one.three.twelve: Totonno’s

Totonno’s is one of those old school pizza parlors–seriously old school. The owner learned how to make pizza with the founder of Lombardi’s, which, as every pizza lover knows, enjoys the distinction of being the first pizzeria in the United States.  And while it’s possible to enjoy Totonno’s pies at different places in Manhattan and Yonkers, Joan took us out to its first Coney Island location. The street name, Neptune Avenue, might conjure up a mystical street where one might find mermaids and seahorses. In reality. Not so much. Imagine garages, gas stations, and an odd pirate statue in front of a junk yard (?) instead.

We arrived *just* in time, unaware that the original Totonno’s closes at 8:00. It was luck and Joan’s great driving that got us in line a few minutes before an adorably grumpy woman, who has clearly been with Totonno’s since the beginning announced, “NO MORE!”

Simple fare (no menu but a list of toppings on the back wall) and cash only!

What we drank
Lemonade Iced Tea
Coke

What we ate
Half cheese
Half sausage and garlic

Joan

The first official Saturday of summer, so what better place to go for pizza than Coney Island? The journey from the north to south end of the borough was an opportunity to recapture happy memories of riding down Ocean Parkway – in the car with my family, later on bikes with friends – on the way to the beach or amusement park. It was also an opportunity to show off my ability to name the various neighborhoods along the way for the most recent Brooklyn transplant, Tricia. I have to admit that my geography skills were at times a little sketchy – not completely sure where Ditmas ended and Kensington began – but I easily found Neptune Avenue and our destination. Upon being seated in the most utilitarian setting imaginable (no printed menus, dixie cups with no ice for bottled soft drinks), I realized that it’s really all about the pizza – no salad, no appetizer, no chaser, just one large pie. Of course, we had the required (half) margarita and one-half garlic/sausage. The first bite of a slice straight from the oven is pure heaven – this one as close to your corner pizza joint as we’ve come so far. Unfortunately, I was also in the throes of a major allergy attack, so the stuffy nose and general malaise did not help me distinguish any subtlety in the seasoning or flavor of our hybrid pie. This month, I will leave it to my esteemed colleagues to provide you with their sophisticated analyses of the mouth-feel of the cheese or the chewiness of the crust, but all I will say is, I enjoyed my three slices then went home to partake of the magic of Benadryl.

Karen

It sort of starts at the end, when, upon walking towards the car, I confessed to my companions, “I’m feeling like the pizzas are all starting to blur together.”  In other words, is there a limit on how good pizza can actually be?

Not that Totonno’s isn’t good.  The legendary pie purveyor has definitely earned its reputation by baking tasty, crisp, thin-crusted coal oven pizzas crowned with fresh mozzarella and sweetly tangy marinara.  But aside from the coal oven flavor and the fact that they serve only whole pies, no slices, you’d be hard pressed to find another reason to trek out to Totonno’s if you weren’t headed to Coney Island already.  An institution started more than 80 years ago and modeled after the famed Lombardi’s in Little Italy, Totonno’s has a no-frills interior with a tin ceiling and photos on the walls (a la Sal’s in “Do the Right Thing”), a refrigerator selection of soft drinks, Snapple and beer, a sampling of 5-dollar bottles of Bolla wine, and a toppings list that about equals that of any standard NYC slice joint.  [Caveat: I believe that the two Manhattan branches that sprouted much later have a more extensive menu all the way around.)  Our half regular and half garlic-topped pie was hot, fresh and certainly satisfying.  But even as we ate, I couldn’t think of what to say about it that I hadn’t already said, with more gusto and passion, about some of the other stellar stops we’ve made along the first half of this year-long journey.  I was hungry, it tasted good and it filled us up.  I actually enjoyed my ice-cold Snapple lemon iced tea as much as my pizza — though I enjoyed neither as much as recounting the tale of a recent date with a height-challenged, online suitor who will forever be referred to as “Tiny Todd.”

Of course, I always enjoy a trip out to Coney Island, and the fact that we were the last guests to be seated before the place closed for the night made it feel like we were indeed meant to be there.  And there is nothing at all wrong with good-quality, basic pizza.  But in the quest for the holy grail, I’d say Totonno’s is bringing up the rear.

Tricia

When it comes to the kind of ambiance I hoped to find along the way on my journey across Brooklyn’s pizza landscape, Totonno’s did not disappoint. I confess I don’t share the desire to check out the latest pizza place reviewed in the New York Times (I suspect this is because it’s ALL new to me), and standing in line to eat pizza because someone else claims it’s good is not my idea of fun.  I wanted experiences at places where the walls are covered with stories about the pizzeria’s history. And this was that place.  It was great fun catching up with Karen and Joan, but I also thoroughly enjoyed reading how Totonno’s came into being.  On a sentimental note, I was excited about the trip to this Coney Island legend because my father had his first slice of pizza somewhere on the boardwalk. He still remembers being a little boy walking along with his parents and asking what they were eating.  When my grandfather explained “pizza” to him, he asked if he could have some. The rest is history (I like to think that Etta James’s “At Last” started playing in the background).

