There is no such think as "authentic" Italian pizza outside of Italy

I find when I talk about a lot of these "famous" pizza shops in NYC like Patsy's and Lombardi’s the story always starts out the same. "I went to “such and such” last night for the first time and I will never go back again."


                                                    Remember I am Italian, even better Neapolitan. I have kissed the ground of Napoli and had the fortune of eating at the original Pizzeria di Michele where Jackie and I pictured to the left. There, you take a number and wait outside in some shady neighborhood for a table. Of course, just walking in is worth the wait. You are immediately greeted with a vision of scruffy men laboring over the wood burning oven, cigarettes dangling from their mouths as they sing together old Neapolitan songs. Above all there are two things on the menu scrawled across the original Peroni mirrors, no toppings, and one beer. When your number is up they seat you, they order and never forget you are there. Nella proprio moda Italiano.

Now let’s hop back to New York where I visited Grimaldi's for the first and last time. I was really excited about the adventure to BK because even my aunt has said good things about this spot. Arriving there, I found the location to be cool, the smell inside pretty good, but already I could see "miseria" (misery) at the door. It was going to be one of those nights.

Here is how the service went down, with food issues sprinkled here and there.

> We walk in the door and 5 cocky waiters are standing around with their hands in their pockets staring at us. It must be strange for people to walk into their restaurant. After a few minutes of awkwardness they finally realize they are not as crowded as they think and seat us next to a foreign group with a huge suitcase connecting our tables.

> We sit for about 10 minutes already afraid to ask for service. As the waiters continue to deliberately ignore us it is clear they don’t give a shit about us because we are just 1 of hundreds of tables they have served today. You know what I say to that? Fuck you! People who want to burden me with their woes don’t get tipped and that is honest truth. I could care less how many tables you served or how many you will serve after me, do it with pride not prejudice.

> I get up like the asshole I am to grab some menus which we also never received. First indication this place is not "authentic" the toppings suck! I understand having toppings may be important to you ignorant New Yorkers but when you offer them do it right. No prosciutto! No spec! and definitely no Mozzarella di Buffala! We decide on the antipasti platter and a pizza with pepperoni and olives. I would have preferred it plain but I was with boys.

>We finally order about 5 minutes after I make a scene with the menus and demand water from 3 different waiters. When the waiters arrives there is no "Hello how are you?" or "Welcome to Grimaldi’s, what can I get you?" I would have even taken a "Fuck you for coming, but let me take your order while you are here." But no the waiter comes to the table, makes no eye contact and says: "What do you want?" He jots the order on a little pad because apparently he is not smart enough to remember something as simple as a fucking pizza order.

> Our food arrives probably with spit in it and let me tell you something these people should be ashamed of their antipasti. The plate was lined with 3 pieces of lousy Oscar Myer salami sitting in a pool of some imitation olive oil. Resting on the cold cuts were 2 pieces of processed Mozzarella from the Key Food down the street topped with the only half Italian looking thing, roasted peppers, and dotted with cocktail olives. I didn’t even eat it, that’s how bad this looked.

> The pizza was something to be admired but nothing close to authentic. The sauce was good, the cheese was thick and tasty but like I said I could have done without the toppings. The pepperoni looked like it came from Dominos and the black olives were not what you would imagine them to be, they were those shriveled really salty olives that, like cilantro, taint the taste of anything. I would say the pizza was like Cassie's of Englewood, for those who may know this location, but not even as good and definitely not worth waiting for.

> End of the night we ordered some dessert and requested a check which never came. After 15 minutes of waiting my friend got up to grab the waiter and paid...thanks friend. I almost wish I paid so I could have pissed on these people with a tip and attempt to put a little dent in their ego.

                                                              

Lesson Learned?

I think a lot of you need to know what authentic Italian pizza is. It is so thin you need to fold it twice, once long ways and again across. You don’t need to chew the cheese because it just slithers down your throat. And most importantly the tomatoes should be fresh enough to see the pulp and maybe a cuticle from the guy who crushed it that morning.  The image to the left is a good representation of where pizza like this can be found.  This is taken outside Pizzaria Da Baffetto in Rome

Grimaldi’s pizza: thick, cheese not homemade, and tomatoes, canned. I think these people are secretly Spanish like the folks at Patsy’s and it upsets me that we give them so much credit. But now I can confidently say to all the “authentic” pizzerias of New York. YOUR NOT THAT GOOD SO GET OVER IT! TRY COOKING ITALIAN FOOD FOR A CHANGE!

Jazz Hands everyone!

I’m dying to discuss my first dance class at Crunch Gym. I know you may not be interested in the breakdown but this is the only time I will write about it, as I will soon become a dancing tool with the inability to see what I saw last night. Luci is also in Lake Placid so there is nothing at Apartment 9 to really report on.


