K! Pizza Cones

Nothing excited me quite as much as Thrillist New York’s write up of a new trend that hit the heart of Manhattan; the pizzacone. If it wasn’t enough that I love pizza, and anything that I can eat and hold in my hands, a loyal reader of this blog also referred me to the article in the hopes that I would describe the phenomenon.

Well like most concept foods, the phenomena ends at arrival. The service was next to completely incompetent. The woman at the cash register had to reenter my order several thousand times because she didn’t know how to add jalepeno’s to my order of the “Vegi-Pizza Cone.” Next another woman scooped the ingredients into a small bowl, she took her sweettime and the ratio of cheese to anything else was unpleasant. Then she handed the cones to a guy who stands by a specialized oven. After he placed them in and closed the door, he  stood in front of the oven and stared at it for fifteen-twenty minutes while it cooked. Meanwhile a fourth gentleman stood next to all three of them coaching them the whole time. This all happens in a space the size of the bathroom in my East-Village apt, in which you can’t wash you hands unless you happen to be sitting on the toilet.

The customer has two options of size, the bigger is probably preferable, and may offer a better pizzacone as it can hold more variation. In the hopes of having a varied experience, though, I chose to have two smaller cones, this was a mistake. The first was the aforementioned vegi-pizzacone with jalepenos and pesto sauce. They screwed up the sauce and gave me marinara, or their pesto was red. Either way the item was entirely too dry. Partly due to a lack of sauce, and too much cheese (that will be the only time I ever write those words) but the real problem was the cone. In order for it to hold it has to be thick and hard, which means it’s already been cooked before they put ingredients in it, and then it becomes a bready tragedy.

The second cone was a breakfast cone: sausage, egg, and cheese. Look, it’s not even worth considering. The egg was precooked and too dry, the sausage was meaningless and the cheese couldn’t save it. At about the time I was getting to the bottom of the cone, which unlike an ice-cream cone contained cheese without tongue manipulation, the ‘overseeer’ asked me “How do you like it?”

“It’s good.” I lied.

“Good, we’re trying to make them faster. I’m looking into other oven options.”

“Oh, are you the owner?” I had a bad feeling where this was going.

“Yes. I want to make them quicker because New Yorkers won’t wait. They want things quickly. But everyone likes them, and we use fresh ingredients…”

I asked him about convection ovens and made chit-chat before we both had to leave. The reality is the ingredients were fresh, but they hadn’t figured out the right ratios, and they were still in development. Maybe in a few months they will have worked out the kinks, and I believe it might be worth a return visit. However in the end one has to question what the true advantage is to eating pizza out of a cone anyway. Since Leonardo Davinci invented the pizza no one has ever said “this one still needs work,” until now…

UPDATE: To my loyal readers, I apologize retroactively for the poor grammar, and lack of intelligibility in this post. While there is no excuse, I do owe you an explanation; I wrote it on my mobile device, and did not edit it until now. I am deeply sorry and will work tirelessly to ensure that this never happens again. -The Management.

Artichoke Pizza

The East Village’s Artichoke pizza has been quickly growing quite the reputation since it opened last year. With all the hub-bub of the Pizzeria it was time to see what all the hollering was about.  Not having eaten in almost 24 hours due to alcoholism, it seemed like a dripping slice of the famous pie would be just what the doctor ordered, if your Doctor is one who wants you to go into cardiac arrest.

Too rich for my blood, and heart. Picture courtesy of Glenwoodnyc.com

The hole in the wall on 14th st. doesn’t have chairs, and it doesn’t have tables. The kitchen is larger than the dining room. New Yorkers silently munch on their glop covered dough in silence facing the walls of the 7×8 foot room as a line in the middle leads out the door. The server asks quietly “What kind” of which the customers have a choice of Artichoke, Sicilian, Margarita (original) and Crab. The customers quietly respond “Artichoke” one after another and he throws another slice back in the over, returning with another customers melty slice. In the back two men assemble new pies randomly dropping gigantic chunks of cheese onto a dough the size of a dinner table.

The slice comes out and the server quietly announced “Artichoke” as it seems to be the only thing ordered. If you’re lucky enough to find a spot on the wall where there is a tiny shelf just below an average person’s chest you can hunch over your slice in the safety between  your two elbows. The slice is undeniably mucusey.  One could call it “Artichoke Pizza” in name only as it is really pizza with T.G.I. Friday’s Spinach-Artichoke Dip heaved onto it.

Check out that bready crust. Picture courtesy of mightysweet.com

Unfortunately the crust itself is pretty unpleasant as well. It’s thickness is necessary to hold the weight of the Spinach Dip, but a mouth full of what almost tastes like sourdough is not ideal when scarfing down a fresh pie. While the heavy slice makes it very filling as a $4 slice, you might be inclined to purge afterward, if only it wouldn’t result in another greasy mess.

The slice does have its advantages, however. The first bite is breathtaking. It’s like having a dollop of piping hot cream explode in your mouth. Unfortunately the magic is short-lived. When you struggle through this caloric journey, the age old phrase keeps coming to mind “Too Rich For My Blood,” and your heart .  As the pizza sets in your stomach, like the sun over the pacific, be aware of the hype, and next time slop some of Stouffer’s Spinach Artichoke Dip onto a slice of Dominos, new and improved pizza, and call it a day.