Finding truly miserable pizza in New York is like finding truly miserable bar-b-cue in Texas: improbable. As one of the original importers of the Italian staple from Naples, New York thoroughly fills the pizza niche (with dough and pepperoni and all that good stuff). From the compulsory neighborhood joint to the omnipresent Ray's, and of course the gourmet pizza restaurants, which endlessly endeavor to exalt the simple dish, pizza is perhaps the most versatile American import.

Keeping this in mind, I have decided not to grade any of these pizzas. They all deserve your hard-earned money and digestive tract. Simply take in the comments and decide for your own. Then forsake that pesky lactose intolerance and eat, dammit! 

Spinach and Artichoke Pizza - Artichoke Basilles’ signature slice, this pizza is a massive yet delicate triangle of what-texture-tells-me-to-be-cream and good stuff—to think that spinach and artichoke hearts can produce such a spotless and smooth amalgam is beyond this reviewer. The process must be something like when an alchemist turns silverware into gold. But realer. It is, without exaggeration, a half-inch of sauce the consistency of a thick chip dip, on top of a blackened crust. This can give the two-fold quality of heartiness and cloyingness, but that is to the individual palette (it was cloying for me).

The kicker, however, is that this isn’t even their best slice. For four happily proffered dollars, one can get Artichoke’s Margherita slice. I had this same slice at both of Artichoke’s locations on two separate occasions (the East 14^th St. and 10^th Ave. locations), with a margherita slice from Caesar’s Palace Pizza on the Upper West Side in between—by comparison, Caesar’s margherita was a dry and flavorless open-toed sandal in my mouth. The Artichoke slice was a welcome respite from the margherita mediocrity lingering in my memory. A truly fantastic slice. Also, it’s huge. When faced with four $1 slices from 2 Bros. Pizza (only a few blocks away in St. Marks) or this single Margherita from Artichoke, I would choose Artichoke each and every time. Quality over quantity every time.

Interesting note: Your slice of Artichoke pizza is your admission ticket to the adjacent Artichoke Bar and Brewery. I found this out after eating my admission ticket and immediately needing to use the restroom.

Max Brenner’s Chocolate Pizza – While not strictly a pizza—it has no tomato sauce (thank god)—it is still prepared in an oven. And dough is a very important component. But the similarities end about there, when the chef sauces the dough with milk chocolate, adds a layer of thinly-cut bananas and tops the whole thing with a stiff white layer of baby marshmallows and a peanut butter drizzle. It’s like eating the most delicious Nutella and banana sandwich ever, being selfishly dissatisfied by the lack of indulgence and resolving to add marshmallow fluff.

If you haven’t deduced already, this is a dessert dish and should be shared, as there is no way a single human being that can eat the whole thing without feeling awful about himself afterward and being overcome with the desire to purchase a larger pair of pants. Also, it’s a four-piece, $16 pie, so sharing is imperative. Caring, less so. We are, after all, indulging here.

Note: Do not take this puppy home as leftovers and microwave it. For some reason, the combination of microwaved bananas and marshmallows ends up tasting like beer—nasty, hot-to-the-touch beer, on top of a dry and chewy bread.

Lombardi’s Pizza – The Lombardi slice is, as the progenitor of the New York slice, excellent. The original slice is actually a margherita, and while I favor the Artichoke margherita slice for its slightly better, more bittersweet sauce (and liberal sprinkling of pungent parmesan cheese along the inner rim of the crust), you can actually taste the basil leaf of the Lombardi slice. The Lombardi slice is also the cheapest, but only by a slim margin that can further narrow and disappear once the expensive but various toppings pile up.

With all this in mind, I hope you will not discriminate against any of these delicious Italian mainstays in lieu of finer dining establishments. They may be just pizzas—which are, to a degree, overlarge open-faced sandwiches—but these particular slices do for pizzadom what Jesus did for Nazareth. They are, in a word, divine.

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