The “Pizza” episode of the History Channel’s “American Eats” series — set your TiVos for the next airing: Tuesday, April 29, 2008 — tells the story of Gennaro Lombardi, the “founding father of American pizza,” and his contribution to New York City pizza: locally grown tomatoes (instead of San Marzano), cow mozzarella (instead of water buffalo), and pies fired in coal ovens. To some extent, all the old school city pizzerias can be traced to Lombardi’s pioneering shop at 53½ Spring Street.

That first pizzeria was established in 1905, though in 1994, Lombardi’s grandson re-opened it at its current location at 32 Spring. For the pizzeria’s centennial on November 10, 2005, Lombardi’s sold whole pizza pies for 5 cents apiece.

We paid somewhat more for our pepperoni and mushroom pie, but it was still worth it.

At the Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural & Educational Center’s Milagro Theater on Suffolk for the premiere of playwright Carla Ching’s TBA. The 1898 building is a former public school (P.S. 160), but since the mid-1990s, has served as a multicultural center for contemporary arts and art-related community services. CSV has four theaters and exhibition spaces; 53 visual artists have studios in the building.

Enhancing the LES hipster vibe was a dimly lit bar/gallery through a beaded doorway on the ground floor with vibrantly colored paintings of female nudes and cans of PBR, which we were invited to bring inside the theater.

Through April 5, theater company Second Generation celebrated its eleventh anniversary of supporting Asian American dramatic literature with ELEVEN, a month-long festival of 11 plays: one full-length production, four developmental staged-readings, and an evening of six one-acts. The centerpiece was Ching’s drama, starring Lloyd Suh, Second Generation’s artistic director and a playwright in his own right. (Both he and Ching are members of the Ma-Yi Writers’ Lab.) Suh appeared as a last-minute replacement for Ken Leung, who was called back to the set of Lost, where he has a recurring role as Miles Straume.

From TBA’s press notes:

When Silas Park’s girlfriend leaves him, he becomes a shut-in, pumping out blistering autobiographical writings in his little East Village apartment. Just as Silas finds himself unexpectedly on the verge of literary stardom as the next Asian American wunderkind, his brother Finn shows up on his doorstep, accusing Silas of stealing his life. A play in two acts, in the crevice between fact and fiction.

An intriguing exploration of how impression and memory can form their own reality. Excellent work all around.

Oh, and we sat in front of Dr. Chen from ABC’s “Eli Stone,” whose real name is James Saito.

It’s been years since I attended a bona-fide school bake sale; this one was organized by P.S. 107’s Parent Teacher Association. To accompany our (very good) slices of homemade banana bread, a server ladled out from a large, orange plastic paint bucket, cups of a lethal Cognac/10 Cane Rum/tea punch — mixed to 1690s Bombay government regulations by featured cocktail historian David Wondrich, who knows well of which he writes.

First up: Phoebe Damrosch, whose memoir Service Included: Four-Star Secrets of an Eavesdropping Waiter was released in September 2007. Damrosch read from portions of her book documenting her time as a server for Thomas Keller’s Per Se; her extensive months-long training involved memorizing wine pairings, receiving intricate movement instruction from an 18th-century dance specialist, and learning the provenance of menu ingredients down to “the names of the cows that produced the milk from which our butter was made.” The most entertaining bits were the gossipy snapshots of diners passing through the rarified restaurant; one priceless anecdote involved Damrosch gleefully bonding with one suburban banker over their mutual love of “pot”… before realizing that he in fact expressed a fondness for “pie.” (Uh, whoops.)

Kara Zuaro’s book I Like Food, Food Tastes Good: In the Kitchen with Your Favorite Bands is a collection of recipes gathered from touring rock musicians. Zuaro read from the book’s introduction, and from one of the stories that precede each band’s recipe. I was impressed by the breadth and high profile of her musical subjects: recipes ranged from simple sandwiches (Death Cab for Cutie’s vegan sausage and peanut butter creation) to a wild boar ragù from The Violent Femmes’ bass player Brian Ritchie. (Surprisingly, however, not a single pot brownie in the bunch.)

Finally, former Classics professor, current contributing editor Esquire Wondrich read from Imbibe!, his biography of 19th-century mixologist Jerry Thomas, author of the first known bartending guide, How to Mix Drinks or The Bon Vivant’s Companion (1862). Wondrich made an amusing argument about how the cocktail was America’s first great export, and the country’s introductory contribution to world gastronomic culture.

The audience Q&A was mercifully brief, and spawned a brief discussion over the use of the term “foodie” vs. “foodist” to describe a certain type of food-obsessed individual. Afterwards, the authors (Zuaro and Damrosch pictured below) made themselves available for book-signings:

When in DUMBO, pizza at Grimaldi’s is always a solid choice. And sometimes, you can pick up a nice couple along the way.