Unfortunately, my pizza palate is suffering from a serious case of ennui (I’m convinced it’s because we narrowed our criteria too much), but even if this had been our first adventure, I think I would have found Totonno’s lacking.  The crust was fine, but I needed a lot more flavor all over the pie.  Serious flavor–salt, spice, herbs…something!  I feel about Totonno’s the way I feel about “Glee”.  I get the hype, and I’m very glad it’s there, but…

Now even an uninspiring pizza is still pizza.  And driving down a wide avenue singing along to Michael Jackson tunes is always a good time, so there are no serious complaints from me.

one.three.twelve: Roberta’s

Although we had missed Lucali’s in April, our May adventure took us to Roberta’s in Bushwick and not back to Carroll Gardens. Our plan was to celebrate Karen’s birthday, so the choice was hers. It was Roberta’s she wanted, so it was Roberta’s she got! And it was quite an adventure to get there. Unlike the other pizza places we’ve visited this year, Roberta’s is not a “local” place; rather, it’s a place whose main clientele is made up of people who travel to Bushwick specifically to try their most excellent food.

You have to really want to get there, and it’s best to get there early. Even on a weeknight, the place was packed by 7:30. The friendly, funky folks only deal in cash.

We were all struggling with the woes of life, but Joan still managed to rock an adorable spring dress, Karen had on a lovely necklace that matched an adorable blouse, and I am enjoying my first summer as a “thin” person who can comfortably wear tank tops without feeling too exposed. It’s no small feat to look good when you feel bad, so color me impressed. Despite crankiness of all kinds, it was hard not to feel incredibly lucky to be on another pizza adventure.

What we ate

Appetizers

Spicy Mixed Olives

Bibb Lettuce (dried cherry vinaigrette, gorgonzola, roasted walnuts)

Pies

Margherita: mozzarella, tomato, basil

R.P.S.: tomato, mozzarella, sopressata, roasted red peppers

Dessert

Shaker pie

The Reviews

Joan

After our April attempt was thwarted (venue closed for vacation), we decided to double up later in the year. Karen recommended this venue in Bushwick, a section of Brooklyn I almost never visit. This particular outing was remarkable for a few reasons: 1) it was a belated celebration of Karen’s birthday, 2) we chose a non-weekend day, and 3) it was freaking hot – I’m talking August heat!  It was also an occasion to which we all brought some collateral baggage – work drama, traffic jam frustration, a twisted ankle.  Add a non-air conditioned venue and no one felt like adding alcohol to the mix. In fact, this was the most scaled-down event so far – one salad and a dish of olives to start, two pies, and one dessert that was not shared (by mutual consent). Of course, we ordered a margherita (the standard by which all pizzas are judged) and a second pie with soppresata. The arrival of the pies elicited sighs of pleasure, followed by a deeply satisfying first bite. My initial reaction – the margherita had a better balance of sauce and cheese and dough than I had tasted on previous occasions. The sauce, in particular, really stood out for me. The crust was satisfyingly thin and crisp the way I prefer it, although it did not have enough flavor on its own to make me want to devour it naked.  The sopressata on the second pie was almost too salty – a little more spiciness would have added some complexity to the taste. However, that did not stop me from eating the last slice even though I was pretty full by that time. I was also extremely hot, sweaty and had a throbbing ankle, so that is probably what I will remember long after I’m able to recall the taste of the pizza.  Sometimes it’s not only about the pizza.

Tricia

After vowing, in the same voice that Scarlett O’Hara uses in “Gone with the Wind,” that I will NEVER cross the Brooklyn Bridge between the hours of 4:00 and 8:00 again, I was very happy to meet my girlfriends for our delayed pizza night.  I wasn’t even daunted by the fact that I couldn’t find the front door without help.  I arrived late, tired, dragged down by problems at work and with a terrible headache, so Roberta’s had some serious work to do.

The first good thing I noticed is the way the space is organized with long tables that allow for chatting between groups of diners.  We shared a long table with a couple of guys, which made it a lot easier for me to ask whether or not the Shaker Pie was worth ordering.  The vibe is a mix of laid back but organized, and I suspect that on cooler days it’s quite pleasant to eat in the garden.  The heat and a pounding headache made me opt for water rather than wine, but the wine list looks promising, so when I go back (and I plan to), I look forward to trying it out.

