Greek-inspired pizza: Part II

So, here is what happened post pizza-ingredient pilgrimage.... 


I spent some time beforehand soaking and draining the 4 heads of spinach to remove any dirt, and separated the leaves. Then I quickly prepared the tzatziki, a very basic recipe found on allrecipes.com, consisting of  yogurt, minced garlic, cucumbers, lemon juice and olive oil. 

We chopped the rest of our garlic (about 4 or 5 cloves), onion, tomatoes and olives. In the meantime, the dough was rising (this took about 2 hours) and the oven was preheating at 450. When it was about ready, the spinach was sauteed with some olive oil, red onion and a tinge of parmesan cheese. 

Then the spinach and the rest of our ingredients were ready to go atop the dough (which I placed on a greased pan, putting some flower on the bottom to prevent sticking); this included our feta cheese, which we cut and crumbled, sliced kalamata olives, sliced sun-dried tomatoes, parmesan cheese, a little fresh mozzarella, and chopped tomato. Pizza making is fairly simple (okay, I realize that I got bakery dough and didn't make it...), you just need the right, fresh ingredients. 

Pre-oven, then baked until the crust is golden...

Post-oven. I look a little crazy. It was a long day. 

Post ingestion of the Greek-inspired pie and tzaktki sauce, post enjoyment of some sweet cabarnet, some jasmine incense and Ella Fitzgerald, Colin began to read out the history of the aubergine and onion, of yeast and baking and how the first pizza may have very well developed in Egypt. (Really, who would have thought that this would be our Saturday night?) The culinary escapade was derived from Italian Pizza and Hearth Breads by Elizabeth Romer, equipped with lovely watercolor illustrations. I randomly picked this up from Bonnie Slotnick Cookbooks, a little shop on West 10th Street in the village that is very easy to miss if you're not paying attention. She specializes in out-of-print and antiquarian cookbooks. 

I get somewhat overwhelmed when I start exploring the history of food, delving into  cultures that were, and still are, so largely self-sufficient. For the most part, there is a huge disconnect between myself and food, a certain lack of creativity that stretches beyond cutting back on take-out or concocting original recipes. While I admittedly love the concept of not just running across to Key Foods and, rather, exploring my neighborhood, it's people and variety, with my current life this is what I am resigned to doing most of the time; it's just far less time consuming. I’m not at home aging my own cheese, preparing my own breads, pressing my olive oil. I do not consistently view grains as a "gift of the gods," as the Egyptians did. (Though beer, perhaps...) I take it for granted; I don't even think about it most of the time. 

While one can dream about ancient cultures or retreating to a commune somewhere in the Green Mountains, I suppose there are options available for us city-folk to somewhat restore the balance of our constantly conflicting desires. There are food co-ops. There's urban gardening. There's simply taking a walk through your neighborhood to see what else is out there, to see how other people are doing things, and coming to your own theoretical conclusions on the foundations of pizza [or insert food of choice] and, hence, of life. Yes, it all goes back to the walk. 

Rebecca Solnit has a great moment of insight in her non-fiction work, Wanderlust, on which I will leave you. It's not related to cooking, but it sums up the sentiment pretty much exactly.

  

I had told [my friend] about an ad I found in the Los Angeles Times a few months ago that I had been thinking about ever since. It was for a CD-ROM encyclopedia, and the text that occupied a whole page read, “You used to walk across town in the pouring rain to use our encyclopedias. We’re pretty confident that we can get your kid to click and drag.” I think it was the kid’s walk in the rain that constituted the real education, at least of the senses and the imagination. Perhaps the child with the CD-ROM encyclopedia will stray from the task at hand, but wandering in a book or a computer takes place within more constricted and less sensual parameters. It’s the unpredictable incidents between official events that add up to a life, the incalculable that gives it value. Both rural and urban walking have for two centuries been prime ways of exploring the unpredictable and the incalculable. 