Just as it had at its former Park Avenue South location, Pinch offers thin pies in four-inch widths, sold by length in four-inch increments, with choice of toppings. Personally I couldn’t say how their product stacks up against the offerings in a city full of superlative pizza, though they did seem to have a following. (Incidentally, Arthur Avenue’s Zero Otto Nove, which we visited a couple of weeks ago, was just named best in the Bronx by New York magazine.) The joining of these two cheese and carb forces is a coup, though, and last month’s opening of the Pinch & S’MAC joint venture, minutes’ walk from the Amsterdam Avenue frat bar scene, was met with considerable anticipation.

S’MAC offers variations on the cheesy pasta classic: from the “All American” (American and Cheddar – add seasoned ground beef to make it a “Cheeseburger” or sauced chicken pieces for the “Buffalo Chicken”) to more complicated, gourmet versions like the “Parisienne” (Brie, Figs, Roasted Shiitake Mushrooms and Fresh Rosemary) and the “Masala” (Cheddar and American cheeses, Tomatoes, Ginger, Onions, Cilantro, Cumin & Indian Spices.) Alternatively, you can pick any combination of offered toppings to customize your own dish. The elbow macaroni is served in cast-iron skillets of varying sizes — Nosh, Major Munch, Mongo and Partay! – with decent crust on top, but overall a bit soupy for my tastes. Breadcrumb topping optional.

The “Napoletana” (Fresh Mozzarella, Roasted Tomatoes, Roasted Garlic and Fresh Basil) — better in theory, perhaps, than in execution:

And the classic “All American”:

To me, mac n’ cheese is one of those comfort dishes that doesn’t require a lot of tinkering, so I would be partial to S’MAC’s American and Cheddar-based versions. In 2006, The Times’s Julia Moskin went in search of the ultimate home cook’s recipe, eventually foregoing the temptation towards fancier cheeses (Swiss Gruyère, Parmigiano-Reggiano, Italian fontina and Welsh Caerphilly) in favor of two straightforward cheddar-based recipes, divided into creamy and crusty preferences.

More wordplay across the street at West Side Wine. (No milkshake reference? I guess it’s over already.) The 80th Annual Academy Awards broadcast later that night, and would become the first since 1964 that all four main acting awards were won by non-Americans. That year, “Sexy Rexy” Harrison took home the Best Actor Oscar for his career-defining role as “Henry Higgins” in George Cukor’s screen adaptation of My Fair Lady. (The classic Lerner and Loewe musical is playing this week at MoMA as part of Sir Harrison’s “Centenary Tribute.”)

French star Marion Cotillard on her Oscar win: “I’m totally overwhelmed with joy and sparkles and fireworks and everything which goes like bom-bom-bom.”

What a charming sentiment!

The Bronx location and bus ride’s distance from the subway line keep this neighborhood somewhat insulated from the touristy masses that have all but obliterated the better known Little Italy in downtown Manhattan. Some cursory research will call up a long list of Belmont recommendations along and around main thoroughfare Arthur Avenue: The enclosed Arthur Avenue Retail Market, (which like the Essex Street Market, was created under Mayor Fiorello La Guardia in 1940 to reduce pushcart street-crowding); dueling fish purveyors Randazzo’s and Cosenza’s; Egidio’s or De Lillo’s for Italian pastries; the Calabria Pork Store; fourth generation-owned Biancardi Meats; Italian delicatessen Mike’s Deli; Casa Della Mozzarella, which is known for some of the best fresh-made mozzarella in New York…

The cloudless blue sky belied the swirl of snow that would be unleashed upon us not three hours later.

On Sunday afternoon, many of the shops were shuttered, or winding down business for the day. We made it to Borgatti’s Ravioli & Egg Noodles on 187th Street just before 1PM closing. This family-owned neighborhood fixture is renowned citywide for its fresh pasta; last year the shop scored “an astounding 29” — and the top spot — on Zagat’s list of pasta purveyors. There were some intriguing options: multi-colored, multi-shaped, fresh and dried… We each picked up a box of 100 fresh ravioli for $11.50 — ricotta-stuffed for me, meat and spinach-filled for the boys.

And then to sample this Neapolitan-style pizza we had read so much about. Zero Otto Nove is named for the area code in Salerno, Italy from which owner-chef, Robert Paciullo hails. (Paciullo is also owner-chef of area favorite restaurant Roberto’s, which was number two on Robert Sietsema’s 2004 list of “100 Best Italian Restaurants.”) The space is designed with a front bar and a long, narrow, arched passageway leading to a skylit, muraled, double height dining room, centered around a brick, wood-burning pizza oven.

Hard to imagine that this was once a McDonald’s. (I asked our hostess.)

The Antipasto Salernitano Caldo: Stuffed peppers, eggplant & zucchini scapece & cauliflower:

The Margherita pizza: San Marzano tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella & basil:

The Patate e Porcini pizza: Fresh mozzarella, sliced potatoes & porcini mushrooms:

Each of the pies was advertised as a personal pizza, but could (and did) feed two, though HH later admitted that could have polished off an entire pie without assistance. Knowing a bit about DK’s pizza-eating abilities, I suspect the same of him.

