Unearth The Voyage
You can spot the heat before you feel it at 105 E 9th St, where the window fogs slightly and a stack of Sicilian pans cools like trophies. Locals slide in, point at pesto swirled over pepperoni, and nod as if sharing a password.
With a 4.9 star rating across more than 1,500 reviews, this East Village pizzeria has the receipts to match the aroma. Stay a minute, because the crust tells a story that gets louder with every bite.
The First Bite Test: Heat, Flex, Snap
The slice lands on wax paper with a crisp whisper, and the tip holds steady when lifted. Two fingers pinch the fold, and there is that crucial resistance before the crust gives with a gentle snap.
You hear tinny oven doors clatter behind the counter, and smell a blend of toasted flour, sweet tomato, and that faint pepperoni sizzle.
Heat is balanced so you can bite immediately without losing the roof of your mouth. The underside shows leopard spots, not soot, telling you someone minded the deck temperature.
A dusting of extra parm from the shaker snowfalls across the cheese, melting into tiny salty blisters.
Locals call this the no flop zone, and the board agrees. Even the oil sheen behaves, pooling lightly at the fold line but never soaking the paper.
It is simple, specific, and New York to the core, calibrated for the walk down 3rd Ave.
Pesto Pepperoni: The Crowd’s Tell
You hear it ordered in quick bursts: pesto pep, please. The slice arrives with emerald curls threaded through red cups of pepperoni, edges ruffled and crisp.
Bite in and the basil hits first, then garlic, then the smoky fat of those cupped coins, each holding a glimmer of orange oil like tiny saucepans.
Texture stacks cleanly: brittle rim, elastic center, tender melt. Reviews repeat the same refrain, and you can taste why.
The pesto is not a smear but a ribbon, so each bite swings between herb-bright and cured-meat deep.
At the counter, someone nods toward the oven and says this is the one that converted them. You finish the slice faster than planned and immediately consider a second.
Pricey as a whole pie, sure, but by the slice it feels like a small splurge that pays off in flavor per square inch.
Sicilian Squares: Corner Crunch, Soft Middle
Two on the end, someone jokes, because corners have that caramel edge. The Sicilian here runs tall and airy, with a crumb like honeycomb under a lacquer of sweet tomato.
Cheese is balanced, not blanketing, so sauce does the talking.
The tray arrives hot, and steam lifts at the seams when a square is cut free. Bite the edge for the shatter, then move inward for soft, buttery dough.
The contrast is the point: crisp bark outside, tender middle that springs back.
If you like the sauce a touch sweet, this hits the memory lane button without going dessert. The corner piece feels engineered for dipping in a side of vodka or pesto, just enough cling to hold.
It is the kind of square that makes you glance at the oven clock and time your next corner pull.
Creamy Mushroom: Light, Savory, Gone Too Fast
This slice reads rich but eats light. Mushrooms are sliced thin and sauteed until edges brown and centers stay tender, then nested over a whisper of cream.
The first bite tastes like toasted dough brushing against porcini perfume, not soup on bread.
Because the sauce layer is delicate, the crust keeps its structure. Each chew releases more of that earthy note, rounded by salt and a flicker of black pepper.
It is a mushroom-forward slice that never turns heavy.
Halfway through, you notice a clean finish instead of dairy hangover. That means a second slice feels reasonable, even after a garlic knot.
A regular at the window calls it their matinee slice: elegant, quick, and perfect before a late show at Webster Hall.
Burrata and Arugula Finish: Cold Over Hot
The counter move is simple: bake the base, finish with cold. Burrata lands in soft clouds, arugula follows with peppery snap, and a thread of olive oil brightens the whole slice.
The heat below coaxes the burrata to loosen without collapsing into a puddle.
Every bite toggles temperatures. Warm crust crackles, cool greens crunch, and the cheese spreads like silk.
A sprinkle of flaky salt amps the dairys sweetness while lemon zest, if they add it, flickers through the bite.
It is a surprisingly clean slice, the kind that makes you walk slower up 2nd Ave. You taste restraint and intention, not a gimmick. Locals swear it travels better than it should, especially if you ask for the greens on the side and crown the slice at home.
Vodka and The Red: Two Sauces, Two Moods
On one side, vodka sauce glows coral and smooth, tasting of slow-cooked tomato, cream, and heat tamed by a splash of spirits. On the other, classic red beams bright and clean, a peppery heartbeat under molten mozz.
Switch between them and you feel the room change temperature.
Vodka is for lingering. The red begs for fast bites and a sidewalk stride.
The dough translates both, staying crisp enough to keep sauce where it belongs.
Ask for extra grated parm and watch it snow into the vodka swirl. For the red, a dusting of oregano from the shaker snaps everything into focus.
Together, they explain the shop’s split personality: comfort and pace, both anchored by a crust that refuses to wilt.
Garlic Knots and Parmesan Bites: Small Things, Big Pull
The knots arrive glossy, dotted with raw garlic that hits the nose before the heat. Tear one and a buttery seam unravels, steam puffing into the air.
A dunk into marinara adds acidity that reins in the richness.
Then the parmesan bites show up like trouble. Crunch outside, soft crumb inside, salt tucked into every crevice.
You tell yourself it is a shareable basket and immediately count hands at the table.
Both sides work as palate resets between pesto and vodka slices. If you want less bite, ask for roasted garlic oil, a tweak regulars recommend.
By the time your number is called for another slice, you have already decided to take an extra order to go.
Late Hours, Real Crowd: 11 AM To 3 AM Rhythm
The room changes after midnight. Music softens, ovens keep the hum, and the door swings with students, line cooks, and night-shift nurses.
Hours stretching to 3 AM most nights, even later on weekends, turn the place into a small-town kitchen inside Manhattan.
You hear quick thank yous over the register and watch slices disappear before they cool. There is no theater here, just repetition honed to muscle memory.
The staff moves like a relay: reheat, slice, finish, handoff.
Late-night pizza is an economy of focus, and this shop respects that. The pies land fresh after 11 PM more often than not, a detail night people remember.
Outside, 9th Street glows, and you walk home with that warm box as if it were a hand warmer in February.
Price, Portions, and The Lunch Special
Two slices and a canned soda still feel like a win in this neighborhood, where lunch can vanish into double digits fast. You see the special chalked by the register, and the line shortens as decisions get easy.
Slices run large enough that a pair becomes a full stop.
Whole pies for delivery can sting more, especially on specialty builds. Reviews mention lighter toppings compared to in-shop slices, so if heft matters, order in person or ask for extra coverage.
The counter team answers straight when you do.
Value shows up in consistency: no soggy tip, generous reheat, clean stations. Grated parm is offered without fuss, and they do not flinch at custom finishes.
You leave feeling like the math favored you, which is rare on this side of Broadway.
Location Advantage: Between Squares and Scenes
Step out and you are between Washington Square’s buskers and Union Square’s markets, an easy triangle of appetite and errands. The foot traffic keeps pies moving, which keeps slices fresh.
That is the virtuous cycle every good slice shop needs.
On a weekday, delivery bikes thread past while someone in scrubs grabs a pepperoni and water. On weekends, the room skews younger, pre-gig hunger and post-bar clarity.
Either way, turnover stays brisk, and the deck never naps long.
Location is not the whole story, but it is the engine behind that 4.9 rating and constant word-of-mouth. Add a clean counter, fast hands, and a dough that never folds under pressure.
Suddenly this address reads like an answer rather than an option.