Greek-inspired pizza: A walk (Part 1)

When I first moved to Astoria three years ago, I figured it would be temporary, until I could comfortably afford Manhattan. Over the next couple of years, as my dreams of girl-about-town morphed to woman- wanting-space-and-home, Manhattan was still on the horizon (maybe when I published my first, best-selling, made-to-movie novel), but Brooklyn came to mind, as most people I know have such a fondness for it, and the aesthetics of Prospect Park were enticing. Now, entering year four in NYC, we plan on moving out of our current place and for a while, since rents are so low, had some fantasies of fleeing to the Village, to Park Slope, even the Long Island City waterfront. But a couple of weeks ago, as I was buying a tub of imported parmesan from Dave and Tony's  salumeria off of 30th Ave, the wise-guy counter banter made me sad at the thought of leaving. A trip to Trade Fair a few days ago had a similar, appreciative effect; despite it often being a clustered nightmare, I was impressed by the variety of spices, grains, and exotic herbs they carried. While diversity is definitely not a sole property of Astoria (though I do think Queens as a whole may beat out the other boroughs?), I have grown slightly accustomed and increasingly comfortable with what this Greek-Mexican-Czech-Middle Eastern infused neighborhood has to offer. I think I will stick around for a bit longer.

That said, there is still much left to explore. Since living here has so extensively opened my palate, I thought food-related walk through my neighborhood was in order, or more specifically, a trek to find the freshest ingredients for my Greco-Roman fusion pizza. More simply, a Greek-inspired pizza comprised of sautéed fresh spinach and red onion, kalamata olives, feta, and sundried tomato along with some of the standard Italian staples. Served with a side of tzatiki.

Colin (acting photographer and taster) and I appropriately embarked on our epic recipe journey at Athens Square Park on 30th Ave at 30th, paying homage to a watchful Athena to ensure mercantile wisdom. This place is bustling in the summer, with live Greek music and accompanying circle dancing, and occasionally Spanish singers. At times there is club music. At times, there is a combination of club music, singers and dancing.

After a brief walkthrough of the square, and a smile at an elderly woman with pigeons on her shoulder, we skipped over to 31st street and made our way to ingredient destination number one, Titan Foods, praised by numerous Yelpers. Titan seems to be the hub Greek foods in Astoria, and is a full-on market with an abundance of imports, a bakery (I am still kicking myself for not trying their baklava), and a deli where one can purchase a variety of meats and fish (fresh, dried, salted), imported and domestic feta cheese, bountiful, glistening olives, and homemade yogurt. I opted for the latter three as they were necessary for my pizza and tzatziki.

I was literally the only non-Greek in Titan, ordering from a staff that seemed to deal mostly in Greek, and probably only spoke English when needed. I was actually pretty shy about asking the deli-man what his best feta was, particularly when I was not greeted with a smile. But he told me, softly in a thick accent, arahova, and then cut off a chunk for me to sample. He cut off a second for Colin. This made me feel better and I realized smiles aren’t the only way of being welcoming. In fact, many times they’re fake. A couple more visits and perhaps I won't feel so far out of my comfort zone.

After Titan we continued to trek down 31st with the intent to head up to Ditmars, passing by the Greek Music and Video Cyberstore and braving the intersection between Astoria Boulevard and Hoyt Ave. En route, we stopped at Agora plaza, towering over us like a renovated Acropolis (okay, I'm laying it on...), and housing a variety of shops and medical offices.

Here we discovered Artopolis bakery (looking lovely in that antiseptic sort of way, but we didn't stop in), yet another meat market advertising baby lamb and baby pig (something I have yet to stomach) and Meditteranean Foods II. Venturing in here, I sampled some cheese and took stuffed vine leaves for the road.

Yum!

Finally we approached 31st at Ditmars, where right under the subway trestle is Rosario’s Italian specialty shop and deli, which produces possibly the best fresh mozzarella that I have yet tasted. Of course, I  purchased some, along with a half pound of sundried tomatoes. I was nearly was ready to drop $30 on imported olive oil. Next time.

As the weather had tinges of spring on Saturday, we meandered a bit in the Ditmars area, peeking in bakery windows, making mental notes of restaurants to try. Taverna Kyclades was yet again packed at 1:30 in the afternoon (I have never seen this place without a line out the door). There is a great little soap shop right off of Ditmars at 36th (called, actually, The Little Soap Shop) which is a favorite of Colin’s. Here we bought some olive oil and rosemary soaps, and I got treated to a handmade bracelet.

Afterwards, we made the trek back to our neck of the woods to get the final ingredients, en route observing the brick houses of 36th street and cutting across to Steinway, where just above 23rd Ave we were met with the perfume of sweet tobacco from open-door hookah lounges. (I believe a Middle Eastern recipe walk is in order in the near future.)

