 |
There are few things
that travel worse than thin crust pizza. Nachos come to mind. And
smoothies. And maybe fondue. But, really, thin crust pizza is meant
to be eaten piping hot on a pan on one of those bent metal holders
that miraculously lifts the pizza a foot or so off your table so you
still have room for your drink and that little glass container of
chili flakes. Maybe it's a surface area thing, or some mathematical
equation of surface area to thickness divided by pi. Whatever the
case, Patsy's is not above the take-out curse. I've eaten pizza in
practically all of the Patsy's Pizzerias in NYC, and have enjoyed
every tantalizing bite of it. This was my first time getting it to
go--and it's a whole different pizza pie. Flaccid. That's really the
best word to describe it. Along with its floppiness comes the unexplained
scientific phenomenon wherein the pizza becomes ice cold; literally
colder than room temperature. It's as if the cheese and dough are
refrigerated prior to cooking, and are rapidly trying to get back
to that state as soon as they are evacuated from the prison that is
the brick oven. To be fair to this pizza, all temperature issues aside,
I'm sure it held all of the typical Patsy's goodness in it. What was
different, though, was the restaurant itself. Which looked, in my
quick glimpse of its inside, like a weird, dark secret garden-y old
school Italian, candle-in-the-wine-bottle type of place. It didn't
seem brand appropriate, but perhaps my retinas, influenced by hunger
and anticipation, just misinterpreted what I was seeing. Whatever
the case, I hope I've left you with a little lesson in cheese thermodynamics
and the dangers of takeout. [MF]
Other Locations:
Patsy's
Pizzeria (Greenwich Village)
Patsy's Pizzeria (Murray
Hill)
Patsy's Pizzeria (Upper
East Side)
|