I don’t eat olives, so I was happy to order the salad.  Bibb lettuce may replace arugula as my favorite salad green.  Okay, it won’t, but it comes in a close second.  This salad was perfect.  The dried cherry vinaigrette was tart and coated each part of the lettuce without being overwhelming. I hate pools of salad dressing.  While the salad was light (it’s a salad; that’s it’s job!) it also had enough substance to feel like a meal.  It was the best part of my experience.  I liked the pizza quite a bit, and I think the cheese was distributed perfectly so that each bite of each pie was a blend of wonderful sauce, cheese, and goodness.  My main quibble was with the crust.  The consistency was perfect but it lacked a certain kind of presence.  It seemed more like a vehicle for the toppings than part of the pizza, which is too bad because I could tell that it wanted to be part of the pie.  I’m thinking that it a little bit of sea salt would have made it perfect.

No one wanted to share dessert!  Let’s just all sit with that for a minute (well, I’m used to Karen wanting her own dessert, but I can usually count on Joan for a bite or two).  It was just me, the Shaker Pie, and a fork.  The Meyers lemons used for the custard needed a bit of zing, but you couldn’t ask for fresher tasting pie or flakier crust.  I just think a pinch of something (perhaps nutmeg?) would have given the dessert more personality.

I wouldn’t race back to Roberta’s, but, if someone else was driving I’d definitely go back to try out the rest of the menu…and the wine…and the garden.

Karen

Alas, pizza alone does not create joy.

It was the middle of a very difficult week for me when we hit Roberta’s, and my spirits were low.  Neither the charm of the low-key rustic interior — with long communal wood tables and a slightly rumpled-looking clientele tucked away inside a nondescript, industrial looking low cement building in the nowheresville of Bushwick – nor the charm of my upbeat and decidedly more fashion-forward companions could do much to uplift me or draw my conversation out.  And that’s a shame, because Roberta’s is really very good.

This pizza reminded me that in fact, it doesn’t have to be all about the crust after all.  Thin-crusted and adequately crispy on the edges, this pie was saucier and cheesier than any of the other brick oven varieties we’ve had in our journey so far.  The mozzarella and the marinara melded together and spread unapologetically over the top, with a mild tomato flavor punctuated by a few pungent bits of basil.  Each piece even flopped over in the middle the way a nice, wet slice joint wedge will do.  I enjoyed the sopressata pie, but wished we’d opted for the spicy version of the meat, which would have given it some much-needed zing.  Still it was tasty and satisfying, more real pizza than cuisine, slightly upscale but still saying: ‘Hey, you, you’re a New Yorker — you know how we do.’

Some spicy green and red olives to start – and they were spicy — and a Diet Coke (oh the shame) were my only accompaniments for this meal, making it a simpler, lighter, and dare I say quicker than usual meal for us, which was just fine since it was the hottest day of the year thus far but they’d decided not to turn the air conditioning on yet.  It’s  probably impolite of me to mention the bill since my companions very generously treated me in celebration of my recent birthday, but Roberta’s seems very reasonably priced.  But while my taste buds were pleased and my tummy pleasantly full, my heart still left a bit heavy.  Next time, I’ll remember to bring my own joy.


one. three. twelve: Lucali’s (strike one)

We had a plan. We knew what we were up against. And we had. a. plan. Get to Lucali’s early (what I think of the Senior Citizen’s Eating Hour), stand in line forever, and try some of their famed pies. I wore comfortable shoes! I should have known that it wasn’t going to work out when I found parking a mere block away from the restaurant. And then I couldn’t find it! Where were the lines? Where was the pizza smell?

Then I spotted Karen, standing all alone, in front of an empty Lucali’s. The handwritten sign simply read, “On Vacation April 22-28.”

Now I don’t want to begrudge working people time off, but…

So there we were in Carroll Gardens, wondering where to eat and wondering how a closed Lucali’s was going to alter the Saturday night dinner crowd. I was trying to figure out some sort of displacement theory, relieved that Karen had told people to go to Luna Rossa so that we could get a chance to get in somewhere.

Although we weren’t going to eat pizza, this didn’t mean we weren’t going to eat out, and so we headed out. The first place we went, Blue Napkin Something or Other was selling fried chicken at stupid prices and had a 90-minute wait, so we went over to one of my favorite places, Watty & Meg , and got a table right away.

We had good wine (Syrah, Grenache, Mourvedre Yves Cheron ‘Les Dentelles’ 07 & Grignolono Luca Ferraris ‘Vigna del Casot’ 08), hamburgers and amazing french fries, and steak frites. For dessert we went to Sweet Melissa’s Patisserie. I don’t remember what everyone got, but I devoured my rhubarb&strawberry crumble miracle (my name for it) as soon as I got home and into my cozies (I warmed it up first!).

