Domino's Brooklyn-Style Pizza
by J. Daniel Janzen
You're probably expecting this review to revolve around belabored wise-guy slang, seasoned liberally with the F-word. That's what Brooklyn is all about, right? Mean streets coursing with criminals both petty and organized, heavily accented Italians, Irish brawlers, Hasidic mobs, African-American street gangs, salty old ladies hanging laundry out their tenement windows while cursing at the hoodlums below, a coursing melee of stereotypes whose mutual antagonism is transcended only by shared mourning for the dearly departed Dodgers and a universal passion for pizza.
We would expect nothing less than this comic book version of the Borough of Kings from the Madison Avenue types behind the campaign for Domino's Brooklyn Style Pizza, who presumably spend as little time on this side of the East River as the yellow cabs featured in the current ad. Still, while this broad-brush tableau predictably overlooks thriving neighborhoods now among the most desirable in all of metro New York, the most dynamic music scene on the East Coast and world-class cultural institutions like the Brooklyn Academy of Music and the Brooklyn Museum, it does manage to get one thing right: we do love us some pizza. From old-school outlets like Totonno's in Coney Island and Grimaldi's at the Fulton Ferry Landing to innovative newcomer Franny's on Flatbush, Brooklyn consistently delivers the best pizza in all of New York City, and therefore in all the world, characterized by a thin, crisp crust, fresh toppings, molten cheese and just enough orange grease on top to keep it interesting.
In a sign that its savvy marketing instincts are paired with breathtaking hubris, Domino's has not only introduced so-called Brooklyn-style pizzas in its locations nationwide — but also deigned to offer the pie to customers within Brooklyn itself. Coming from the ultimate outsider — a national corporation founded by a right-wing nut job and headquartered in Ann Arbor, Michigan — this challenge to the borough's integrity and heritage demands to be taken seriously. A successful co-optation of our thin-crust supremacy would force deep introspection and reevaluation of what it means to be Brooklyn, potentially transforming this community of 2.5 million even more profoundly than the Frank Gehry-designed monstrosity currently slated for Atlantic Yards.
It is thus with no little trepidation that this Brooklynite placed his first order with Domino's on a recent evening — though the company's website, an appropriately faceless and sterile transaction. On arrival, the pizza was placed in a preheated oven to re-melt the cheese and give it the best possible chance of edibility. But even at first sight, it is obvious that this is frozen-quality pizza, most closely resembling Papa John's or Red Baron. Uncannily uniform toppings (chunky pepperoni, sausage, wizened green pepper slices and desiccated mushrooms were selected for this trial) and artfully browned cheese globs along the edge of the crust contribute to a factory-made appearance.
Lifted from the plate (this is hardly knife-and-fork pizza), the slice is thin enough to fold, as advertised, though the cornmeal dusting the bottom is more typical of Chicago or Los Angeles than Brooklyn. Neither crisp nor soggy, the crust most closely resembles burlap in both texture and taste. As a whole, the pie's predominant flavor is salt with notes of penicillin, the sauce reminiscent of the crust around an ancient jar of Ragu in a forgotten corner of the fridge, and the nuances of individual toppings indistinguishable from one bite to the next. Beard wearers, take comfort: there is no danger of messy strands stretching from the cheese-like substance selected by Domino's for its latest production.
As delivery pizza, Domino's is worse by a significant margin than the worst local place in any neighborhood in Brooklyn; the chain's locations here are presumably kept in business only by ancillary products like Buffalo Chicken Kickers, Cinna Stix and under-the-counter Oxycontin. Refrigerated overnight, then reheated, though, the pie comes into its own: as a twice-warmed-over snack, Domino's Brooklyn Style Pizza easily holds its own with a slice of Tombstone accidentally left overnight on the counter.
It's safe to assume that Domino's had little expectation of actually dominating the Brooklyn market, or making the locals forget about the crisp, gooey delicacies that have kept our mouths watering for nearly a century. "Brooklyn" in this case is strictly a brand promise intended for fast food aficionados unlikely to ever set foot in these storied streets, a simulacrum of the genuine article suitable only for the most impoverished palates. And why not? Let them eat pies, and imagine as they do that they are partaking in the rich culture and culinary tradition of its namesake.
As for us Brooklynites?
Forget about it.
E-mail J. Daniel Janzen at dan at clownyard dot com.
