There is a story that goes into every slice of pizza. From the ingredients, the cooks, the ovens, the ingredients, to the devourers. To each and every greasy paper plate holding its own slice of goodness. There’s always more than we know.
This is some of my own Pizza Story.
FACT: Well into my twenties, I spent most of my life eschewing the typical slice of New York pizza. The trifecta of Sauce / Cheese / Crust. I wanted nothing to do with the first item on that list. Nothing! I could be a pain. A special side order. Left out of yet another birthday party or team dinner. I’ll stick with special.
My slice was pizza bianca, aka “white pizza”. Do you know what I’m tawkin’ about?
Thin crust, some ricotta, mozzarella, olive oil, and maybe some bonus broccoli and minced garlic. Occasionally this was all inside a calzone or rolled into a pinwheel.
Not every pizzeria offered this white slice. They were all different. And sometimes sold out. Cue the preteen angst.
While absolutely not on my own slice of choice, all things SAUCE remained a mainstay of my childhood.
We didn’t say tomato sauce. It wasn’t referred to as red sauce, or gravy. It wasn’t mere spaghetti sauce.
Technically, it was often marinara. That just wasn’t said. It simply was.
It was SAUCE. It was everywhere. But my plate.
So, why was I so picky?
Something turned me off at a young age. I don’t recall the exact moment.
One of my very earliest memories is of my maternal grandma, helping me eat pieces of (sensibly, traditionally) sauce-covered ravioli and pizza at an Italian restaurant. She’s there, helping me cut the saucey duo into child-friendly bites, asking which I liked better. Picture a small, freckled toddler with curly red hair, who was probably in a little dress. That was me. Being normal enough back then, eating my sauce.
Let’s go another few years, and I’m freaking out if there were drops of sauce on my plain bowl of pasta…okay, al dente penne or rigatoni tossed with olive oil and pieces of fresh mozzarella. I was picky, but I was still Italian American. Pass me the parmigiano reggiano or excuse me, is there ricotta salata?!?
Was a dish simply too sauce-y for me one fateful meal?
Did someone tell little me it was legitimately blood?
Was it seeing sausages immersed in a pot of sauce?
The gross (to me) realization of ragù?
Was my young pivot to sauce-less plates simply that I didn’t have to eat what I didn’t want to eat?!?
Ding, ding, ding.
Well, I can’t really say.
I’m thinking Column A, Column B, and Column C = The makings of a young vegetarian before she even knew it.
(Maybe my siblings can weight in with their takes on this origin story…ahem…)
What changed?
In short, I got older. I went to college, and had the (all too brief) thrill of traveling & eating all across Europe with a Eurail pass. I experienced my by-then-official vegetarianism as far more ‘normal’ than I ever thought possible. And holy moly, how far it’s all come since that eye & tastebud opening semester abroad in ‘02.
The big “V” (and the littler “v” for “vegan”) was on labels in multiple languages at grocery stores. I went to vegetarian restaurants in at least six different countries and had so many options in so many more. Even in Transylvania!
Hot frites, pastas, paninis, and vegetarian buffets, galore.
Once living on my own, I started slowly learning to cook. Reading ingredients and cookbooks. Figuring out my own tastes.
Meeting Puttanesca. Arrabbiata. San Marzanos. SAN MARZANOS.
I threw ripe tomatoes into warm pastas, and later, became obsessed with fire-roasted cans of organic crushed tomatoes from California. You may know the ones. They were a hot new thing back then, especially in New England. I was officially making my own sauce. For the first time.
PIZZA HOUR: Let me stay on this rewind and give props to perhaps my first “grown up” sauce’d slice at a once-existing neighborhood pizzeria in Allston, then a door or two away from the living legend of a vegan restaurant that was/is Grasshopper (iykyk, and yk the crispy battered gluten ‘No Name’).
This pizza place put up a little handwritten sign in its window that it had vegan pizza, or perhaps the mention of “vegan cheese”, which back then, you literally could not buy in Boston. Those days, I would pick up older formulations of square blocks of Follow Your Heart and Veganrella - and slices of Tofutti if I could find them - at LifeThyme in NYC when I was back “home”, and then carry it back to my apartment in Boston on the Fung Wah bus. Which used to be a mini bus, btw.
I’d then make these shabby sheet pan pizzas with BBQ tofu - which I’d recently come to embrace thanks to Burrito Max by Fenway (RIP) - on Trader Joe’s whole wheat pizza dough that I would have no idea to let rest, plus, any of the above vegan cheeses, and sorta enjoy the end results. I really can’t picture anything else on these pizzas. Shrug, that’s learning to cook, and eat. And more economically-savvy than picking up take out. Even if take-out was seemingly so much more affordable back then.