We’ll be back to pizza next month! Be sure to check in.

one. three. twelve: Luna Rossa

From Park Slope in January, to Williamsburg in February, we took our pizza experiment to Carroll Gardens and tried out Luna Rossa in March. While not technically a pizza joint like Franny’s and Fornino, this place is still serious about its pies. We visited on a warm Saturday night (I had on sandals for the first time all year!), and it’s clear to me we’ve settled into a bit of a routine. Not only do we always order a Margherita pizza but the three of us are usually happy to share two salads. And there’s always room for dessert. Luna Rossa is not in the middle of the restaurant row on Court Street, but it seems to be holding its own.

What we drank

A bottle of Brunellesco Montepulciano D’Abruzzo 2008

What we ate

Appetizers

Tricolore salad

Argula with shaved parmigiano & balsamic dressing

Pies

Marinara: Tomato sauce, Fresh Garlic, Oregano

Margherita: Mozzarella, Tomato Sauce, Fresh Basil

Rustica: Mozzarella, Italian Sausage, Wild Mushrooms

Pizza Fact: Americans eat around 350 slices of pizza per second–Random Pizza Website

The Reviews

Karen

It’s the law of diminishing returns.

Our first bite of Luna Rossa’s hot, thin, crispy-chewy crust seemed to send all of us reeling – it seemed like the perfect balance of elements, the best we’d had yet. Getting it straight out of the brick oven, only a few feet away, was a plus. And it took a minute to realize that we were eating a marinara pizza – red sauce and a few slivers of fresh garlic – and not a margarita, as we’d ordered. The error made for a pleasant surprise, as I felt this sweet-savory sauce stood head and shoulders above the other pizza sauces we’ve tried so far. I tore through my slice and enjoyed every bite. But of course, we had to get the margarita, which has become something of a litmus test for us.

In the meantime, the mozzarella, sausage and wild mushroom pie offered a different surprise. First of all, there was no sauce – I’m still getting used to the realization that with these brick- or wood-fired oven pizzas, the ingredients listed on the menu are generally the ones you get. If no tomato sauce is listed, chances are, you ain’t gettin’ any. And I like tomato sauce on pizza. A lot. The wild mushrooms were lost for me here, but the sausage made me sit up – it didn’t taste spicy, or fennel-y, or, well, sausage-y – it tasted pork-y, and that was just fine. I missed the mushroom taste, though, and the solid layer of cheese made the slice quite a bit denser than what I was used to. The crust stood up well, but as I finished this second slice I became much more aware of my chewing.

Then, of course, the margarita. There was sauce, and the small round slices of mozzarella, and some bits of fresh basil, and it was good – again, hot from the oven and nice and crispy-chewy-charred. But somehow the sauce didn’t stand up to the mozzarella, which itself tasted slightly bland. Where was that rush of flavor that I’d had from the first slice, only minutes earlier? The basil was good but the whole thing needed a little more seasoning – salt, pepper, maybe some oregano? As I finished this slice I found myself chewing…and chewing…and by the time I had one more half slice of the marinara I started to wonder whether I was really that crazy about pizza to begin with. Then I realized, it was the law of diminishing returns – that first slice, heaven. The second, pleasurable. The third…and so it goes.

Of course, we waited quite a while at Luna Rossa, as our lovely servers appeared to be a little overwhelmed. So while my tricolore salad (which was mostly green) with a bright, lemony vinaigrette wasn’t particularly filling, I did have several slices of bread to go along with it. And wine. Two glasses. (Again.) But we weren’t in a rush and overall, Luna Rossa was a hit. Afterward I had some vanilla gelato with just-brewed espresso poured over the top. The coffee on the ice cream tasted like a delicious syrup, but espresso is generally too bitter for me so the pool that gathered under the scoops wasn’t really appealing. Thank goodness we went out dancing after that and worked off a little of that fuel. After a few turns on the dance floor, I was even ready to start thinking about where we’ll be going in April.

