There are like a billion pizza places living around where I live (Hyde Park). I’m pretty sure it’s like a billion. And, as with snowflakes, each one is more unique than the last. And I love pizza! Within walking distance of my place, and terrifyingly close to the infamous Ribit’s BBQ, is New York, New York Pizza. Son’t worry about clicking that link, btw… their website is broken. I don’t even know if that ever actually belonged to them. Why did I post it? Thoroughness. I’m lookin out for you.

New York, New York is in a little plaza with other favorites like the Hyde Park chapter of Jimmy John’s, a Chipotle, and some sort of Japan…steak…sushi… thing.

On a recent visit to Jimmy John’s, I passed by NY,NY and longingly gazed in at their pizzas. The men behind the counter gestured for me to come in, followed by other, less friendly gestures when I kept walking. Some of them were lewd. But it wasn’t enough to deter me from coming back in a few days, pizza-hungry (pizza-horny) as ever. I walked in, and the first thing I noticed was this:

One of the walls was plastered with pictures of various douche bags, presumably from the area. I don’t really understand the point of this. Places like Pink’s might have photos of famous people adorning their walls, which kind of makes sense; it’s like an endorsement by faces we all know through the magic of modern communication. But a wall full of pictures of people you might run into walking down the street? I… I don’t get it. Nevertheless, I was consumed by the desire to become cool enough to join those on the wall of douche.

These bros were my special favorites. What do I have to do to join their ranks? Who do I have to become? Will I ever get as much pussy as they undoubtedly do?? Many sleepless nights followed my visit to the shop, fixating on these two’s lovely faces, pouting lips, perfect bodies, and ever-so-slightly exposed chests. I just want to touch them.

There was another picture on which someone had scratched out certain faces. So apparently this also serves as a Hyde Park drama bulletin board. Classy.

My friend and I ordered our Supreme Pizza and ran, as there really is no seating in the place. There are a few tables outside, and inside was one lone man sitting and eating a pizza, but we did not wish to join him. Bringing the beast home, we popped the box open and inhaled its sweet pizza scent. This would be a good night.

It looked like a New York pizza. Giant wacky slices. Giant wacky toppings. Flat wacky crust. And sauce. Just like New York!

The crust was immaculate. One of the best pizza crusts I’ve had ever. Ever. Just look at it! Warm an crisp. Almost crunchy. But still soft on top. If you tried to fold it, it would crack. So maybe it’s not exactly in line with the imagined New York style ideal, but in its own way it surpasses it. Just a very impressive means of conveyance. Great flavor, not dull in any way. Solid crust.

The toppings, sadly, were a different story. The sauce was pretty decent, the cheese was average, and the rest was adequate. Nothing on this pizza felt, to me, like anything special. At all. Every piece of this puzzle was underwhelming, straight down to the meats. It all brought the pizza down from what could have been my new favorite pizza spot, to a place I’ll likely not visit again. Which sucks, because that crust was awesome good. And now my chances at obtaining a coveted spot on the wall o’ douche are pretty much nil. But the amount of other pizza places nearby leaves me with no reason to give NY,NY another chance.