“I’m An American Food Writer & This Pie Made Me Rethink London’s Pizza Standards”
As an American living in the UK, I’m often reluctant to believe anyone’s big, bold claim of “good New York-style pizza in London”. It’s not that it’s too good to be true, but more so a fear of disappointment. Crisp has been on the lips of Londoners for years, but pessimistic me was, again, reluctant.
The name and concept turned into a bit of an afterthought until last month, when it reopened alongside The Marlborough on North Audley Street with the help of the team behind The Devonshire. I must admit, my ears perked up a bit. Seems I’m not the only one, as it has very quickly become one of the most sought-after tables in the city, notorious for its very long wait times. Here’s what I really thought.
Crisp is like if a wood-fired pizza oven were habitable and also sexy. Its dimly lit corners invite soft whispers… hint of garlic breath.
Mallory, Junior Food & Drink Editor
What sets it apart
Upon arriving to Crisp, you’ll find that you’ve entered a buzzing pub. The Marlborough’s perfectly kempt facade stands regally on its proud Mayfair corner. For a dark and rainy afternoon, it was perfectly inviting, despite my usual apprehension for a young pub bursting at the seams with post-finance-job-pub-goers. Whether these were hopeful pizza gluttons or pint connoisseurs, one thing is certain: people can be two things.
Downstairs, you’ll find another layer to the boozer. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to sit down in a couple of hours and a few rounds of pints. For the patient and unhurried Londoner, it’s the ideal dinner date. Upon entering what you might think will be an unassuming, humble, maybe even simple pizza joint in the basement of a pub, you’ll find a haunt quite the opposite. Crisp is like if a wood-fired pizza oven were habitable and also sexy. Its dimly lit corners invite soft whispers… hint of garlic breath.
But, leaving the front door to use the loo was like stepping into the Hunger Games; a small mob of tipsy adults demanding a more specific estimate on when their tables would be ready — one to two and a half hours is NOT a reasonable time frame! one angry villager shouts. Despite the fuss, not one and a half hours later I saw that same guy, pitchfork lowered, house down a pizza with an expression reminiscent to that of childlike wonder. For such a mad house, crossing the threshold into Crisp diffuses any sense of ill will. It has an excited sort of intimacy; not a first date spot, but maybe a fifth.
What we ordered
In an effort to keep things simple, we opted to get two pizzas and a couple of pints. With only one lager on the menu, I was intrigued to know what beer they had decided would go well with all 10 pies plus the calzones. When an aptly pulled pint of Monte Carlo came, I knew they probably knew better than I. I thought, this might actually be quite good.
Every pie around us looked a little different to ours: dark blisters here, a lopsided crust there, the kind of natural variation you get when pizzas are actually made with thought.
We ordered the Vecna Pie and the Tie-Dye Pie, two of the more popular menu items. The Vecna had pepperoni, parm, burrata and hot honey, while the latter had san marzano, spicy tequila sauce, fior di latte, pesto, and extra virgin olive oil. Upon ordering, I was met with a firm nice order from our (excellent) server. Buckle down.
The pizza came hot and not-too-quick, something I worry about in restaurants with such high table turnover rates. Nothing was rushed; everything was comfortable. Upon trying my first slice of the Vecna, I understood what all the commotion outside was about. This is a very good piece of pizza. Even with a generous amount of sauce, cheese and toppings, the base held its own — crisp, never dry, never chalky. Every pie around us looked a little different to ours: dark blisters here, a lopsided crust there, the kind of natural variation you get when pizzas are actually made with thought. This one felt considered, made for us rather than churned out.
For such a mad house, crossing the threshold into Crisp diffuses any sense of ill will. It has an excited sort of intimacy; not a first date spot, but maybe a fifth.
The Vecna was sweet and spicy — very much in line with the wants and needs of today’s pizza eaters. The hot honey didn’t overpower; it gave a boost for the heat of the pepperoni, letting it talk. That’s worth pointing out, because if London pizzerias have a collective weakness, it’s pepperoni. It’s become a near “don’t bother ordering” for me. It’s different here, properly made, properly seasoned, and (finally) worth ordering.
If London pizzerias have a collective weakness, it’s pepperoni … It’s different here, properly made, properly seasoned, and (finally) worth ordering.
The tie-dye delivered the same sort of nostalgic comfort that a margherita or cheese pizza does, but, of course, with the sort of added drama that Crisp evokes. Despite the fame, the fortune, and the absolute chaos that Crisp has brought in on its tail, they handle it with the kind of grace and aptitude that most busy pubs may only dream of achieving. I walked away satisfied, similar to that same sense of wonder that our grumpy-turned-giddy friend in the corner represented. But I fear I may have to return to try the Vecna Grandma pie – twist my arm.
Verdict
From an American perspective, London has been missing a good slice of New York pizza, which we know. And while this is no single slice on the go, it absolutely rivals any of the other pizza joints in the UK. In terms of ambience, I was caught off guard by one of the better curated dining rooms that I have experienced as of late. Tuck in, lose track of time, and then, like everybody else, don’t shut up about it for a couple of weeks.
Despite the fame, the fortune, and the absolute chaos that Crisp has brought on its tail, they handle it with the kind of grace and aptitude that most busy pubs may only dream of achieving.
Where: 24 N Audley St, London W1K 6WD
Website: www.crispmayfair.com
