'chokes, spokes, and keystrokes

Oh man, WHAT a night.

Danny got us tickets to see one of our favorite bands, Ratatat, play in Williamsburg yesterday and as we both don't get off work until around 6:30 and the show technically started at 8, we were just planning on grabbing a quick, L-train-adjacent bite (maybe a little Whole Foods, maybe a little falafel at Maoz...), but as we were walking eastward on 14th St. we came across Artichoke Pizza, a place we had been seeing all summer on our frequent visits to Beauty Bar, but it's always had a line out the door, forcing us to settle on a subpar (but FREE) pie at the Crocodile Lounge across the street.

This time, however, the line was more manageable (less drunk people, presumably) and we were less impatient (due to our sobriety, presumably), so we decided to take the plunge.

Honestly, the trademark artichoke slice was a little too intense for my taste (essentially a thick layer of creamy spinach-artichoke dip slathered over resultingly floppy pizza crust, dotted with a few chunks of artichoke hearts for good measure; it REALLY needed some acidity to cut the richness, and in all honesty, it was so soggy I would have rather just had some plain ol' crispy pizza dough to dip into a bowl of the topping; the parts were really worth more than the whole, in my opinion).

The plain slice, however (though I will choose to call it the Margherita slice, as it is so much more than "plain" would suggest), was really phenomenal. The crust, unhindered by a enormous load of sloppy goo, is hard to describe - almost as if you crossed your average chewy-yet-crispy New York-style thin crust with a slice of thick, spongy focaccia - very tasty. That, plus good, tangy tomatoes, good-quality mozzarella (and not an obscene amount, either), several fragrant basil slices artfully strewn, and a generous sprinkling of parmesan before braving the bajillion-degree oven where all parts merged beautifully into one crispy, salty, tangy, gooey whole.

Perhaps the whole experience was made more memorable by the quintessentially New York manner in which those slices were eaten - folded in half, stealing bites while barreling down subway stairs, vying for hand space on an overstuffed L train, and finally, traipsing down Bedford Av in an effort to make the pre-show happy hour at the Music Hall of Williamsburg's downstairs bar.



Full of anticipation (and cheese...), we made in time for a few $3 Blue Points, vodka-grapefruits, and a truly FANTASTIC show. I ♥ NY.