"There's an Italian soccer match playing silently on the TV. The brick walls are cluttered with old Zagat reviews, Neapolitan tchotchkes, faded banners, and old maps. The staff are either squeezing through the narrow room, making jokes to each other, or drinking espresso with regulars at one of the sidewalk tables. One side of the brick oven pokes out slightly into the hallway that leads to the bathroom. It's a little piece of Southern Italy on the Upper East Side, and it's perfect. The pizza menu is divided into red and white pies, and the move is to order at least one of each (they're small enough for one hungry person to finish alone, but easily shareable if you want to get a few for the table)." - Andrea Whittle, Jessica Kelly
