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| - As I embarked on my personal Pizza-lympics 2013, I came into it fully expecting Pizza Sola to at least medal. Granted, it had been a while since I'd come here, but I had fond memories. (Mostly of the drunkenly-munching-on-slices-at-Kelly's-around-midnight variety.) But sadly, I can't give today's experience a good review.
Don't get me wrong -- P.S. gets the concept of that quintessential pizza-by-the-slice joint just right; heat-lamped pies warmed in the oven, then served by a borderline surly dude. I'm all about it. But I have to say, the two plain slices I got seriously underwhelmed me.
Now, they put the right amount of cheese on the sucker -- which is to say, lots of it -- but the sauce must have been put on with an eye dropper, because I could barely even sense the suggestion of sauce. Instead, I got cheese and over-cooked dough. I hesitate to describe the bottom of my slices as "black," because as a former waiter I know customers always complain that food is blackened if it's even a touch more done than they want. But for real, the bottoms of my slices were the second-blackest thing I'd seen all day. (The first was an old clip from the Comedy Central Roast of Flavor Flav that I'd happened upon in the morning.)
The thing that made me saddest, though, was the crust. Pizza Sola (and its South Side forefather, Vesuvio) had always served that nice, thin, crispy New York crust. Which is, by the way, the Correct Way of making pizza. That's not opinion, but scientific fact. It's probably in the Bible, too. But dammit, didn't the slices I got have crusts almost as thick as a bratwurst, but not nearly as tender? You bet your mozzarella.
In the words of my Italian ancestors, "Why you break-a my heart, Pizza Sola?"
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