Pizza is one of those foods that is available almost everywhere in the world (although to varying degrees of quality, for sure). But pizza by the slice, on the other hand, is one thing only America does well.
The last place I lived in the US, before leaving for nearly a decade, was New York City, in 2004. I can’t count the number of times I took comfort in a wide wedge of greasy cheesy goodness, served up on a paper plate and sprinkled liberally with crushed red pepper flakes and powdered Parmesan cheese.
The only non-American place where I lived and regularly ate pizza by the slice was Montreal, where I often found myself scarfing down a 99-cent pizza on the way home from a drunken night out. I don’t recall it being something I’d want to eat when sober. But, it always hit the spot at 3 am.
Once I tried eating pizza by the slice in London. It was at a place in Dalston called Voodoo Ray’s. The pizza was tasty, but it just didn’t feel the same as home. One plain cheese slice served up by a hipster set me back £3.50 (nearly $6!) and I had to wait 10 minutes for them to heat it up. I missed my $2 New York slice dished up in 2 minutes by an Italian-American from the Bronx.