Last week, New York City's celebrity chefs and restaurant proprietors were salivating at the thought of juicy new reviews in the upcoming Michelin guide, long considered Europe's gold standard for all things culinary. Michelin's verdict is now out, bringing dismay and elation to some of New York's most fastidious chefs. But unlike French chef Bernard Loiseau, who killed himself before Michelin could strip him of his coveted three-star rating, none of the more hardboiled New York chefs succumbed to major culinary melodrama.
Inspired by Michelin, I decided to venture out on a culinary excursion of my own, ready to strike terror into the hearts of Nassau Street's unsuspecting pizza vendors.
Michelin gives out three stars for restaurants worth a special trip just for the food, two if they're worth a detour, and a single star if they serve food worthy of a visit. I decided to adopt the simple, yet effective Michelin style for my own evaluations.
First on my list was Nassau's Old World Pizza, right next to the hugely popular Hoagie Haven.
I stepped inside the workaday-looking restaurant and ordered a regular slice, an effective barometer of a pizzeria's competence. I then asked the vendor behind the counter what sets his pizza apart.
"Try it," he said. "There's no comparison. We use a different sauce, a different style, a different oven."
Old World, I noted, uses a gas-lit brick oven. I then bought myself a palette-cleansing Coke, picked up the slice and stepped outside.
At first glance the slice looked sauce-heavy, but there was a gleaming patch of white left to indicate deftly sprinkled mozzarella. I bit in.
Old World's crust is immaculate. The brick oven produces a crisp crackle and the sauce isn't overly acidic or sweet. The entire slice comes together as a perfect unit — sauce, cheese, crust and all. And the best part is, there's no grease. Which means no bloating, either.
Old World reminds me of The Bent Spoon. There's a definite sense of artistry to the slice. Worth a Michelin trek? Absolutely.
Buoyed by the successful trip to Old World, I scurried over to the other side of Nassau, down to Iano's Rosticceria. Upon stepping inside, I found the jaundiced yellow of the décor slightly off-putting. But just like Michelin, whose ratings reflect only the quality of the food, I tried to guard against any premature bias.
I picked up another regular slice, pure and simple. My eyes wandered over to their standard non-brick oven. I then stepped outside, primed for another taste test, a Coke nestled under my left arm.
Unlike the grease-free slice at Old World, this one had a visible fatty film on the surface. The grease, I realized, is a byproduct of callously over-applied mozarrella. I bit in, this time cautiously.
Iano's slice is unimpressive and pedestrian. The sauce just doesn't come through with any punch, in large part because the slice is caked in cheese. The crust is distinctly doughy, too. The brick oven, I think to myself, makes a big difference.
All in all, it was a weak showing. Is Iano's worth a detour, if not a trek? Possibly, if your hunger pangs are really kicking in and pizza is on your mind. But for the discerning palette, Iano's is barely worth a visit at all.
Still reeling from my experience at Iano's, I walked on past Witherspoon, unwilling to brave the trip down to Conte's Pizzeria. Even Michelin, I told myself, wouldn't dive that deep into the town's underbelly — especially when Conte's refuses to dish up pizza by the slice. Conte's will have to wait, though a marathon hike could be useful after this Michelin-inspired experiment. Instead, I headed over to my third and final stop: Massimo's.
Before I ordered a slice, I asked the vendor behind the counter what he thinks puts Massimo's up there on the culinary totem pole.
"Variety. But not so much in the pizza department," he said, eyeing his slices skeptically.
My suspicions were confirmed when he insisted that I have the slice for free. I stepped outside and sat down with yet another Coke. I bit in, this time almost petrified.
The slice is everything I expect it to be. And worse. The sauce is curiously pungent, and the mozarrella has clearly been loaded on unabashedly. It's as if the mozarrella's sole purpose is to mask the suspect flavor of the sauce.
And on the Michelin scale? Let's just say Chef Bernard Loiseau wouldn't want to be caught dead running Massimo's.
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