Cutting onto to 28th Ave, then catching 36th street back up to 30th Ave, we went straight to Dave and Tony's for fresh, imported parmesan which they grated for me. Here, I stepped back into my comfort zone and grabbed a bag of tarralles (a staple of my childhood), proudly answering Colin when he asked me what seeds were in them. Fennel, of course!

Down the street is Astoria Bakers, whose perfect bread dough keeps preventing me from perfecting my own dough for pizzas, and then just two blocks down is Elliniki Agora Fruit and Vegetables for four bunches of fresh curly spinach, tomatoes, cucumbers and red onions.

Exhausted at this point, we finally made it back to our apartment, first grabbing some meat on a stick (it was pork, maybe? Charred and tasty!) from Jimmy, the souvlaki man at the corner of our street.

And there you have it. A day’s worth of searching out ingredients, and coming up, a night’s worth of preparation, enjoyment and insight...

Hang on, readers!

A recipe search through the heart of lovely Astoria is en route!

An organic market at Ditmars Blvd. 

Armchair treading

As many of us already know, there is a long tradition of writers who walk, or of walkers who write. (Which leads me to the question, which came first, the writer or the walk?) It’s been a favorite pastime of wordsmiths since, well, I don’t know exactly when, but we can easily trace treading as an art form to Wordsworth, Coleridge and the Romantic's penchant for opium induced strolls through the moors or, in the States, Emerson and Thoreau’s woodland wanderings. As we head into urban territory, there's Benjamin's and Baudelaire’s descriptions of the Parisian flaneur. There’s Virginia Woolf and Dickens in London; Whitman,  White and O’Hara in New York. I couldn’t attempt anything close to a comprehensive list, even for NYC alone, considering all of the lesser known walker/writer/poets/ bloggers that tread, or have treaded, or will tread these streets.    

Whitman, grandfather of NYC strolling and listing. 

For almost a year now, I have been dragging my feet (pardon the pun) on a half-started, slightly aimless “thesis”  that is based on NYC walking. I have the luxury of a professor who allows creative license for this project (an anomaly for a Literature MA at NYU) and am trying to develop my own narratives of the walking experience, presenting it interactively. (If you recall, I had posted a link to the start-up project or this, http://web.me.com/treadsoftlyny/ www.treadsoftlyny.com. ) Over the past few months I have been reading up on the subject, trying to get a sense of other writer’s walking experiences and their reactions and interpretations to city space, whether they have written on the art of walking itself, or have creatively processed their environments via walking. 

Since with this arctic influx many of you may be reluctant to take aimless treks about your respective neighborhoods, I thought I would start sharing some of this literature. You may therefore stay in the warmth of your home and still take a transformative arm-chair stroll through the city...and a bit beyond. While literature on walking may sound mind-numbingly boring, do not underestimate the capacity of the banal to shock and inspire! You may find yourself mesmerized by the odd feats of frantic, competitive walkers, trekking months at a time under the most bizarre of constraints. (You may also simutaneously find yourself feeling just a bit better about yourself and your own mental stability.) You may reassess the conceptual versus the physical through the toils of pilgrimage, or open the floodgates of memory as you traverse your childhood landscape. You may deeply appreciate your right to walk in public, a concept possibly taken for granted in this culture, or get caught in a noir-type plot, stalking mysterious subjects through the streets of Manhattan for reasons unbeknownst to you.  

Or, you may just be bored. 

The Lost Art of Walking , Geoff Nicholson  

After a martini or two I would walk the dark streets of Manhattan feeling a little "bagged," a bit "lit up," with a new strange sense of power and possibility, and as I found out later, risk of being run down. I wouldn't have cared. 

A recent release, this is my first time reading Nicholson (he’s written fiction as well as non-fiction), and since I enjoyed breezing through his blunt sarcasm, it won’t be my last. Full of quirky information about the history of walking, freakish walkers, musical walks, as well as following in the footsteps of Raymond Chandler, all subjects surround Nicholson's own relationship with trekking. A plus: his lack of, or at least minimal focus on, theoretical BS; simply put, he writes a book about walking, and he walks around a lot. While his writing is not specific to New York, he does dedicate a chapter to it, “A Man Walks Into a Bar: New York, the Shape of the City, Down Among the Psychogeographers and Mixologists." (Though, here, he somewhat points out the absurdity of psychogeography.) My purpose is not to review his book, so you can click here to see what the NY Times had to say. 

