As we all live our lives, moments come and go.  Some of those moments, the important ones, become memories.  A lot of these memories have some sort of particular sensoral attachment to them.  Grandma’s mothballs or Grandfathers scotch.  The perfume of the woman who you first kissed.

For me a big part of New York has always been it’s food.  From the astonishing excess that is Manhattans finest restaurants to the bacon wrapped hot dogs at crif dogs and the chocolates at Teuscher.    All of these places have helped emblazon particular moments into my mind.

Obviously, when one thinks New York street food, the first thing that comes to mind is pizza.  There are MANY fantastic pizza joints in the big apple, but for me, the one that holds the most memories is Sal and Carmines.

I first moved to Manhattan in 2002 and at that time, had no one I knew living here.  After a few months I reconnected with a good friend of mine from NCSA and we spent a lot of time together jaunting around the Upper West Side.  He grew up on 96th and riverside.  One evening we decided to grab a slice and he asked if I wanted some “Sal’s”.  I had no clue what he meant… to his disgust.  ”You don’t know sal and CARMINES man,” he yelled at me?!  ”You’re not a New Yorker unless you know what Sal’s is!”  I never had to ask what “Sal’s” was again.

The thing is about Sal and Carmines pizza… is that it’s simply that. Pizza.  You really can’t attach the 3 tiered (food/decor/service) to the place at all.  There is NO bathroom… there is old and misplaced art on the walls and Sal and Carmine themselves really aren’t terribly friendly.  What is warm, and inviting, is the old oven which churns out deliciously perfect pizza.  The perfect combination of chewy and crispy with an alarmingly potent sauce.  Topped by the freshest of whole milk mozarella… it simply is a perfect slice.  New York embodied in every bite.

Sal died recently.  With his death, I think back on all the moments that this simple food brought my friends and I together.  People from Long island coming to visit me would get dragged there kicking and screaming, only to pat me on the back the second they finished their first bite.  I shared a pie as I was moving out of an apartment, the last time that i’d really spend a moment sitting down with two friends whom I no longer speak to.

So Sal, heres to you… here’s to the dying art of the perfect pie… and after all, here’s to the ever changing landscape of the city that I love.