Let it be clear that I am not a New Yorker. In fact, I'm quite the opposite: I grew up in Bowling Green, Ohio, a city know for its university by the same name and not much else. However, there is one similarity between New York and Bowling Green that is undeniable, and that resides in the ubiquitous presence of pizza places.
I grew up on Domino’s Pizza Wednesdays in the elementary school cafeteria and Papa John’s Fridays at my best friend's house. For every birthday party, my mom would order Pollyeye’s pizza (a local pizza legacy) per my request, and I remember savoring each pepperoni studded slice dipped in their so-good-I-could-drink-it-with-a-straw ranch sauce like it was the last meal I would ever eat. I may not be a New Yorker, but I’d like to think I’m well versed in my pizza. So when I heard about the famous Joe’s Pizza making its way from the Big Apple to the hometown of the Big House, I knew I had to see what this NY slice was for my own midwestern self.
A Slice of NYC in Ann Arbor
It was a Friday at 6pm or so, and I recruited my roommate (another fellow Ohioan) to join me on this journalistic food endeavor. From the moment we walked up to the door, the line was unfurling outside of the building: a sign my dad always told me was indicative of a place worth eating at. When we got far enough up in line to enter the building, we were surrounded by framed photographs of celebrities. Kim Kardashian. Drake. Jimmy Fallon. They all had their place along the walls, and despite being miles away from the city, I felt like I was in a little New York sanctuary.
I ordered a slice of the classic cheese pizza, because it just felt right. But I also paid $1 extra for a slice of cheese made with Zingerman’s mozzarella. What can I say? Even in a NYC type of place, my foodie heart still aches for its Ann Arbor, midwestern roots. Both slices were about the size of my head, and we ate them standing up, crunched in the corner of the increasingly crowded place. The atmosphere alone was worth the visit. The pizza didn’t disappoint either.
My Hot Take on Joe's
As a self identified carb-queen, I was immediately fond of the crust: the outside was full of air pockets, akin to those within a good slice of homemade sourdough. The inside was just flimsy enough to be folded over and devoured in tradition New York pizza fashion. The sauce, if I’m being honest, was nothing to write home about, but that was nothing a generous shake of red pepper flakes couldn’t fix. Each bite felt nostalgic, even though my own associations with pizza are from far more commercialized pizza joints. If only momentarily, I felt like I was in New York.
And yet that was the one thing that was missing from this slice: the city. I haven’t (yet) enjoyed a slice of true NY pizza in the city at 3 am after a night at the bars, but I imagine that the setting was the essential missing element, as food is so much more than the ingredients and preparation. I think we can all agree that meals enjoyed during special periods of our lives and in good company taste all the more delicious. Like how hot dogs eaten at the ballpark after your t-ball game taste like a Michelin-starred meal. Or how movie theater popcorn at the premier of the 7th Harry Potter movie, despite objectively tasting like buttered styrofoam, is still so enjoyable. Food is a time capsule for our most intimate memories. For me, my pizza nostalgia remains in the empty boxes of Little Caesars between dance classes or a steaming hot slice of DiGiorno's from the oven. Like Joe’s, these slices may not be particularly gourmet, but they allow me to travel back in time, if only momentarily, to revisit these cheesy, grease-glistening memories.
Food is a time capsule for our most intimate memories. For me, my pizza nostalgia remains in the empty boxes of Little Caesars between dance classes or a steaming hot slice of DiGiorno's from the oven. Like Joe’s, these slices may not be particularly gourmet, but they allow me to travel back in time, if only momentarily, to revisit these cheesy, grease-glistening memories.