This week, my lady-friends over at Desperately Seeking the `80s spent half of their weekly podcast recounting the litigious shenanigans of a quarelsome network of duplicitously opportunistic pizzeria owners, back in the `80s, who’d unwittingly birthed a city-wide ruse by basically all naming their respective establishments “Ray’s,” despite the fact that precious few – if any – of them were actually named that. Laugh it up, but if you’ve ever consumed pizza in New York City, you’ve probably eaten in one of them.
For decades, Manhattanites have feverishly debated which particular pizzeria is actually entitled to make the credible claim of being the first iteration. I’d always assumed it was the Ray’s that stood on the corner of West 11th Street and Sixth Avenue, but it turns out, that was not the case. Incidentally, that iteration of Ray’s is long gone. When it first closed, it became a pizzeria called, confusingly, Rao’s, but I’ve no clue if there was any connection to the renowned and exclusive Italian restaurant in Harlem of the same name. Regardless, it failed, and the space morphed into a Chinese retaurant called Shu Han Ju. I don’t remember thinking Shu Han Ju was anything to write home about, but I recall being struck that they served frog on their menu, at one point. If that whets your appetite, I’m sorry to disappoint you – Shu Han Ju just closed for good, and the space is now slated to be a – WAIT FOR IT – pizzeria.
In any case, do go check out Jessica Dorfman Jones’ scrupulous retelling of the saga of the many ructious Rays and their bellicose bellyaching.
I had a few takeaways from this episode, however, that I feel – as a native New Yorker – fully obligated to address here. You’ve doubtlessly heard me bitch and moan about a few these before, but these points bear repeating, as far as I’m concerned.
No. 1: As addressed here, under absolutely no circumstances should you ever qualify your choice of slice or pie as “cheese pizza.” Without cheese, the dish in question ceases to be pizza. It’s just a regular slice or a regular pie. It begins and ends there.
No. 2: As addressed here, you need to shun the onslaught of “$1 dollar pizza” joints. I fully realize that folks need to be able to eat on the cheap, but “$1 dollar pizza” is a strenuous affront to the rich, culinary history of New York City.
No. 3: Should you give your patronage to a Domino’s Pizza while within the confines of New York City, you should be run out of town on a rail and banned for life.
Those are my main pizza pet peeves. I know a lot of people get bent out of shape about the “correct” way to hold and consume their pizza, many asserting that the only way to properly do it is by folding the slice. In my opinion, that’s just a personal preference. You’ll doubtlessly recall the outrage many felt, back in the comparatively carefree days of 2011, when Donald Trump and Sarah Palin were taken to task for a pathetic photo op in which they popped into a pizzeria in Times Square and ate their slices with forks and knives. I mean, I think I was more riled by the fact that they went to a Famiglia, which I barely consider pizza. Whatever.
There are also strong opinions about where the best pizza can genuinely be found. I’m, of course, biased towards Manhattan, but I’ll be the first to suggest that New York City pizza ain’t what it used to be. Some will point to key spots in Brooklyn and Staten Island. Others get all red in the face about New Haven pizza. I can’t imagine anything noteworthy coming out of Connecticut, but I don’t claim to know anything about that, having never tried it. Maybe it’s amazing.
In terms of Chicago “deep-dish” style pizza (which Jessica also addresses in the podcast), I think this classic clip from Jon Stewart speaks for all people in the know on this issue….
Lastly, whenever I hear an invocation of Original Ray’s pizza, and the tangled rush to establish ownership of that moniker’s true provenance (sort of like the final scene of Stanley Kubrick’s “Spartacus,” only not quite as altruistic), I am reminded of my days as a nascent, ersatz music journalist at the dawn of the `90s. I was toiling thanklessly for a few independent music `zines, and found myself being privy to a wide swathe of local new music. Some of those bands became favorites of mine, while others … well, not so much. One from the latter aggregation of bands was a garage-y power-pop combo of no great musical renown, but, to my mind, one that had picked the absolute perfect name for a New York City band. To distinguish themselves from the hordes of competing bands and to possibly court notoriety and free publicity by way of a lawsuit, they called themselves …. WAIT FOR IT …. The Original Rays.
Here they were…. and they’re actually better than I remember them being.
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