So our verdict: high quality toppings (I liked the earthiness of the porcini), crust a shade on the soft side, tomato sauce a bit bland…. good pizza, but no, not the best in New York. On the other hand, we didn’t wait two hours for it either — even factoring in round-trip travel time to the Bronx — which probably ranked the overall experience above you-know-where a.k.a., that $4 slice place in Brooklyn. (What’s next: $1.20 plain bagels?)

On our hostess’s recommendation, we stopped by afterwards at Palombo Pastry Shop Café. Though the cafe itself is a relatively new addition to the neighborhood (open since 2006), as we sat among the locals at a small table with our cappuccinos and small plates of Italian pastries, the overall feel was of the kind of Old World neighborhood spot rapidly disappearing from this increasingly gentrified, sanitized version of the city. I’m reminded of a trenchant observation by Adam Gopnik in a 2007 New Yorker commentary: “New York is safer and richer but less like itself, an old lover who has gone for a face-lift and come out looking like no one in particular. The wrinkles are gone, but so is the face.”

How best to preserve all those wonderful, character-filled wrinkles that make New York, New York?

Excitement spread when word of a second Upper West Side location opening first circulated in September, and then again earlier this week, as the bakery’s Italian-imported pizza ovens fired up for the first time.

This afternoon, Grandaisy had four varieties of pizza – identical to the ones available at Sullivan Street Bakery: their pomodoro (tomato sauce, olive oil and sea salt), cavolfiore (cauliflower, Gruyère cheese, bread crumbs, olive oil and black pepper), patate (potato, onion, olive oil, rosemary and black pepper) and funghi (cremini mushrooms, onions, olive oil, sea salt and thyme). Not offered today: the zucchini and the pizza bianca, hand-formed slices of flatbread, dressed simply with extra virgin olive oil, coarse sea salt and rosemary.

It’s not typical New York City pizza: with the exception of the bianca (which is plain), these are small rectangles of thin, crispy flatbread, covered in high quality toppings, and served at room temperature… or given the exposure of the trays to today’s chilly outside air, just a little cooler. Nonetheless, New York magazine named their pomodoro among the “Best Square Pizza” in 2006; the Voice has lauded their potato pizza. The unconventional pizza also was named the third best in New York by Time Out – the best in Manhattan, but lagging behind Brooklyn’s Di Fara Pizza and Staten Island’s Denino’s Pizzeria & Tavern.

My funghi slice was good. Slightly soft in the center, with a dense, layer of earthy, salty mushrooms — but at $3.25 a slice, a small extravagance.

Related: this week, Serious Eats posted an informative rundown of the regional variations of pizza in the United States.

The real festivities, of course, began later that evening, and did not involve manual labor. We paid the $3 cover for access to the subterranean pool hall/game room, with its décor reminiscent of a Disco-era suburban basement rec room… but in a good way. This isn’t one of those sceney pool lounge spots — just a low-key place to down cheap beer and shoot stick with friends. Dim lighting, live jam sessions, worn couches, mismatched tables, and strewn throughout: billiards and ping pong tables, shuffleboard, foosball, and board games galore. New York magazine named Fat Cat Billiards the city’s “Best Pool Hall” in 2001.

We arrived early to commandeer the seating area behind the bar — a space which we shared with the owner’s large, friendly dog. I’m still not sure whether he actually liked us, or the John’s of Bleecker Street pizzas we had ordered in.

Later that night, in the homier environs of the Upper East Side, we toasted the man of the hour over a beautiful Black Forest cake from SoHo’s Ceci-Cela Patisserie — a delightfully potent, almost victorious, confection of Cointreau-sponged chocolate cake, brandy-soaked cherries and airy layers of vanilla whipped cream.

By foregoing last year’s spot near the finish line, I didn’t catch any glimpses of Katie Holmes, former-Ranger Mike Richter, or Lance Armstrong, who this time out ran a consistent, progressively faster New York City Marathon, finishing in a time of 2:46:43–impressively beating his 2006 time by a margin of nearly 13 minutes.

HH and I crossed paths somewhere around West 74th Street, where some prankster had posted a fake street sign, no doubt contributing to the already considerable confusion among the runners and visitors from 100+ countries.

Later that night, it was off to the Variety Boys & Girls Club of Queens for the Astoria Performing Arts Center’s production of 2001’s Pulitzer Prize winning play, Proof. After the show, our group dispatched to nearby Sac’s Place on Broadway, based upon TD’s enthusiastic recommendation. The coal-oven pizzas were as tasty as promised—the fine company enhanced the experience, surely—though there continues to be some lively debate as to which is Astoria’s best pie.

Late into the meal, when TD slipped away from the table (after first confirming that none of us was vegetarian—as if!) and returned, almost magically, with a piping hot platter of the house special meatballs… well, I don’t use the word “hero” very often, but just then, she became the greatest hero in American history.