Pizza pizza

Saturday I met Will at Co. We had worked together for a time before he moved to Portland, Oregon, by way of New Zealand. He was in town for a reunion and, a devoted pizzaholic, was eager to try as many new pizza places as possible before he left the city. He had organized a walking tour for that afternoon, where he planned to visit five shops. Co. was the first.

I was second to arrive. His friends arrived shortly thereafter. The restaurant had just opened and we were seated immediately at the far end of a long table. Annie Lennox sang loudly from the stereo, but was soon replaced by The Smiths at a much more pleasant volume.

We ordered the margherita and the boscaiola. The pizzas were tasty, but small. The former was light on the sauce and the cheese, and sprinkled with coarse salt; the combination worked better than I would have thought. The latter was spicy and flavorful.

After we had finished the two pies, Will was tempted to order more. His friend reminded him of the itinerary and urged caution. Will relented, and we paid.

I walked with them partway to the next stop on the tour, then had to leave them. A friend was playing his first gig in New York as part of a Williamsburg music festival and I went off to lend my support. The set was short; the room was sparsely populated. My friend sounded great; I was glad to finally see him perform live.

My cousin called and asked if i had plans. She had just finished a salsa class and was shopping in the city. I told her I was going to Central Park to tango, and invited her to come. We met in Union Square and rode the subway together. The sky was heavy, but the rain had subsided temporarily.

We found the tango dancers in the diary. The space was limited, but the setting was pictaresque. A lesson was announced and my cousin went to take her first tango class. I watched the dancers. Soon, another friend appeared and we danced. My cousin had been swept up by another dancer who was pushing her beyond her level. I found her and walked with her a bit before returning to my friend. Her friend, also a novice, danced with my cousin.

At nine, the milonga ended. Dancers faded into the shadows, umbrellas cautiously in hand. A raccoon passed by the dance floor. I said goodbye to my friend and her companion and walked with my cousin west, towards Columbus Circle. I asked her what she wanted for dinner; she told me she was curious about Co.

Once again we were seated immediately; this time at the opposite end of the communal table. The music was a mix of The Cure and New Order. The restaurant was packed. We ordered a Popeye (pecorino, gruyère, buffalo mozzarella, spinach, black pepper, garlic) and a Bird's Nest. The pizza was still tasty (the former more so than the latter, which was trying too hard) but I had had enough. My cousin appreciated the pies and we lingered over coffee.

I walked her to her train and we said our goodbyes. She thanked me for dinner and for taking her to the milonga, then slipped through the turnstiles.

Posted by eku at June 19, 2009 4:20 PM