Joan
As a Brooklyn native, Carroll Gardens is embedded in my memory as a traditional Italian neighborhood and so it was inevitable that we would venture there for one of our pizza adventures. As we stepped into Luna Rossa, the sound of Italian ballads reinforced the feeling of being transported to an earlier era. There was something oddly comforting about eating pizza made by actual Italians instead of hipster, Williamsburg or Park Slope locavores. My comrades and I arrived hungry (as usual), so the long wait for the first course of salads was puzzling – not sure why throwing some greens on a plate took at least 30 minutes, but the salads were fresh with lemony-tart dressing. I must confess I was too impatient for the taste of our long-delayed pizzas to pay much attention to the salad. The arrival of the first pie, fresh out of the brick oven just a few feet away, made up for the wait – that first bite was a moment of bliss! It took a few mouthfuls of perfect crust (the best so far) and mouth-watering sauce before we realized that the waiter had brought us the marinara instead of margarita pizza. The lack of cheese did not diminish our happiness. I was not as thrilled with the rustica pie….it was a little too doughy and bland compared to the first one. However, that did not stop me from finishing the slice I put on my plate. The arrival of the margarita was a bit anticlimactic – it seemed a little under-sauced compared to the first one (ahhhh…..that marinara pie set a very high standard!) but maybe we were too full to appreciate its subtle flavor.

The shared desserts were satisfying — how bad could molten chocolate cake and vanilla gelato be? Any guilt brought on by over-indulgence was offset by plans to go dancing afterwards, so another successful evening was enjoyed by all.

Tricia

I don’t think I truly understood the artistry of “pizza crust” until I had the pizza at Luna Rossa. Sure I knew the difference between thin and thick, and I’ve come to understand that thin crusts allow the flavor of the other pizza ingredients to shine. But I’ve been thinking in terms only of thickness and not density. Not anymore! The crusts at Luna Rossa, on all three pizzas, were the thickest we’ve encountered thus far, and yet they were also the lightest, with the best flavor. My theory is that the thickness of the crust allows the brick-oven goodness to permeate the entire pizza more thoroughly. As a result, everything on each pie tasted a bit smokier, a bit richer.

This is, however, a crust that needs to be eaten right out of a hot oven. While I happen to like a chewy crust, I can see how it might be less appealing to those who prefer a thin crust. It settles into heaviness, which does not make it ideal for ordering to go.

The sausage and wild mushroom pizza surprised me the most. I wasn’t particularly interested in it at first, but it came out white, which allowed the flavor of the mushrooms (and these mushrooms were so wild I worried they might corrupt my morals) to emerge alongside the sausage, which tasted fresh rather than salty and cured the way pizza sausage tends to taste. It could have used something—perhaps some fresh oregano—to pull the flavors together.

Next time, I plan to try one of their fruit desserts. The cake tasted like it came out of the microwave rather than the oven, but I did enjoy the bite I had of Karen’s dessert. I think seeing that the espresso was made just for pouring over the gelato did the trick.

Decent wine, fabulous crust, and even a mediocre cake is still CAKE. All-in-all it seems like I’m three for three. And I’ve finally succumbed to the crust-is-all school of pizza eating.

one. three. twelve: Fornino

There was a happy pizza dance involved.  I didn’t even know such a thing existed, but I also didn’t know how naturally the phrases “speed dating” and “firing range” fit in the same conversation.  Our journey this month was to Fornino in Williamsburg.  The in-house greenhouse means that the ingredients are fresh. The vibe is casual and friendly and hip without feeling trendy.  We were seated right away—even on a Saturday night—and, though the wine list wasn’t terribly extensive, our server helped us choose wines that were quite good.  Fornino doesn’t have a website, but the menu is available on-line at different foodie websites.

What we drank

Karen and Joan: Shiraz
Tricia: Montepulciano

What we ate

Appetizers

Fornino’s Caesar Salad with Herbed Foccacia Croutons
Wild Arugula & Pear Salad with Gorgonzola

Pies
Margherita Classica: Tomato, Mozzarella, Basil, Parmesan Cheese, Olive Oil
The Al Roker: Tomato, Mozzarella, Fontina, Carmelized Onions, Sopressata, Roasted red peppers, and Rosemary
Calabrese: Tomato, Mozzarella, Sopressata Piccante.

Dessert
Belgian Chocolate Mousse


The Margherita Classica & Calabrese

The Reviews

Karen
The bar has been set.

When we started this pizza adventure, I had a feeling about what I was looking for. I couldn’t quite articulate it but I knew it wasn’t just a crispy crust, a toothsome cheese, or a savory sauce – or even some creative combination of ingredients and toppings. No, it was all of these things combined into an overall pizzalicious experience — a pizza gestalt, if you will. And I found it at Fornino’s.

Walking into this cozy, laid-back Williamsburg spot we were seated immediately and welcomed warmly by easygoing but competent servers — having just turned down a potential hour-and-a-half wait at another local hot spot, this was a relief. Feeling a little overwhelmed by the extensive menu choices, I expressed a preference or two and quickly agreed on the ordering with my companions, whose tastes run a little broader than mine in the pizza arena. A basic but appetizing Caesar salad and single glass of smooth shiraz set the tone and boded well for the main attraction. So did the sight of armfuls of pizza boxes being carried out to go, some stacked five-high.