Now, I couldn’t tell you which of these back-in-the-day vegan chz brands this Allston pizzeria was using. Nonetheless, there’s a fond memory of ordering entire pies with vegan chz shreds that didn’t really melt, but not in the worst way. They were kinda sweet, kinda waxy, and pretty good on top of a classic tomato sauce base. At least to 20 year old me and my friends that were trying out the vegan thing.
Yearssss later, that pizza spot became a cool vegan pizza parlor. It might still be? I’m not gonna check. The last time I was in Allston, it was for Grasshopper. And then Myers + Chang and Tiger Mama. Tastes evolved. Time went on. Top Chef was watched.
What a cheesy and fake chzy confessional. Again, column A and column B in life.
Along came my Portland years of farmers markets and the slowly growing wood-fired oven scene around the Northwest. I was eating pizza. It’s a Beautiful Pizza. Bella Faccia. Wy’yeast. All gone, but not forgotten. Getting inspired. Becoming a recipe tester. Looking forward to making dinner.
And at home, I was making pizza. With sauce.
Look, I’m getting somewhere. These are the bits &pieces of the stories that led to the following slices on an unexpected stay in New York last month.
This isn’t a best of list. These are moments of time, convenience and craving.
Happenstance and instant nostalgia.
A slice of dopamine.
A piece of normality reaching down to the kid inside, her freckled face, full circle: smeared with sauce.
Relevant links + notes on eateries at the bottom, as per usual. <3
Some Slices, Squares, Curries, Dosas & Treats:
San Remo was as good as I remember from last Spring’s inaugural visit. I went twice, for magherita and classic. Honestly, I tried on the second pop-in for a vegan vodka slice and I *think* there was a mix-up with my casual order. That’s cool. It remains good pizza, which it was. Legit, even. I do recall big pieces of fresh basil last year, because that makes quite the impression on a former New Yorker spending years in the interior of Alaska. No go this time around, however, it was January and even if that doesn’t meant that much in the import/export constance of NYC, it’s all good.
All that talk of pizza bianca makes me think back to a ‘fancy’ white pizza slice with aged sunflower chz (& other stuff) from a midtown joint a few years ago that was being buzzed about. I stopped in, I ordered, and I enjoyed it. You know, after flying across the continent and dealing with all that reckoning of nostalgia first. That said, it was an almost mind-boggling $6.50. At the time! I can almost start to laugh considering the price it must be now… Can you imagine??
BTW, I’m not delusional with all this fake chz business. Really. I’m a….long-time vegan. I appreciate the nods to the flavors & melt of the dairy counterparts. It’s not authentic. Don’t even try to offer me a vegan ricotta salata. Nahhhh.
It’s all something else, and that’s OK. I don’t want things piled high with homemade or mass-processed nondairy shreds, although I’ll take the first if I have to choose. : ) These days, I’ll stick to a light sprinkling of Violife or new & imrpoved FYH mozz or simply nooch, and when in NYC, I’m seeking out slices with NUMU. That’s some tasty stuff.
Some Savoury + Sweet...that’s not Pizza:
Hey . . . What’s on *your* perfect pie?
References + Relevant Links:
OKAY! The 8 Best Spots for Vegan Pizza in NYC, VegOut September 1, 2023…because perhaps this shiny cheesy list this will help *you* digest & admire vegan pizzas ?
Ace’s Pizza Spot…because Detroit-style pizza is hyped in NYC these days, which meant 1) my siblings and I could agree on a decently priced dinner spot in Williamsburg and 2) the eatery offered my preferred vegan mozz of the 2020s thus far : )
cocoron - always corcoron, always soba, usually spicy meera, although this time I went for the oroshi because grated daikon radish “snow” sounded lovely - and was <3
Le Petit Monstre - although, dude, skip the coffee if you can, as mine was decent at best and jules reminded me after the fact that I had mentioned (!) being warned of this by a will-not-be-described-any-more employee at the smaller location last Spring, ba da bum.
“New” Dosa Garden on Staten Island..where it was freezing (20Fish outside, no heat inside!? which is a huge deal in these parts). Nonetheless, the dinner was tasty and easily memorable for our shivering sibling trio.
NUMU = the best vegan mozz these days, in my not so humble opinion.
Screamer’s Pizzeria = plethora of options! plus, the vegan pepperoni they use is the fab flavored & well-textured and comes from THE BE-HIVE via Tennessee, wowsers.
SkyIce Thai Food & Ice Cream = great food, nice people, will return one day…
TofuBox their website landing page sums it up = “Best Food, Great Value”.
Well, a Few More Bites:
In conclusion, thanks for following along for this cheesy, saucey & oft-indulgent stroll down memory lane with me.
When the scone returns, I practically vow to catch up on all things cabbage and frozen peas.
What a great post, Jess! I’m now homesick for a NY slice! Loved all the pictures and, of course, your writing. So much great intel!
What toppings (if any) do you add to your slice?