Some brief background may help you understand why I am taking this class. Over the past few months I have been following the journey of 20 talented dancers from the show So You Think You Can Dance. My sister actually got me into this junk and after the cancer dance of last season I was hooked.
Cancer Dance (actual name)

I almost stopped watching when Molly got kicked off but I really liked Kathryn too so I finished the season. There are now only two things that make me cry on television:

1. the closing scene to every episode of Gossip Girl when B and C have a moment

and anything hip hop from SYTYCD Kathryn and Russell do HipHop

So now after months of sneaking SYTYCD while Luci is in the shower, I have finally decided to unleash my inner dancer. If I hadn’t danced as a child I may not be so confident to do this but I figured dance at Crunch can’t be that serious. I had even inquired about bringing my shoes, as I didn’t want to walk in with my Cappezzio hip hop shoes looking like a tool. Put it this way, I should have brought the shoes as they would have at least made me look like a dancer.

I enter the class, music is already blasting and I honestly could not distinguish my teacher from the front row stacked with people who were twisting and turning, contorting their bodies into moves reminiscent of the 90's. I tried to imitate them or rather intimidate them with my own twisting but this proved to be a bad move based on my performance following our stretch. The teacher got right into things as if we had all been to the class 20 times. There is not much to say about him other than the basics: he was gay, he was loud and he was good. He actually thanked the class for walking 5 blocks which lead me to believe he actually taught at some special NYU studio or something. In attempt to learn a new routine in an hour, after being absent from class for 10 years, I followed the crowd.

The 5 People I Can Still Remember Last Night.

The boy directly in front of me was a blonde version of the male to the left, only wearing a red t shirt that exposed his belly button. I felt uncomfortable dancing close to him, as I could almost see his libido peeping out from under his shirt. He was very animated much like my least favorite dancer Jacob of SYTYCD. I all honesty he intimidated me the most, as he was gay and I just knew his gay thoughts were criticizing my every move.

The stumpy looking Asian boy in the front was definitely the best to watch visually and technically. He had probably learned the dance the night before at my instructor's apartment which was why the chosen song included words like "I want to rub your body" and "I want to caress you where it’s naughty" Of course in true stumpy male Asian form he did not look sexy imitating these moves.

Next to Asia was a Caucasian girl built like a softball player. I wondered what she was doing in the front but I assumed she was just ambitious. Then she slapped 10 with my instructor to indicate to the rest of us she meant business. She too caught onto the dance right away but I wish she had come in wearing something more suitable for sexy funk. I watched the words TEAMWORK scroll across her ass as she pumped and gyrated to the over sexed song.

In the far corner of the room where things looked really sweaty was a skinny black girl who had lost her shirt half way through the routine. She was good but I knew this before we even started the class. She reeked of funk with a hot pink hoodie, seriously comfy dance pants and Nike airs. I like to think I look black when I dance but she was black which insured an 80% chance that she would dominate all of us.

Behind me, which was totally unfortunate because I only got to really watch her when we were in groups, was a 60 something year old woman. I noticed her lack of hip hop flair right away when she walked in with tights, leg warmers, and nude colored leotard. I was happy when she stood next to me, with confidence she would make me look good. Bad choice because she put me to shame. She was absolutely a dancer who, unlike me, was just adding to her class schedule by trying something new. She was a real inspiration and the reason I am going back for Hip Hop class tonight.

Tht outcome of 2009

Its the year 2010...

On NYE the Crab people hosted a magnificent party with free beer flowing from a keg atop the terrace of Apartment 9. Along with non stop beer I prepared a smorgasbord of food seasoned with cannabis. The laced goods made for an excellent crowd of crab people all getting along and laughing over nothing. One of the attendees said the treats made her jolly, while another said it made her feel little loopy. I received several thanks for the treats along with a few complaints about my disregard to indicate the snacks would be mind altering. I was also informed that some weaker crabs got sick (2 white males). To those people remember that drinking makes you sick but to your credit you may have been experiencing a reaction similar to man on this 911 call: http://www.youtube.com/watchv=CU6AVtQethw

There were many memorable highlights of the night but the winner is the random Asian girl who showed up half way through the party. I noticed a crowd of 4 Asian girls in my apartment but when I was finally introduced to the one mentioned above the rest were gone. For the duration of the evening I thought she was a party crasher until I found out she was actually invited by a very crabby friend of Luci’s.

I wish I had a picture but the one below is more remeniscent the following actions taken by Asian girl.

1. Upon walking in she took her coat off and a male attendee witnessed one of her nipples pop out. This males was quoted saying “If you see a girls nipple in the first 5 seconds of encountering her, she is a slut” Very true my friend.

2. She then proceeded to rally everyone up for keg stands on our small terrace. She did one, then my best friend did one, I DID ONE, and Cristina’s roommate who is built like a football player did one and fell on Cristina.

3. When she did not succeed in getting anyone to fall off the terrace she decided to knock the flower pot off instead. It is still laying in the ally below where she may be as well.

4. I guess she got thirsty because she helped herself to water from my Britta and broke the top. How this was achieved I do not know, but now my Britta lacks the cool triangular pieces that opens and closes when you pour the water.

5. The last thing she did before disappearing into drunken streets of the East Village was attempt to seduce a puking male. This male will remain anonymous but I have been told that he regreats failing to realize he could have been seduced while barfing and killed two birds with one stone.

I wish, in between all of this, she gave me or at least Luci her number but that did not occure.  If anyone knows of her whereabouts please inform the crab people so we can have her back for the summer BBQ.