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]
61 W 74th St.
212/579-3000
patsyspizzeria.us
