Would you wait for 35 minutes on the most touristy stretch of Bleecker Street to try real Neapolitan pizza? When in doubt about a new place, I scope out the people leaving the establishment. Do they roll onto the sidewalk looking food-stunned and satisfied? Are they sighing “oh wow,” and lovingly patting their swollen bellies as if they contained precious cargo?

Well then goddamnit I’ll wait. It’s not that long and after all, a pizzaholic’s work is never done. To Keste’s credit, they brought out fresh pies for people in line to sample, as if to allay any fears that your time and money might be better spent at long-established John’s across the street (where, on a Saturday night, the line looked just as bad).

What Keste has on John’s is buzz and authenticity. Real Neapolitan pizza adheres to certain guidelines that guarantee its character and its quality, and according to New York Magazine, Keste is leading the city’s Neapolitan pizza revolution. The pies I had at Keste made the fuss seem justified. The ingredients in my marghertia pizza ($12) were top-notch. The sauce was fresh and sweet and just a little bit tangy, complimenting the delicate richness of the generously-heaped bufala mozzarella. The had a distinctively smokey flavor from the wood oven along its edges, but got pretty soggy in the middle. For the sake of balance, I like a little more sturdiness and a little less smoke in my crust. I think Neapolitan pizza is supposed to be a bit wet, but compared to Una Pizza Napoletana (now regrettably closed) I don’t think the crust attained the heights capable by this kind of pie.

That was my only complaint, however, and I would definitely try Keste again, though maybe during a less hectic time. The salame pizza ($14) which came with fresh mozzarella instead of bufala, and prosciutto-thin cuts of salame, was also very good. My Menabrea beer was pleasantly more flavorful than standby Peroni, which is basically Italian Heineken.

Interestingly, Frank Bruni at The New York Times totally dissed Keste but liked ho-hum Veloce. Crust Is a Canvas For Pizza’s New Wave is required pizza fan reading.

More Snackish posts about pizza

Keste Pizza & Vino
271 Bleecker St. between Jones St. and Cornelia St.
Daily: 11:30am-12am
No delivery, takeout available

I’ve lived in the East Village for five years, and part of what’s kept me here is the fact that I can find any kind of food I want, any night of the week. Still one of snacking’s fundamentals eludes me–I cannot find a decent slice of pizza in my neighborhood. I’m not talking about whole pies, although lately my hood’s been dealt a sad blow in that regard. Rumored by some to be the best pizzeria in the city, Una Pizza Napoletana has just closed its doors, its owner fled to California, its harmoniously-layered pies and dreamlike, airy-crisp dough but a memory.

Still, no matter how good it was, I never felt quite right about plunking down 30 bucks to dine on the finest pizza money can buy. I like straight-up slice joints, cheap pizza with tasty sauce and soulful crust that’s been charred in an old oven. The East Village could use its own Di Fara’s or Joe’s; instead we have a bunch of Ray’s knockoffs and Artchoke Basille, (however I feel now, I loved their gluttonous, cardboard-crusted slices once upon a time, in my folly-drenched youth).

So when Veloce Pizzeria opened a few weeks ago it seemed poised to fill a niche. An upscale pizza and wine bar from Porchetta chef Sara Jenkins, Veloce specializes in pan pizza–square pies with crust that’s thinner and lighter than Sicilian style pizza, yet thicker and somewhat greasier than Neapolitan style. The space feels warm, walled with backlit wine bottles and a long bar that I could see myself cozying up to with a cold pint of Radeberger.

Ambience can only take you so far, though. The proof of good pizza is in the crust. The first margherita pizza ($15) I ordered was about 30% burned, but even that had more character than the second pie, which was thin and soggily overwhelmed by its toppings. A slice ($3) I ordered on a subsequent trip was notable for its oversalted sauce, while the crust was a mix of crispy and mushy. Mind you, on all these occasions I ate every bite, not only because I was hungry: this is better-than-Ray’s pizza, they sell by the slice (though sometimes there’s a bit of a wait), and the pan-pizza style is a nice change of pace. But it’s bewildering that Frank Bruni ranked this pizzeria #2 in front of Una Pizza Napoletana (although he might be right about the other menu items–the potato fritters appetizer was a dud).

Veloce is worth a shot if you’re hanging around late and want to grab a slice at the bar. If a whole pizza is what you’re looking for, Three of Cups on First Ave and 5th street has consistently-good cracker-thin crust and reasonable prices.

Veloce Pizzeria
103 First Avenue between 6th and 7th St.
open noon-2am every day

For a pizzaholic, the trip out to Di Fara in Midwood on the Q feels almost like a pilgrimage. Located deep in Brooklyn, just after the subway creeps above ground into a strangely suburban landscape, this unassuming corner pizza parlor churns out some of the most celebrated pizza in the city. Pizza zen-master Dom DeMarco, who’s over 70 and has operated Di Fara for 40 years, makes each one himself (all day, seven days a week), from shaping the dough and spreading the sauce, to snipping fresh basil and swirling olive oil over the finished pie. Considering all the hype, I didn’t doubt it would be good; but would it meet my ridiculously high expectations?