Then the pizza arrived.

Just looking at it made me happy. It was hot, fresh and delicious-looking. Three types pf pizza, three different tastes. The Margherita was lightly layered with smooth, mildly salty mozzarella, bits of fresh basil, and a slightly meager coating of tangy sauce which, in truth, could have used a little more seasoning. The crust was thin but substantial enough to be chewy and satisfying, with enough crispness and char on the edges for a counterbalance. I can almost always go for more char but I’m weird like that, eating totally burnt toast and the like. But I digress.

The spicy sopressata on the Calabrese was new to my palate, and I found it salty, savory and just spicy enough to stand out without being overwhelming. And while I can’t really remember what exactly was on the “Al Roker” – some eggplant, maybe some peppers – I do know the ingredients melded harmoniously. But frankly, what I really liked about Fornino’s was that gestalt. I liked some elements more than others but found myself less focused on the details and more taken by how the textures and tastes of every bite came together. It even made my companions seemed more charming and personable! (Just kidding ladies, you know you’ve got it going on.) It was the pizza experience I realized I’d been hoping for. I even found myself doing a happy little pizza dance in my seat — can you beat that?

And in case you thought I’d regained my virtue by foregoing a second glass of wine this time, I ordered one of my all-time favorite desserts — Belgian chocolate mousse — and refused to share. Some experiences just need to be savored alone.

Joan
I’ll start with the moral of the story: Always follow your first instinct. After a false start and a few minutes of anxiety traveling across Williamsburg without Tricia’s trusty GPS, we were quickly seated upon arrival at Fornino. I’m not sure what earns you the title of “best pizza in the city” (NYTimes anointing of Motorino) but Fornino would be a strong contender in any contest. The ambiance and service made us feel very comfortable….our server was friendly and informative without being overbearing. The wine list, while somewhat limited, offered a smooth, fruity shiraz whose name I wish I had noted for future reference. The menu of pizza options was at first intimidating (the menu is divided into 1st, 2nd and 3rd generations of pizza….who knew pizza had a genealogy?). My must-have pizza choice will always be the margarita….but wait, there were four versions of it on the menu! After reaching consensus on the “classica” we ordered the only “celebrity” item on the menu (is Al Roker a loyal customer?) and one calabrese. The pies were as delicious as they looked, evidenced by the sighs and moans of delight as we bit into each slice. My favorite, the Roker, was spicy but balanced by sweet caramelized onions and red peppers. The calabrese was topped by a perfectly salty sopressata sausage and I had to force myself not to pick the meat off the pie to nibble on. While the margarita pie was tasty, I would have preferred a little more flavor to the sauce (Franny’s still has the advantage here, IMHO). What I really liked about Fornino’s pies was the crust – nicely charred and crispy from center to edge. Overall, the restaurant provided a nice balance of traditional and trendy.

Usually, after consuming so much dough and cheese, there would be little room for dessert. The parade of delicious-looking desserts to nearby tables was too tempting and we unanimously agreed on the chocolate mousse. It was so light and silky smooth that it hardly seemed to take up any extra tummy space and the only suggestion would be to use darker chocolate for a more complex flavor.

Footnote: I was the lucky recipient of the leftover slices which tasted even better the next morning for brunch.

Tricia
Despite the Times’ glowing review, I had no interest in going to Motorino so was happy to follow Karen’s lead to Fornino. I thoroughly enjoyed my wine, and the festive desserts paraded by our table at regular (strategic?) intervals helped me pace myself through the mostly delicious pizzas. I wasn’t terribly impressed with my salad; there was nothing “wild” about the arugula and the pear slices were too small to be properly enjoyed, but the Margherita. Oh. THE.  Margherita. It was a thing of beauty. I also enjoyed the Al Roker, but something was missing from the Calabrese. I think it would have been more interesting with a different cheese, something a bit sharper than the homemade mozzarella. The mousse was just okay, but that didn’t stop me from sticking my spoon in a time or two more than I originally planned. I’d visit again in a minute, which is not the feeling I had when I left Franny’s last month.

And I am regretting that I pushed Joan to take the leftovers. I have a feeling they would have been tasty for breakfast the next morning.

one.three.twelve: Franny’s

Located at 295 Flatbush Avenue, Franny’s is very popular, so by Saturday at 6:30 the place was already packed.  The friendly hostess told us we’d have to wait 45 minutes for a table, but either the time flew because the place was cozy and the vibe was friendly or we actually only waited around 20 minutes.