A Walker in the City , Alfred Kazin 

No other Brownsville street brings home to me so many of the external things I once lived with. Pitkin Avenue is what Brownsville is most proud of, for walking down it on a Saturday night, when all the lights are ablaze... 

This is a fairly short one that takes the reader on Kazin’s nostalgic walks through his childhood neighborhood of Brownsville, Brooklyn, where every block evokes a different character and memory. It also illustrates how walking was such a key part of Kazin’s growth, particularly as a thinker and writer. 

The Colossus of New York , Colson Whitehead 

You start building your own private New York the first time you lay eyes on it. 

Another short, poetic gem. Whitehead explores various settings and sentiments in the city—Central Park, Rain, Brooklyn Bridge, Rush Hour, to name a few—with a narrative for each section. 

Wanderlust , Rebecca Solnit 

We are eternally perplexed by how to move toward forgiveness or healing or truth, but we know how to walk from here to there, however arduous the journey. 

This is part journalism, part memoir, part cultural studies—a brilliant combo in my book. Again, though not specific to NYC as Solnit resides in San Francisco, she does include a section on "The Solitary Stroller in the City," which any city walker can relate to, and has some great introductory chapters about how our identity is literally linked bipedalism, stretching way back to the footprints at Laetoli . Her chapters on pilgrimage and labyrinths are also personal and insightful. A much more intellectual and serious tone than Nicholson (who does not seem to be a Solnit fan), so if you are not into somewhat heavy, in depth analysis (ie, "Aerobic Sisyphus and the Suburbanized Psyche"), this is possibly not for you...at least not in its entirety. 

The New York Trilogy , Paul Auster 

New York was an inexhaustible space, a labyrinth of endless steps, and no matter how far he came to know his neighborhoods and streets, it always left him with the feeling of being lost. 

Three noir-type detective stories which involve a private investigator stalking his subjects through the streets of NYC. Auster is ridiculously absurd and refreshingly inventive, often playing around with identity. Concepts are just as much "stalked" in these stories as the characters.  

Photo of Walt Whitman was taken from: http://www.obitmag.com/media/image/Walt_Whitman_edit_2.jpg.

Pizza walkin'

Pizza and walking. The two non-human loves of my life. As for walking, I'm assuming you’ve gotten the hint by now. In the case of the former, there is nothing so gratifying than the first hot bite fresh out of the oven, the crust lightly cracking between your teeth. Over the past year, I have commenced a quest to perfect, or at least make somewhat more delectable, my own homemade pies, finding the sweetest tomatoes, attempting my own dough, concocting new topping combos. Luckily, I live in Astoria where mom and pops still exist in peace, so there is no shortage of premium ingredients (fresh makes the taste, in my book).

But before I diverge into the importance of imported parmesan and San Marzano tomatoes, or sentimental stories of Grandma sipping red wine as she joyfully slaved over the oven, let me get to the point. How thrilled I was this past June when Dana (pictured below), for my birthday, surprised me with  Scott’s Pizza Tours, a guided walking tour spanning Soho and the Village, covering all things pizza.

(Not only was I unaware of this city’s pizza tours, but after some Internet stalking, I’ve also discovered a whole community of NYC pizzaphiles.) Best of all, you get to sample a few slices along the way.

We finally got around to taking the tour this past Wednesday, huddling in the brisk morning outside of Gatsby’s at 53 Spring. Despite its present facade as trendy whiskey house/ dimly lit lounge, the building was originally a grocery store owned by Gennaro Lombardi, opened in 1897. Lombardi began selling small tomato pies wrapped in paper to workers around 1905, making this the first licensed pizzeria in the United States. According to their Website, Lombardi's continued selling pizza, finally closing its doors in 1984. Ten years later, a childhood friend of Gennaro’s grandson, Jerry, reopened Lombardi's down the street at 32 Spring—this was, not coincidentally, the first site of our pizza sampling.

