from USGS satellite via Microsoft TerraServer website.]
WORDS BY E-ROCK | PHOTOGRAPHS BY CHRIS NAU
How does one prepare for the coming shitstorm next month called the Republican National Convention? The one that will snarl our streets, shut down our trains, and fill the streets with folks who don't like our city anyway? [Oh but they will love New York, E-Rock, once they get a taste of our delicious pizza. See G.O.Pizza for details.—Ed.] Go to Boston a few days before the Democratic National Convention, where essentially the same thing is happening, except that the drunk guys in suits are having a lovefest fueled by parties in Cambridge with mounds of cocaine the size of Pamela Anderson's implants.
E-Rock had a long weekend a few days ago, and it takes more than a throng of juiced-up politicians and their boot-licking servants to spoil that. I go to Boston a couple times every summer to visit my twisted abstract-painter friend Chris. In the past we would wander around the streets of South Boston with open containers and watch huge artist-loft buildings get demolished by wrecking balls to make way for high-end condos. But now he and his girlfriend Lesley have a place in quaint Somerville, Massachusetts, just north of the city, so we decided to settle for a Saturday spent wandering around the more well-traveled areas of the city, capped by a pizza freakout.
First of all, though, E-Rock had to get there. I usually take the Fung Wah Bus, which runs between New York and Boston's Chinatowns for $10 each way. Some people are fond of making fun of these buses, but the rich, racist pricks who love to criticize it have obviously never taken the Greyhound to Boston. E-Rock, short on time Friday and near the Port Authority Bus Terminal, opted for the $35 Greyhound ticket instead. I waited in an enormous line in the bowels of the terminal for the 7 p.m. bus. At 7:30, we were informed that they "didn't have a driver" because of "traffic," and we'd have to wait until Greyhound located one. Is Friday-night traffic on northbound I-95 something new? They don't know about these things? E-Rock's bus didn't leave the city until 8:30. I drained my flask of Famous Grouse into a half-empty Pepsi bottle and endured the smell of an overflowing toilet and the sound of cell-phone ringers turned up to the volume of a Who concert for five hours. When I got to Boston's South Station, one of the first things I saw was a young, suit-wearing delegate yelling at a homeless person. At times like these I wonder why I ever bother leaving New York.
When I got to Somerville, I found out that Lesley was going to volunteer for the proceedings at the convention on Sunday as a "city guide." Her required attire? A white golf shirt with the logos of corporate sponsors like Gillette (it said nothing about the convention on it) and khaki pants. Did the fashion people setting this up have the right convention?
We started Saturday with a stroll near Boston Common and into the city's South End. Chris, on a Francis Bacon binge, wanted to go to an art-book store in the neighborhood. We then went to J. J. Foley's and watched the beginnings of what proved to be a completely insane Yankees-Red Sox game. We saw the A-Rod vs. Varitek bloodbath, and it made E-Rock glad he's a Mets fan. The last thing I needed was to cheer for an opposing team deep in the heart of rabid Boston sports mania.
IRAQI ARTIFACTS E-Rock met an Iraqi-based contractor in a Boston bar who showed him Iraqi money (left) and wild pictures on his laptop (right).
We then walked northwest through the city toward the Charles River—cruising by plenty of people in white golf shirts and khakis—and ended up at another bar, the Crossroads, at the foot of the bridge connecting the two cities. Thinking we would just settle for a pre-pizza shot of Jameson, it was supposed to be a quick stop. But things changed when Mariano Rivera blew the Yanks' lead and Chris started talking to a guy who had spent months as a contractor in Iraq. That part of our journey was punctuated by the guy showing us newly-minted money from Iraq, freaky pictures of what's happening in the country and telling us about the general insanity going on over there. (I guess it's legal to walk around with an automatic weapon in clear view.) Red Sox third baseman Bill Meuller slammed a two-run shot off Rivera, and the bar erupted. We decided it was time to leave and walk across the Mass. Ave. bridge to Cambridge before people started lighting cars on fire.
What's the deal with Boston and why don't they just call the whole place Boston? Whenever E-Rock's there, he thinks he's in Boston and later finds out he was in Somerville, Jamaica Plain, or Roxbury—the place is so damn confusing.
Anyway, the pizza siren called, and we walked to this place called Cambridge and through the campus of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. We witnessed some MIT weirdness—ballroom dancing in some student union type of building. Ballroom dancing classes on a Saturday night in the summer? Is this what Noam Chomsky does for fun?
Our destination was Emma's. Chris loves the place and assured me its pies had thin crusts and great toppings. Having been to Cambridge a few times and having seen some of its glassy-eyed residents, I feared one thing—hippie pizza.
Emma's does have a bit of a hippie vibe to it, but the restaurant is more upscale than most places one would find in a college town. The joint was packed, but we waited only ten minutes for our table.
We ordered a small, 12-inch pie with basil, garlic, traditional sauce, and mozzarella ($11.75, below left) and, at Chris and Lesley's suggestion, we got a large, 16-inch smorgasbord—half of it topped with thyme-roasted mushroom, baby spinach, garlic, traditional sauce, and mozzarella and half with feta, scallion, garlic, gorgonzola, traditional sauce, and mozzarella on the other half ($16.25, below right). (See, E-Rock told you there was some hippie-ness going on here.)
It was all good, but comparing it to any of the top-notch places in New York is completely irrelevant. Apples and oranges. Monkeys and airplanes.
Emma's crust is indeed thin, but it's more like a soft Carr's cracker than the crisp-chewy perfection one finds in Gotham. Plus, those combos of toppings are so far afield from what E-Rock orders in NYC that it was like a whole different experience. This is what I've always imagined California-style pizza to be. The menu also offers pagnotelle sandwiches and salads.
But the topping combos were tasty, and even the plain pie had a nice flavor. The ingredients were fresh, and, hey, at least it wasn't deep dish. There is the possibility that E-Rock was just drunk, too, [That's a very good possibility.—Ed.] and anything would have been good at that point.
I'll recommend Emma's, though, if you're ever in Cambridge, for a good pizza-based meal, but not if you're looking for a New York–style pie. That is something E-Rock will try to find on his next trek up north. Any suggestions from the peanut gallery?
The next day, Chris and I ventured to Chinatown to get Fung Wah tickets and had lunch at a great Vietnamese restaurant called Pho Pasteur. The food was flawless if you could get over the fact that the floor tiles seemed to be covered in some kind of oil. E-Rock nearly broke his hip.
I left amid the beautiful chaos that is the line for the Fung Wah, something E-Rock would take any day of the week over the pain that is Greyhound. And, no, I didn't see Bill, Hillary, T-Kenn, Kerry, or Edwards drunk on power and whooping it up. I didn't see them at all, in fact. But in the parking lot of a rest stop somewhere in Connecticut, E-Rock saw a busload of Falun Gong devotees, the same ones who were protesting the day before on Boston Common.
When the Falun Gong gets going, that's usually a good sign that it's the right time to leave.