Everything you need to know about it can be found on their helpful website. One quirk that might be overlooked is that during the week the restaurant doesn’t open until 5:30.

What we drank

Karen: 2008 Valle dell’ Acate Nero d’Avola Case Ibidini Sicilia
Joan: 2008 Bisson Prosecco dei Colli Trevigiani Liguria
Tricia: Villa di Corlo Lambrusco Grasparossa di Castelvetro Amabile
Emilia Romagna

What we ate

Appetizers

Crostino of Wood-Roasted Pancetta & Herb Butter
Controne Bean Salad with Pancetta and Radicchio

Pies
Tomato, Garlic, Oregano and Parmigiano Reggiano
Tomato, Buffalo Mozzarella and Meatball

Pizza Fact

More pizza is consumed during the week of the Super Bowl than any other time of the year.

The reviews

Karen
I often find that high expectations of any experience tend to dampen it, so I was worried about going to Franny’s, about which I’d heard so many raves.  Happily, I need not have worried — this pizza definitely lived up to its reputation.  The 10-to-12-inch pie was a nice size for sharing and we ordered two, though I was so hungry that initially I thought we should each order our own!  The thin, brick oven crust was wonderful — just charred enough for me and crisp around the edges, yet still tender and chewy throughout.  The toppings delivered on taste, yet were delicate enough to match the texture and flavor of the crust.  My favorite was the little meatballs, which tasted fresh and meaty without being overwhelming.  Along with our (tiny) starters, I felt satisfied afterward but not stuffed, as overly greasy or doughy pies can make you feel.  What I realized, however, is that I do think of pizza (as) a robust food, with vibrant colors, textures and tastes — so while I appreciated the subtlety here, I would have liked just a little more of everything: more sauce, more cheese, more herbs, and just more flavor overall.  It was definitely worth waiting for and I would go back in a heartbeat.  All I’d ask for from my compatriots next time is a gentle reminder that I might want to consider whether that second glass of Nero D’Avola would really be in my best interests!

Joan
Having been to Franny’s previously, my expectations were realistically optimistic. The excursion started out auspiciously…..we got a parking space right in front of the restaurant and our wait was shorter than first announced by the hostess. The appetizers were tasty but small and pricy. If we had understood the most basic Italian, we would have realized that our order of crostino was singular for crostini. Really, Franny’s….$5 (or maybe $6) for a slice of toast that was NOT topped with truffles, caviar or precious gems?  Fortunately, the pies were large enough to satisfy our appetites. While I enjoyed both pies, surprisingly (to me) I preferred the one topped with parmigiano reggiano since I’m usually a mozzarella type of gal. Franny’s pies are a little sparse on sauce and toppings but everything is so flavorful that each bite is a treat, including the delicious and perfectly-charred crust. It was a wonderful start to our year-long odyssey.

Tricia
The service here is excellent, and in a busy pizza place, good service is especially important.I wasn’t crazy about the Lambrusco I ordered as it didn’t have the full body I’ve enjoyed when I’ve ordered the wine elsewhere.  I was not at all impressed with the crostino appetizer we ordered.  The pancetta was decent but the preparation wasn’t interesting, and, for the size, it was way overpriced.  I liked the Controne Bean Salad with Pancetta and Radicchio quite a bit and would have happily made a meal of it with a side green salad.  Now to the pizza!  For my taste, I found the crust just a wee bit too thin.  I could do without the charred taste, but it wasn’t a detractor for me.  Both pizzas were good, but I preferred the smoky flavor of the buffalo mozzarella over the tanginess of the cheese in the Parmigiano Reggiano pizza.  The paper thin slices of garlic on the Parmigiano Reggiano pie added a nice zing, but I think the mini meatballs won me over.  A slightly thicker crust would have made a big difference, but I liked that the balance of cheese and sauce meant I could actually taste everything on each slice.  And after dinner I had plenty of room for chocolate cake from a neighborhood place about a block away.

one. three. twelve: a year of Brooklyn pizza

There are few things I like more than visiting with girlfriends over food. Visiting with guyfriends over food is fun too, but it’s just not the same thing. Of all the different kinds of food I like, pizza is near the top of the list. Also near the top of my list are Joan and Karen—two New Yorkers who have helped make my new neighborhood feel like home. After a Saturday listening to the two of them talk about pizza, I realized I had two specialists who share my love of pizza and that I truly live in New York’s pizza borough.

It seemed a great and tasty idea to get to know the borough through its pizza places, so we’ve come up with a plan: 2010 will be the year of Brooklyn Pizza.
Our mission is simple: one borough, three women, twelve pizza joints.

Once a month, we’re going to head out into Brooklyn and decide the difference between pizza worth the wait and pizza that is best forgotten.

