The Contender

In my ongoing quest for great pizza, there have been only two places I've eaten at that stand head and shoulders above the rest-- My Vegas favorite, New York Pizza & Pasta, and my Phoenix favorite, NYPD Pizza. The problem with both of them is that they are so far away from my home that it's a road trip to get really good pizza. Yet I somehow manage to cross that obstacle known as The Strip and make my way to the West Side about once a month to get my fix.

Another problem, related to distance, is that they don't deliver to my house, either. Of course, there are the usual suspects, but I haven't ordered from Domino's, Pizza Hut, or Papa John's in years. I just don't like 'em. Oh, they'll do in an emergency, but for the most part, I'd rather go without than have to eat Domino's (But seriously--what exactly is a pizza emergency?).

Metro Pizza, also here in Vegas, makes a pretty damn good pie, if you order a small one. For whatever reason, the quality difference between the small and large is fairly noticeable. They also say that they deliver, but they really don't mean it, because every time I've tried to call and take advantage of that service, they tell me it's at least a two-hour wait. Nobody wants to wait that long, so I'll either give in and order it for pick up or find something else to eat.

Additionally, getting a pizza delivered to our new place is tough. First of all, there really aren't any pizza joints close by, and second of all, we have a coded security gate that makes it damn near impossible to get into the apartment complex. If you don't have a card-key, you have to punch in the resident's last name and push a button which rings to the house, where whoever you're coming to see would answer the phone and push the 'pound' key, thus opening the gate. However--Rob and I don't have a land line, and he kept his Ohio cell-phone number so that it's not a long distance call for his family and friends back home if they want to get in touch with him. I have a Vegas 702 cell phone, so when we moved in, we decided to use it as the default number for the gate-opener.

But then, I work swing shift, and if Rob is at home and wants to order some pizza or Chinese food, he can't, because it would ring to my cellphone which I cannot answer while in the pit at the casino. So he's unable to have munchies delivered. And if I'm not here and his old roommate comes over, he has to go down and let them in. Hell, even before my trip to Nashville a couple weeks back, I had to schlep all my luggage down to the entrance and just stand around waiting for a half-hour for a cab, because we've never successfully had anyone get through the gate.

So last week when I was coming home one morning, instead of using my card-pass, I was just going to use the directory, key in my name, and then use my cellphone to open the gate, just to see if it worked. The problem, it turns out, was that my name wasn't even in the damn directory! No wonder nobody could ever get in.

So on my day off, I went down to the office and made sure they put my name and number in the system. But I was told that the gate was broken and the guy was coming down to fix it the next day. I turned around to look, and yep, the entrance gate was wide open.

And it stayed that way for several days.

Well, guess what happens in a gated community when the gates stop working... Suddenly every day we had stuff hanging on our doorknob--mostly junk, but a few menus for local restaurants that delivered. One flyer in particular stood out, it was for a place called Napoli Pizza.

I'd heard of Napoli Pizza over a year ago, as a couple of the guys I worked with recommended it. They also agreed that NY P & P was the best pizza in Vegas, but Napoli was a close second. And they also raved about their hot sandwiches. When I asked where it was, I found out that it was right next door to one of my favorite watering holes, and I had no idea it was there, as it was on a corner and faced the street I never used.

What made me remember it all this time was because I was standing on a dead dice table late at night when we were talking about it, and one of the other dealers said that about once a week he calls them up and orders a sandwich just as he's leaving work, and it's ready by the time he gets there. He then heads next door to the bar to eat it while running a few bucks through the video poker machine. Anyhow, this particular dice dealer who was singing it's praises that night told me to give them a call and try it.

The number is easy to remember: 456-2050. Four Five Six, just like the points on the dice table, twenty, the age I wish I were, and fifty, the age I feel like...

For whatever reason, that stuck with me.

So when the menu showed up on my doorknob the other day, I thought, Hey, this place sounds familiar...

As fate would have it, the gate was still stuck open late Monday night when I came home from work, and since they have 24-hour delivery, I dialed the number. As soon as I keyed it in, my cellphone display said Napoli Pizza. Apparently, I'd saved the number in my directory over a year ago after that first conversation, and then promptly forgot about it. But I was hungry, the menu was still on the counter, and since the gate was still being repaired, it didn't matter if the directory/phone thing worked or not.

It was time to deflower our pizza delivery virginity here at the new house.

There were some coupons attached to the menu, so I went with a special and ordered a 16-inch pepperoni and sausage pizza and a half-order of spicy honey-bbq wings. About 45 minutes later, a nice gal showed up with the grub.

First of all, the wings were good, but not great. I think I got just plain-old medium ones, because they were somewhat hot, but I couldn't detect any honey or bbq on them, so that was kind of a disappointment. The pizza, however, was pretty damn good. Thin, chewy crust, a decent amount of cheese, tasty meat, and just enough grease to make it good. However, being that it was delivered, the crispness had gone out of the middle of the crust, and the sauce was just a *touch* bland. But the truth be told, delivered pizza will never be as good as fresh-from-the-oven pie, so I really can't knock it. I enjoyed it quite a bit.

At some point Rob stumbled out of his room, drawn out by the smell of good food, and he had a slice. He liked it too, and we both agreed that it was damn good, but still in second place behind NY Pizza & Pasta (and I doubt any place in Vegas is going to dethrone the King anytime soon!).

Then Tuesday night rolled around. We were watching the World Series of Poker coverage on ESPN, (Oh my god Scottie--what the hell were you thinking??), and were both too lazy to cook. In fact, early in the day I finished off the last two slices from the night before, and instead of making dinner, I was munching on a bag of microwave popcorn and drinking a glass of ice water. Rob said he was kind of hungry, and motioned to the paper menu, still sitting on the ottoman from the night before, asking if I'd still be up for pizza after finishing my popcorn.

Well, it was either that or chicken and rice from a box, so I said hell yeah--lets get pizza again. Of course, this conversation would never have happened had Rob not walked down to the mailbox and seen that the security gate was still stuck open. So we rounded up some cash and called in another order.

No wings this time, just two pies--a pepperoni & mushroom, and a ham & mushroom. It took over an hour for the delivery guy to show up this time, but since we didn't have any singles, he got to keep all the change, earning an un-deserved tip. (I may not make millions of dollars a year in the NFL like Roy Williams, but I'm not a cheapass, either)

But the pies were damn good (I'm thinking the ham version was just slightly better than the pepperoni one), and since Rob is heading to the airport at 7:00 am for a weekend of buffoonery at the Ohio State/Purdue game, the leftovers are all mine!

So it looks like I'll be having Napoli pizza for three dinners in a row. Because, you know, I can't eat a salad until they get that gate fixed.

Mikey