Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana

Like many a pizza-obsessed New Yorker, my ears would perk up when I’d hear about “New Haven” style pizza. Distinguished by a thin, coal oven-charred crust, “apizza” put New Haven on the culinary map, so that it even rivals New York for pizza supremacy, by some accounts. This year for my birthday, my snack associate and I made a pilgrimage to Frank Pepe, the oldest and most famous of New Haven’s pizzerias.

We arrived at around 1pm to find a line waiting inside the restaurant and spilling outside, down the block. Granted this was New Year’s Day and Frank Pepe looked to be pretty much the only thing open on Wooster Street (New Haven’s diminutive Little Italy), but it seems that a line is par for the course on any day. As we confronted the queue we spotted a sign announcing that there were no clam pies available. The twin pouting clams on the sign pretty much summed up our faces as this news sunk in; clam pizza is Frank Pepe’s signature pie, and apparently they won’t serve it without fresh clams. Next time we know to call ahead to inquire about a clam shortage.

Fortunately Frank Pepe redeemed itself. After about twenty minutes we were seated in a charmingly old-school booth under a black and white photo of Frank Pepe himself. Phones put away, sipping Foxon Park birch beers, we could’ve landed in any time between 1925 and 2013. An impressive coal oven dominated the back of the room, tended by pizziaolos wielding 14-foot-long peels designed to reach all the way inside, where 10-12 pizzas bake at a time.

Note the enormous pizza peel in the foreground.

I ordered a small pie, half original, and half with mozzarella. At Frank Pepe, an “original” means topped with tomato sauce and a bit of grated parmesean, so you need to order it “with mozzarella” if you’re craving a classically cheesy slice. When it arrived on grease-spotted white paper, I realized I was about to eat one of the best pizzas I’ve had in a long time.

The crust, was indeed distinctive—salty and yeasty, doughy but crisp, with a perfect amount of smoky char. It’s a crust that will hold up instead of dampening into a soggy disaster, but it’s savory enough that you won’t leave any cardboard scraps behind. The tomato sauce was chunky, zingy, and generously applied. I actually preferred the “original” pie, which better showcased the sauce, but the mozzarella slices were also great.  The cheese is similar to what you’d find on a NYC street slice, coating the entire slice with golden-brown bubbles. As you can see things definitely got a little greasy, but in a delicious way.

As for the prices—a small tomato pie is $6.75 (just a little more than a single slice at DiFara), and by “small” I mean it’s at least 12 inches in diameter and filling enough for a lumberjack. My intrepid associate ordered a medium pie, which could’ve easily fed three people. Toppings cost extra and range from bacon ($1.50 on a small) to roasted peppers ($2.30) to clams ($6.00 when available). I fear my eyes will grow misty if I dwell on this pie much longer; suffice it to say this was a worthwhile pizza pilgrimage and a pretty damn good way to kick off 2013.

Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana
157 Wooster Street, New Haven, CT
New Haven is 1.5 hours from Brooklyn by car, or just under 2 hours via Metro North from Grand Central. Wooster Street, where the pizza places are located, is about a 10 minute walk from Union Station. Personally, I’d cab it to and from the station after dark, but it seemed safe enough during the day. Frank Pepe also has a location in Yonkers, but I can’t vouch for it. Slice has a pretty thorough comparison, though.