My partners in pizza (sorry, couldn’t resist) know Brooklyn. As you can see from their mini pizzaographies (really, sorry, just couldn’t resist), they know from a slice.

The Trio

Karen
I’m a Yoga teacher, social worker and native New Yorker who can remember eating pizza when it was 40 cents a slice! (My elementary school years.) I love the whole gestalt of a good pizza and the flavor of the sauce is key — I’m also not a fan of an overwhelming amount of cheese — but when I think of what I like best the thing that comes to mind first is the crust, I like it well done and crisp. Especially with the brick oven pizza, that nice char is essential!

Joan
I was born and raised in Bklyn and pizza is my favorite food. I ate it everyday for lunch in the 7th and 8th grade (no kidding!) and it’s still the default option when I can’t make up my mind about a meal. But not just any pizza, as I learned by living in the SF Bay area for 8 years. Pineapple and ham toppping? I think not! The ideal slice has thin crust (preferably slightly charred), savory sauce with a hint of oregano and garlic, thin layer of whole milk mozzarella….your basic margherita pizza. I’m looking forward to the 12-month pizza adventure.

Tricia
I moved to Brooklyn this summer and am currently working on two books. I’m a bit of a pizza neophyte. I know when pizza is good, but I don’t have strong opinions about things like crust and cheese. I’ve recently started to appreciate a thinner crust, and I do know that my favorite pizzas have fresh herbs on them and a sauce that’s not too tangy. And,  apropos of nothing, I am the tallest of the trio. When I have on heels I feel like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. This may matter down the road.

I don’t even eat oatmeal

ever.

I have nothing against it, but it’s just not part of my daily diet. When I hear about it, it sounds good, and the people I know who eat it seem happier and healthier than the people who don’t, but it’s such an ugly food (regardless of the amount of cinnamon and raisins used to decorate it), that I’ve never given it a try.

The closest thing to oatmeal that I’ve eaten is Cream of Wheat. I used to eat it as a little person. In fact, I developed a strange obsession with it, an obsession so strange that a doctor once wrote the following in my medical records: “Mother concerned. Child refuses to eat anything except for oatmeal and grape Kool-aid.”

Cream of Wheat. Not oatmeal.

So, when the lady who works behind the counter of one of my favorite cafes looked me straight in the eye and said, “Oatmeal!” I had no idea what she meant. I hadn’t ordered oatmeal. I had ordered a small, skim milk cappuccino, and was enjoying it while reading an obscure novel by an even more obscure novelist. No oatmeal.

I was able to break away from her oddly intense stare and get back to my book, but she kept saying at me: Oatmeal! Oatmeal! OATMEAL! Then she exchanged “oatmeal” with another word that, given the circumstance, I found quite puzzling: “Mecca. Mecca. MEEEEECCA!”

It occurred to me, only in passing, that I might be part of some hidden camera caper. Or, I thought, perhaps I was being hazed. I’ve only lived her a few months, so I’m still learning about the place. Perhaps shouting random nouns at the new girl is part of what it means to live in Clinton Hill.

Oatmeal!
Mecca
Oatmeal
Oatmeal
MECCA!

Mecca? Was this a special kind of Islamic oatmeal? Was it a password?

Or a safe word?

The cafe was not busy and hadn’t been since I arrived, so the shouting of these two words was a bit jarring. Oatmeal. Mecca. Oatmeal.

People began to stare at me. I started to get nervous and thought that maybe I should say something as my continuing to read seemed to be driving the woman behind the counter into a kind of frenzy.

Then a woman walked in.
A moment of silence.
Counterlady says, “Mecca. Oatmeal” once more, and it all becomes clear.

It made perfect sense because we looked exactly alike–despite a 50 pound weight difference, a difference in shirts (her was white while mine was red with NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND emblazoned on the front), a difference in pants (style, color, fit), and a difference in head gear (a brightly colored scarf vs….nothing). It made perfect sense, despite the fact that I hadn’t responded to the Oatmeal/Mecca chant. And I wear glasses. And the other woman didn’t.

I know what you’re thinking, “Tricia, the cafe was busy.” It wasn’t. Not at all.

And I don’t eat oatmeal…ever

On the Nose: David Brooks

I cannot believe I am quoting David Brooks, but I think his bromance with Obama has been very good for him. In his column he reminds us of how little power those big, bad, right-wing blowhards actually have. The heart of the column:

So what is the theme of our history lesson? It is a story of remarkable volume and utter weakness. It is the story of media mavens who claim to represent a hidden majority but who in fact represent a mere niche — even in the Republican Party. It is a story as old as “The Wizard of Oz,” of grand illusions and small men behind the curtain.