This sausage and fennel pie shows the bubbles and blisters of its Neopolitan idol. Photo: Steven Richter
It looked like I would never get to taste the pizzas at Company or Co., as owner Jim Lahey insists on calling it. I’m a fan of Lahey’s crusty bread at Sullivan Street Bakery, but I don’t go to places that don’t take reservations. Well, almost never. I certainly don’t take $20 cab rides from my home to stand half an hour waiting for a table. But our friend Nastassia said she knew someone to call.
We walk in the door and three seats at the communal table are waiting. I’m not a Girl Scout either and I would never choose the communal table, although I must admit sitting where tables are close, at Boqueria for instance, it might as well be kindergarten. Anyway, we have the end of the bare wooden groaning board to breathe in so I decide to just have fun. All three of us are wild for our roasted fennel with garlicky sausage pie, a properly free form oval (“our pies are not always round,” the menu warns, or maybe, boasts.) Bubbly, blistered, wondrously savory - it’s only flaw to me, that classic Neapolitan sogginess in the middle. The mushroom, tomato and pork sausage-topped Boscaiola is nearly as good. I’m drinking Langhe Nebbiolo by the glass and Steven has a lemonade (since there isn’t a non-alcoholic beer on a brief, distinguished beer list).
I’m tempted to order some of Lahey’s wonderful country bread and a side of ricotta, but even I am occasionally piqued by a tinge of carbohydrate regret. Instead, the three of us share two smallish crostinis (cherry tomato and pinto bean) and a bowl of ribollita, Tuscan bread soup. You’ve got to love cabbage as I do to adore this thick ugly porridge. Co.’s is good enough, but no match for the great ribollitas in my life. A nightly special of strawberry shortcake sundae isn’t really worth $10 but the satiny chocolate bread crumb torte is as rich and seductive as a good truffle can be. And enough for three at just $6.
Our waiter’s constant dance and speedy clearing makes me feel that quick turnover is the theme here. And I’m not counting, but how many times will he ask, “Is everything tasty?” I want to answer: “If it isn’t tasty, why are you serving it?” But all I say in response to his pesky query is “Thank you.” The Road Food Warrior and I would probably be back for the pies if we lived near enough to walk by, hoping for a lull in the crowd’s demand. At one time, maybe I’d have stood in line to meet Warren Beatty or John Updike. But I’m not ready to queue for pizza.
230 Ninth Avenue at 24th Street. 212 243 1105. Lunch Tuesday through Saturday 11:30 am to 3 pm, dinner 5:00 to 11:00 pm, Sunday 11:00 am to 10:00 pm. Closed Monday.
About Gael Greene
Photo: Steven Richter
In her role as restaurant critic of New York Magazine (1968 to January 2002) Detroit-born Gael Greene helped change the way New Yorkers (and many Americans) think about food.
"Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Ice Cream But Were Too Fat To Ask," "The Mafia Guide to Dining Out." and " Nobody Knows the Truffles I've Seen" were early pieces. In more recent years her annual roundup of New York City's dining favorites, Ask Gael, was a gourmand's collectible for many years and she continues to write a weekly Ask Gael column for NYM. Earlier she worked at the New York Post.
As co-founder with James Beard and a continuing force behind Citymeals-on-Wheels as board chair, Ms. Greene has made a significant impact on the city of New York. Citymeals, the largest public/private partnership in the country, has raised $200 million in its twenty-six-year history to help feed the city's frail elderly shut-ins.
Ms. Greene's memoir, "Insatiable, Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess" was published April, 2006. Earlier non-fiction books include "Delicious Sex, A Gourmet Guide for Women and the Men Who Want to Love Them Better" and "BITE: A New York Restaurant Strategy." Her two novels Blue skies, No Candy" and "Doctor Love" were NY Times best sellers.
Gael Greene
Articles used with permission of Gael Greene, Copyright 2009. All rights reserved. Steven Richter's photographs may not be used without permission.
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The Moon Hits Your Eye, Like a Big Pizza Pie
