Walk into any pizza parlor in New York City, with a few known exceptions, and you can order with your eyes closed: a slice of thin-crust cheese is inevitable, a slice of Sicilian or Granny is likely, a white pie with only cheese is likely. . There will definitely be pepperoni, and because many owners buy from the same suppliers, the pepperoni you get in the Bronx this week won’t be noticeably different from the pepperoni you had in Queens last week.
Most pizzerias are like cover bands. Some rock harder than others, but they play the same standards. But every now and then one of those bands starts writing their own songs.
That was the story of Di Fara Pizza in Midwood, which appeared to be a slice-joint on the corner but was so meticulous about ingredients and proportions that it kick-started a slice-joint renaissance in New York City. Now it seems to be the story of Lucia Pizza of Avenue X, a four-month-old store in Sheepshead Bay.
You could easily mistake Lucia for a run-of-the-mill Brooklyn slice joint that’s been around all along, if not for the fresh paint on the two plates above the door – one shows the crossed flags of Italy and the United States; the other invites customers to “Come by and pick up your cake!”
About 20 seats are spread over a simple dining room. Opposite the door is the kitchen, with classic Bakers Pride stainless steel gas ovens and cardboard pizza boxes stacked to the ceiling. Built into the counter at knee height is a self-serve drinks fridge whose inventory suggests that someone at Lucia loves cherry soda.
But you know Lucia has strayed from the slice-shop template when you step up to the counter and are handed the “spring menu.” It’s about twice as long as the skeletal “winter welcome menu” that was in effect when the place first opened. In reality, the longer list is still somewhat ambitious. When I tried to order the cudduruni, a Sicilian flatbread, I was told, “We’re not ready to serve that yet.”
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Other than this piece of vaporware, the delights of the menu are real. A white pie, the salsiccia, is dotted with smooth white islands of whipped ricotta surrounded by pork sausage that has been roasted to crispy brown pebbles — not the usual gray marbles that roll off the crust when you pick it up. Scattered over this are fresh parsley and sweet red onions, sliced thin enough to wilt in the oven. Bits of oil-cured Calabrian chiles are also ladled over the surface, although you may not notice them until the heat makes your eyes wide.
A variation on the pork and pepper theme appears in the caramelle piccanti pie. This one is built on the standard bed of tomato sauce and shredded mozzarella. Their temperature is raised by pickled cherry peppers and a few squeezes of Mike’s Hot Honey, a bottle of which is kept on the counter for customers to use as they see fit. The pork is shaped like small slices of pepperoni that have become hollow during cooking, like contact lenses.
Pizza cognoscenti will recognize these as “roni cups,” a hallmark of neoclassical slice shops such as Paulie Gee’s, Mama’s Too, and other pizzerias in western Brooklyn and Manhattan. Although the reputation of the cups is spreading, it’s still a little surprise to find them a few blocks off the Belt Parkway with tangy orange oil.
Sheepshead Bay isn’t exactly a stronghold of clam pizza either, but Lucia could make one. On Friday, Lucia bakes a clam pie that is different from the New Haven version. In Connecticut, the clams are placed directly on top of the dough, but Lucia puts them on a bed of melted mozzarella. The New Haven custom also calls for raw garlic; in Sheepshead Bay, the garlic is poached in olive oil until golden brown, then quickly simmered with chopped fresh cherry pits, white wine and butter. This sauce is essentially what’s tossed with linguine at a hundred Italian restaurants in the city. It makes a mildly comforting pizza, even if it’s no match for the sheer strength of the pies at Zuppardi’s Apizza.
Lucia is a new pizzeria, still finding its way. I hope something can be done about the crust eventually. It is designed for crunchiness and it is satisfying to bite. It is less satisfying to chew; the taste is flat and bland, without the depth that the best pizzerias put in their dough.
I imagine the dough is being tinkered with, given all the other signs that Lucia isn’t happy stocking the kitchen with produce bought on sale at Acme Pizza Supply. The tomato sauce tastes fresh and clear, not bitter or sugary. Fresh white mushrooms are boiled and cooked until they taste dark and fleshy. That whipped ricotta is really tasty. Then there’s the torn basil leaves that are tossed on the pies as they leave the oven, along with fine strands of grated pecorino. These are the accents that lift even the simplest items at Lucia, like the classic New York slice and the margherita, with its fresh mozzarella arranged in concentric rings over the sauce.
The author of all these cakes is Salvatore Carlino, the owner of Lucia. He grew up in this neighborhood of squat brick row houses and wide alleys. For more than 40 years, his parents ran Papa Leone, an Italian restaurant attached to a main drag pizzeria in nearby Manhattan Beach, where he used to help. Lucia’s Papa Leone is a cake with vodka sauce, made according to his father’s recipe.
Under the name P.leone, Mr. Carlino further pursued a career as a musician, producer and DJ (he has said his music sounds “like a Brooklyn-bound Q train, packed and with lots of delays. A little clunky but fun.”) He worked in Berlin until the pandemic hit him. forced to move back home to Brooklyn.
With no clubs to play, he filled his hours baking pizza in an outdoor oven. The caramelle piccanti was born in his backyard. One day, an empty restaurant space appeared on Avenue X. He rented it, named it after his mother, and started a new project: the old family song, remixed.
What the stars mean Due to the pandemic, restaurants are not getting star ratings.