Well, what the hell is apizza? That question is a bit trickier. While I am no authority on the subject, I did spend the past two days in Connecticut sampling the stuff. I left Thursday to travel to the state whose only claim to fame, as my father puts it, is “the state between Manhattan and Boston.” I had only two objectives: try this apizza and eat as many oysters as possible at the 34th annual Milford Oyster Festival. As I sit in front of my computer screen with a belly full of research, I have to say that I’ve achieved both goals.
I arrived in New Haven, Connecticut on Thursday night around 8:30. Accompanied by my father, we drove around the city looking for Wooster Street, or what Connecticutians call “Little Italy.” After discovering that “Little Italy” consists of 2 pizzerias, a pastry shop and a handful of restaurants, we spotted the famous Frank Pepe’s Pizzeria Napoletana. There was a long line outside the entrance so after wandering the streets to see what the place had to offer we took our spots on line and waited impatiently.
Normally I do a lot of research before sampling a nationally famous restaurant for the first time, but I decided to go into Frank Pepe’s blind. I’ve heard about the place through a few pizza articles over the years; it is one of the oldest Pizzerias in the country, it is responsible for what is known as “New Haven style pizza” and that Jeffery Steingarten recommends eating “eight to ten white clam pizzas at Frank Pepe’s in New Haven, Connecticut, perhaps the single best pizza in the United States and certainly the best thing of any kind in New Haven, Connecticut” as a cure to clam phobia. Armed with this knowledge, I sat down at a small table with my father and proceeded to order a beer and some pizzas.
Frank Pepe’s was started in 1925 by Frank himself and since them has become a Connecticut staple. The pizza is cooked in a gigantic, coal-burning oven that can fit up to 15 pizzas and is helmed by men welding 15-foot pizza peels. The story goes that Frank’s aversion to tomatoes and cheese caused him to create the white-clam pizza that made Frank Pepe’s a staple and lead to its long reign as one of the best pizza shops in the country.
Despite the claim of many that Frank Pepe’s is the best, there is a small apizzeria down the block that has been challenging for that honor since 1938: Sally’s Appiza. Sally’s was started by Frank’s nephew 13 years after Frank Pepe’s opened and there is a lot of debate as to which is better. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to sample the pizza, excuse me, the apizza, at Sally’s but I’m sure I’ll be back soon to do so.
(As a little side note, this pizza rivalry reminds me of the citizens of Buffalo who constantly bicker about which is better for Buffalo wings, Anchor Bar—the original creator—or Duff’s. If anyone is from Buffalo or has insight on this issue, please let me know immediately! If you are from Buffalo and have a free couch, I’d be willing to make the trip up to decide the issue once and for all.)
While we watched in awe as the oven kept cranking out pizzas 20 minutes to closing time and contemplated why this tiny shop was so famous the pizzas arrived at the table. In order to sample all the pizzeria had to offer, we order three pies: the original tomato pie with mozzarella, the famous white clam pie and a cheese pie with half mushrooms and anchovies (to test their topping ability and as a way to indulge in the often ignored and wrongly ridiculed anchovy topping option).
The three came out on two metal trays and looked nothing like a New York pizza. Apparently, apizzas are very asymmetrical and can look more like amoebas than circles. They are hastily cut and have burnt, black blotches on the perimeter crust. They are anything but pretty, but I have to give it those New Haven folks, they are damn tasty. The pies were thin crust, flavorful and all the toppings were well proportioned. They original pie oozed with all those classic pizza flavors and besides the blackened spot peppering the crust—which some claim, “give more flavor”—the pizza was delicious. The mushroom and anchovy pie was spot on and the clam pizza tasted like…well, like clams. The hot grease from the pizza mixed with the salty brine of the clams to create a delicious liquid I’ve never had on pizza before. The clams themselves were on the chewy side, but if this was the price to pay for the salty ambrosia floating atop the dough then so be it. It was a tasty way to prep my taste buds for the oceans of oysters I’d soon be consuming. My only complaint about the white clam was that while I was polishing off the other pies, the temperature gets the better of its bivalve toppings; cold white pizza does not have the appeal of a cold regular pie.
After washing down the remains of the pies with a beer and washing my hands several times to get the grease, clam juice and burnt dough bits off, we set off to rest up for the big day that lie ahead—Oysterfest.
A little slice of history.
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