It exceeded them. This is one of the rare slices where there’s just the right amount of everything, and it all tastes incredibly fresh–crisp, chewy crust, bright, tangy sauce, and slightly salty cheese melted over it all. Di Fara uses a mixture of fresh mozzarella or mozzerella di bufala with processed mozzarella, and a generous sprinkling of grana padana parmesean, that layers over every inch of sauce and is never too much. I ate two slices transfixed on the quiet sidewalk and then I wanted more.

But the wait is daunting. The line at Di Fara defies logic and patience; your order is written down and promptly forgotten, you ask for four slices and you get three. Regulars sidle in front of you, shouting “another pie!” and meanwhile you watch Dom, unhurriedly working away on another blob of dough, and wonder desparately, “is that mine?” You do this over and over again for maybe half and hour. The slices are expensive ($4) and if you’re looking to eat in, the interior is less from spotless.

Maybe I just really love pizza, but that’s all background noise to one of the best slices you can have. Granted, January may not be the ideal time to visit but one day soon the thermometer is bound to crack 50 degrees. Go early–wear a scarf, bring a book, and wander up the pretty rows of Victorian houses off Avenue J with a hot slice folded in your hands.

This just in from Slice: Di Fara is closed because Dom DeMarco broke his kneecap in a car accident and needs surgery. Word is he’ll recuperate at work, and reopen on or before February 1st. Here’s wishing Dom a speedy recovery.

DiFara on Slice
Dom DeMarco interview in the New York Times

Di Fara 1424 Ave. J at E. 15th St. Brooklyn
Daily 11am-10pm

It’s easy to miss L’asso–maybe it’s the abstract signage. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s a block away from Lombardi’s, a New York institution. I went a few times when it first opened, liked it, and forgot about it. It’s doubly easy to miss the fact that they serve pizza by the slice, something that Lombardi’s and many other famous, old-school pizzerias don’t do. But in case you think they don’t know their pizza, L’asso prides itself on adhering to the rules for Pizza D.O.C.–guidelines that specify the type of tomatoes (san marzano), the type of mozzarella (buffalo milk), and the type of oven (domed, brick, and heated to 420 degrees), deemed necessary by the maestros Italy to produce a genuine neapolitan pizza.

The atmosphere is very laid-back chic-cafe, with a wine list and dubby mood music, and a fairly extensive menu with about eighteen varieties of individual-sized pizzas. The slices ($2) are behind the counter, and since most of their customers are ordering off the menu, yours will have probably been sitting for a little while and warrant reheating. It’s still as decent a slice as you’ll find in the area - just stick to the margherita and steer clear of the blandly cheesy bianco. On Monday through Friday they have a happy hour special - $1 slices with $3 Brooklyn Lager on tap. They were churning out slices at a good clip during my happy hour-timed visit so mine was fresh from the oven, with a light, slightly chewy crust, sweet-and-tangy sauce, just a few melty daubs of fresh mozzarella, and drizzled in olive oil. Granted, it was about half the size of a regular slice but it was a freakin’ DOLLAR so I wasn’t complaining.

I am over sloppy, face-sized, cardboard-crusted Artichoke slices–this is closer to a slice as it should be.

L’asso 192 Mott Street at Kenmare
Sun-Wed 12pm-12am, Thurs-Sat 12pm-3am

I washed up at Joe’s Pizza for the first time four years ago, after I’d been suckered into going to Misshapes. (As we pushed into the party and I saw a barely-twenty-year-old girl with Weimar-era makeup and a sculptural Isabella Blow-ish hat/mask covering half her face I understood why the doorman had looked at our outfits and pronounced us tragic). The thing about feeling ridiculously old and unfashionable at 25 is that you still have the stamina to drink and dance all night, or at least until you feel start feeling pretty good. Still, certain worries edge this pleasant little mood you’ve blundered into–it’s so late, I’m so hungry, everything is closed, I’m so hungry, where the hell am I going to eat?

Joe’s Pizza at 4 am glows like a molten cheese bubble in the strange afterhours dark of the closed-down city. A glittering, laughing, sweating, exhausted cross-section of nightlife clings to this oasis, and spills onto the waiting sidewalk, held upright by booze and the smell of baking pizza. Unlike pizzeria of the moment, Artichoke, whose counter people serve with a slowness that seems lackadaisical or sadistic, depending on how hungry you are, the service at Joe’s is brisk. Orders are asked with a glance as a fresh pie is spun into slices that are scooped, drooping onto paper plates exchanged for cash–fast, fast, fast. If you’re lucky enough to snag a fresh mozzarella slice right from the oven ($2.75), go for it. The regular slice ($2.50) is good too, with sweet tomato sauce, the right balance of cheese and a thin, chewy crust that’s got a teeny bit of burnt crispness. The crust, however does not hold up for long, so the slices are best eaten HOT and immediately–and if you happen in at a slower time, it’s worth the wait for a fresh pie. There’s little to no seating to be had, but there’s benches in Father Demo Park across the street.

Since that evening Joe’s has been my go-to spot when I’m in the area at some unseemly hour, looking for a little comfort at the tail-end of a long night.

Joe’s Pizza 7 Carmine Street Open every day 9 am - 5 am