Start with John’s of Bleecker Street, at 278 Bleecker, because it’s the one people literally walk past.
What I wrote thereFold it away
Now the sit-down pies. Start with John’s of Bleecker Street, at 278 Bleecker, because it’s the one people literally walk past. They see the line at the pizza counters up the block and never notice that this coal-fired institution has been turning out whole pies at the same address since 1934.
Here’s the rule that trips everyone up. John’s does not sell slices. It never has. You commit to a whole pie or you don’t come in, which is exactly why the impatient slice crowd keeps moving. Their loss. The crust comes out of an 850-degree coal oven with a char you cannot fake in a gas deck, a little smoke, a little blister, thin and crackling at the edge.
I have shared many a pie in one of those creaky wooden booths, the ones carved up with decades of initials, and I will tell you it is one of the most quietly romantic pizza rooms in the city. Get the plain or the sausage, split a bottle of something red, and take your time. This is not a fold-and-run slice. This is dinner.
The honest downside. It can get loud and touristy at peak dinner hours, and the wait for a booth on a Friday night is not short. Go a little early, or go on a weeknight, and it transforms into the neighborhood spot it actually is.
