Circuit Court New York
Pizzeria
Uno
55 3rd Avenue (at E. 10th St.)
212.995.9668
Map
This Restaurant
 On
a particularly frosty January evening here in the Big Frozen Apple,
my dinner buddy Audrey and I found ourselves traipsing up and down
lower 3rd Avenue scavenging for füd. Anyone who knows New York
even slightly knows the East Village is filled with more tasty cheap
eats than you can shake a gavel at: great ethnic (Veselka, the restaurants
of Indian Row), Italian (Frank), sushi (Hasaki), burgers (Paul’s
Place and Cozy Burger), desserts (Veniero’s and Chikalicious),
and vegetarian (er, um...).
Audrey
and I stood there in the brisk winter breeze and weighed our options.
Then it hit us: the heartwarming smell
of baking cheese, bread, and plum
tomato wafting our way. Lo and behold, across the street from us was
that familiar green and gold Pizzeria Uno sign. We made sure none of
our friends were around and dashed in.
Now,
the last time I had the Uno, I was merely an up-and-coming magistrate
in the Michigan circuit
court system. Though I had yet to grow into
my robes, I'd done enough research to know that Uno originated the
Chicago “Deep
Dish” style of pizza in 1943, which is essentially a pizza
quiche or casserole if you want to be technical about it. I remember
how the
walls were lined with various “Chicagoan” artifacts,
and that the pizza, while delicious, left this ignorantly-developing
lactose-intolerant
with many a case of what can only be described as “No. 3.”
So
what struck me upon stepping inside was that literally nothing
had changed in the more than 12 years since I last experienced mild
cheese
overdose. The artifacts were the same, save for a few new layers
of grease and smoke, and even the crowd looked like they had stepped
out
of the
Mall of America circa 1994.
True
to form, I ordered the classic Numero Uno, a brick of sausage, pepperoni,
peppers, onions, mushrooms,
tomatoes, mozzarella, and
romano. Audrey
ordered the Shroom: a concoction of mushrooms, spinach, garlic,
and cheese. The waitress was pleasant enough, offering that sort
of well-trained
chain restaurant service that’s overly nice while being
entirely unmemorable, and who is legally obligated to ask you
if Pepsi is
okay instead of Coke (it’s not).
Before
long, our pies arrived. I never really understood the phrase “pizza
pie” until I first started eating these, and can’t
really apply it to regular pizza now. About two inches high
(a layer of baked
crust, then various fillings, then cheese, then a final layer
of tomato sauce) and 6 inches wide, they were steaming hot
coronaries-in-the-making. There was an initial scare as I inspected
a questionable blackened
ingredient
for a minute or two (documented for your review), but I was
able to keep my wits about me and continue.
I popped
a Lactaid pill (don’t leave home without them), and we
began eating. Damn, these things are good! The crust is probably
made with a stick of butter alone, and its slightly sweet taste complements
the spiciness of the sausage and pepperoni perfectly. The
tomatoes were
fresh, the cheese was, well, cheesy, but the onions and peppers
seemed to get lost among the sea of flavors. Audrey definitely took
a shine
to her Shroom pizza as well, and for a good fifteen minutes
we lost ourselves in a fat-saturated daydream, forgetting that, were
any of our friends
to peer through the window and see us, we would have to commit
hari-kari (after fully digesting of course)
 At
$7.79 for an individual size, this is a really good deal. I finished
five of its six pieces and saved the last for
a late-night snack.
Even though I could have easily finished the entire thing,
I’d recommend
exercising a bit of moderation. Somehow I suspect the proliferation of
Uno’s around the country is directly linked to the growth in the
average American waistline. Anyway, yeah, it’s not
cool or fun or ironic, but Uno is pretty damn tasty. Get
over there and take a little
stroll down Memory Lane. And remember to bring your loose
pants.
Postscript:
Okay, so I made up the part about the smell
of bread and cheese wafting about 3rd Avenue – anyone who knows New York also
knows you can barely smell anything on the streets in January save for
wet concrete, street salt, and dog poo. Despite the salted dog poo though,
there’s something totally appetizing about a place that couldn’t
be any more out of place in the East Village. While I usually don’t
rule in favor of chain restaurants, I can’t help but rule for good
eats, and that’s what I had.
Contact
Magistrate Tavee at plangent1002@hotmail.com
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