After sitting down and receiving a tour “survival kit” (micro pizza notebook and pen, lemon candies to clear the palate, chocolate mints, and an emergency “gummi” pizza”), our guide, Scott Wiener, dispersed his second nature knowledge of this Neopolitan delight and divulged the secrets behind renowned old-world style pies —the process of aging mozzarella, storing dough at the right temps, the history behind the coal oven, you name it), all while margherita pies were served.

Our fearless pizza leader dispels the myth behind the 40-something "original" Ray pizzas throughout the city.

I admittedly came into this tour with a chip on my Italian American shoulder, wondering what some guy with a non-vowel ending surname carrying a pizza-slice pen could really know about pizza. Well a ridiculous amount, actually, stretching far beyond the boundaries of the 5 boroughs. And this delightfully neurotic passion mixed with some spur of the moment sarcasm and metaphors ("This is not just about pizza, this is learning about yourself") will keep you chuckling and, most importantly, interested throughout the tour.

While enjoying my slice at Lombardi’s, taking in the smells and old photographs, I reveled—silently—in my future Tuscan villa. As Dana graced our table with descriptions of the picaresque Amalfi coast, we were summoned to the hectic kitchen to take a peek at the coal burning oven and its agile operators. The oven goes up to a temp of about 850 degrees, which means the men working it must be quick to constantly move and spin the pies to prevent burning and ensure even cooking, while simutaneoulsy dodging other workers running back and forth to grab and box pies.

A glimpse of Lombardi's coal burning oven. Above the oven is the “1905 Lombadi” tiled plaque that stood in the original pizzeria down the street.

Lombardi’s was, in my humble opinion, by far the best slice had on this tour, and mostly for the ingredients. The fresh mozzarella was bought only few doors down. The crust was light and crispy and the sauce was simple and sweet. The meatball pie at the table behind us looked ridiculous, meaning, I will be back for a second sample.

Heaven is a pizza place on Spring. 

After Lombardi’s we huddled on the sidewalk, learning a bit about ovens and equipment—essentially what it takes to make a pizzeria—and were then lead up Elizabeth towards Bowery to Bari Restaurant and Pizzeria Equipment. Dana encouraged me to buy a pizza slicer, but I refused in an effort to maintain my odd family tradition of cutting pizza with scissors.

Dana took this shot inside Bari's. Our guide teaches a young pizzaphile how to use the wooden pizza spatula. 

A "secret" workshop next to Bari's where the pizza ovens are made. 

Following Bari’s, we trekked north and then west onto Bleecker in the afternoon sun. After acknowledging some musical and architectural points of interest—the former CBGBs, Bitter End, Bayard-Condict Building —we landed at Joe’s Pizza at Carmine for a sampling of the "street" slice. I believe this is a good choice for the purpose and location, but quite honestly, I’ve never been sold on Joe’s, even if just for some street eats—I might skip over to Bleecker Street Pizza for a Grandma slice instead. But that did not prevent me from downing it in under two minutes.

These aren't San Marzano tomatoes!

From Joe’s, we eventually made our way around the corner to thin-crust heaven, John's Pizzeria, where at close to 2PM, a line was already out the door. Three more plain pies were served to us, straight out of the coal-fired oven. They were of course, tasty as usual, but I was admittedly disappointed when the cellar doors were pulled open for a new shipment of Polly-O. A few years ago I could have cared less about aged vs fresh mozzarella, but yesterday I found it to be a mild tragedy, despite considerations of cost-effectiveness and despite the fact that I have eaten John's numerous times before and raved about it. Perhaps Lombardi's should have been the last stop on the tour, to prevent any future tasting disappointments.

A mere post cannot really do this tour thorough justice or touch upon everything covered. In that case, I would highly recommend taking it. If you're a "New Yorker" I wouldn't worry too much about feeling touristy, there was a mix of both natives and out-of-towners in the group. And if you're not into the winter walking thing (gasp!), Scott's tours also has a constantly changing bus loop, which I am planning to check out. Ahhh, this could be the start of something beautiful.

For info on tour times, pricing, pizza news, and much more, visit http://www.scottspizzatours.com/. 

Our pizza walking map, with marked points of interest. See how a full circle of the tour would give way to a pizza slice. With dripping cheese. (Just a little psychogeography for you...)


View Pizza Tour Route in a larger map

Photo credits: The photos of Scott Wiener holding menus and eating a slice of pizza, as well as the photo of me inspecting my slice, were also taken by Dana Lang.