We’ve been in New York for 2 hours and everything has gone to shit.

Our group consisted of six guys with a variety of flight arrival times spread across Thursday morning and early afternoon. Upon arrival to NYC we each checked our bags at a predetermined luggage storage shop before meeting at our first pizza destination. This move was strategic and would allow us to eat our slices unencumbered until we could check into the incredible six-room Manhattan Airbnb we had waiting for us. I was among the first to land, so after shedding my luggage I feasted on delicious Sicilian-style squares at Corner Slice in Hell’s Kitchen while the rest of our group slowly filtered into the city. Each delicious square was crispy on the bottom with fluffy crust above with a perfect layer of melted cheese and toppings.

We were off to an incredible start.

Once our party was complete we headed to the second stop, Sullivan St. Bakery. The bakery was opened by Jim Lahey in 1994 and has gained some serious notoriety. Not only does the bakery produce the bread for many NYC restaurants, Lahey has released two popular books, My Bread and My Pizza, and won a James Beard award in 2015. Still riding high from our first pizza of the trip I was excited to continue our journey and see what delights were in store at stop number two.

Then it happened.

“We are here for their Pizza Bianca” said our trip organizer. My eyes darted around the glass display case yet there was no pizza in sight. Then I realized what was going on. Pizza Bianca isn’t pizza at all… it’s bread. Just…bread.

Sullivan St. Bakery’s Pizza Bianca sat in the case as a long rectangular loaf with huge air pockets. Sprinkled over the bread was a bit of salt and a few sprigs of rosemary. A beautiful bread indeed, but not pizza. The trip was ruined. As I chewed one of the best pieces of bread I’ve ever had, I knew that we had betrayed the very essence of this entire 3-day project. The “pizza expert” among us held his ground and wouldn’t admit he was wrong, swearing that the sauce-less rectangle lacking any real toppings was, in fact, pizza. This guy was the best man at my wedding and now I despised him.

I longed for pizza.

After I choked down the “Pizza” Bianca we were back on track and headed to NY Pizza Suprema, a slice shop next to Madison Square Garden. This was our last stop before reclaiming our bags and checking into our swanky Manhattan loft. From there we would venture to Brooklyn for Lucali and Roberta’s, two of the most highly anticipated spots on our list.

We sat down with our cheesy foldable slices and awaited check-in instructions for our gorgeous apartment in the sky. To our surprise there were no messages from our hosts at all. With only two hours until we were to be checking in, we began to grow concerned. We shrugged it off and decided to grab a beer at a small Irish pub visible from NY Pizza Suprema as we knew we would be hearing from the Airbnb folks at any moment.

Our check-in time came and went with zero correspondence from our “hosts”. The frequency of beer orders intensified as did customer support calls to Airbnb. It was becoming clear that we had no place to stay. It was now 5 o’clock and we were supposed to be putting our name on the list at Lucali in Brooklyn, yet here we were, getting stress-buzzed on Yuengling at a bar around the corner from Penn Station.

The hosts never responded and Airbnb cancelled our reservation as no other properties were available. Instead of occupying an incredible (and now seemingly non-existent) apartment where we were to each enjoy our own room and a kick-ass common area, we doubled up in simple hotel rooms. The real tragedy of it all was that it completely hosed our itinerary for the evening. Lucali was out of the question, but we  couldn’t let this situation get us down so we regrouped and headed to Brooklyn for Roberta’s.

Roberta’s is an iconic restaurant in Brooklyn that was put on the map by its former Pizza Czar, Anthony Falco, who now acts as an international pizza consultant. The spot has a fantastic neighborhood vibe and was full of energy when we arrived well after dark. The massive patio and beer garden acted as our temporary home where we were happy to spend the hour-and-a-half wait for our table because, well, they had alcohol. As the pitchers of beer began to flow, the stress of the afternoon melted away. We were feeling pretty great by the time we were seated and promptly ordered many, many pizzas.

Then everything got kind of fuzzy.

The table was full of pizza including the Bee Sting, topped with sopressata and spicy honey, and the Crispy Glover, topped with taleggio, guanciale, chili and breadcrumbs. At some point bottles of wine started appearing on the table, joining multiple pitchers of a local saison and God knows what else. If you had told me I poured myself a glass at any point that evening I wouldn’t believe you. I swear the fluids just appeared in my cup. Yet the next day one of our group found a picture on his phone that none of us remember, and it perfectly sums up our evening at Roberta’s.

Finally, with bellies full and vision blurred, we made our way to the subway station, barely missing the last train for 45 minutes because one of us couldn’t figure out how to use our Metro Card fast enough. Luckily an Uber got us safely to our hotel in Manhattan. I fell asleep thinking about the amazing pizza we just had and didn’t even consider the terrible hangover that would be greeting me when I awoke.

Pizza fixes hangovers, right?

Thursday night was just one of three evenings that comprised the Great 2019 New York City Pizza Trip. We ate at 22 pizza shops in approximately 72 hours and I’ll be doing my best to recount the highlights of the trip in a series of articles here at Barrels and Mash.