What You See is What You Eat.

This week was crap. Crap. One of those weeks where all sleep was lost, and lost with it was patience, tolerance, and calm with everyone in my immediate vicinity. Thank god I spent the better part of Saturday with a couple of positive, not-angry yet still constructive people over in Echo Park. And guess what I saw through my rain soaked window right after I left? Two Boots!

Now, if there is one thing that Echo Park needs on its way to gentrification, besides a gelato parlor, it’s a good pizza-by-the-slice joint. And you can not get more authentically pizza-by-the-slice than an imported New York institution like Two Boots. I say “New York institution” as if I really know my New York institutions, but really, I don’t. I’m California borned and raised; I visited New York once, in February. It was mofo cold; I thought I was going to die. Of course, I ate what you’re supposed to have when in New York: pizza and bagels, if only to have some credibility when I scream “LA IS NOT NEW YORK” at NY transplants who belabor their angst about not being able to find decent pizza, bagels, or Chinese egg rolls here. Now, the pizza there is great, for sure, but since I do not have the fortune, or misfortune, of having a lifetime experience of eating perfectly crusted pizza, I am proud to say that I am not a snobby pizza connoisseur. I’m not going to sit here and argue whether the crust lends itself to the perfect fold, or whether there are enough air bubbles on the slice. To be honest, I didn’t even know people folded their pizza in half and ate it like a taco until I was in college. All this is just pizza to me.

Two Boots is a homey little joint on Sunset, a little atypical from the New York pizza joints (like Joe’s) that you’re (I’m) used to seeing on David Letterman. All pies have a clever name in honor (or not) of someone: the Mr. Newman (which I mistakenly read at first as the Mr. New Man), the Mr. Pink, the Mel Cooley. Many of their offerings are Cajun fusion, which sounds weird in a city full of bad Asian fusion, but there it is: you can get crawfish, fish, etc on top of your pie. They also have po’ boy sandwiches, but at $7.50 each, they certainly aren’t po’ boy prices (I recall having shrimp po’ boy sandwiches in Biloxi for less than $4 even). At $3.75 each, a slice isn’t exactly po’ boy prices neither. The prices are expensive sign of things to come in Echo Park.

Also a sign of things to come: white people, and a lot of them. For two hours last night, it was raining like mad, but that didn’t stop the Eastside denizens from popping in. Many looked like they just stepped out from an Elvis Costello and/or Belle & Sebastian concert: small glasses, plaid blazers, brown, flared pants, and Frank Zappa’s bowler hats, all apparently from New York, all loudly thanking their lucky stars that Two Boots followed them to their little section of the galaxy.

Back to the pies – for those of us who don’t want fused pizza, there are more traditional pies as well, but the only catch is that their names don’t not inherently tell you a whole lot about the pie.  Or, maybe it does.  It does?  I picked up a slice of the Larry Tate: spinach, tomatoes, garlic on a white pie. I guess this is a symbol of profit driven corporations: spinach. Really?

Sorry, I gobbled this one up way before I had a chance to take a picture.  The white sauce had a slight bit of kick to it, just the slightest, but it was there, and the cheese was soft and fluffy, not the plastic white Velveeta that you sometimes end up with when pies are tragically left out too long.  Regarding the all-important crust, the make or break factor of a pizza – well, I kind of see what New Yorkers are bitching about when they say LA has no good pizza.  The extra cornmealed crust gives it a fantastic little big crunch that doesn’t crumble like an overdone brownie and doesn’t splinter into a million little pieces like Pizza Hut’s thin crust. Sorry, I’m sure comparing the two in the same breath is sacrilegious, but tough beans. That’s my frame of reference, and the frame of reference for the too many of us who grew up on the pizza from Pizza Hut, Domino’s, and Papa John’s. We know what we’re talking about.

The Tony Clifton – mushrooms, red pepper pesto, onions, mozzarella – made sense. Tony Clifton definitely was on shrooms.

This also was tasty for the same reasons as above, plus it had the added bonus of a saucy sauce. The pepper pesto had a bit of a – dare I say, Southern – kick to it, and, even though it was a bit thinner than I would have preferred, it still was a happy change to the basic marinara-and-mushroom formula. Together, it all melded very well. And I don’t even like mushrooms!

In short: wow, great slice, and heads and heels above a lot of soggy, greasy pizza in this city.  But, as good as it was, I’m not fawning at their doorstep, which a few of the gushing Sons of Man were doing.  But, I do see why those bowler hats did come in to pay their respects: on this side of town, a good slice is hard to find.  I think Hard Times is meh at best; Nicky D’s, used to be better; Masa next door has a different type of pizza going on, so that’s an unfair sneaker-to-boot-type of comparison; and Pizza Buono – which is literally a few stores down the block – is great, but they don’t do slices. Two Boots is definitely worth popping in for a slice or two if you’re between errands and/or shopping, now or in the future. Welcome to Echo Park! The gelato parlor is on its way.

Two Boots
1818 Sunset
Echo Park
Mo-Th 4pm-1am how awesome is that!
Fr-Sa 4pm – 2am
Su 4pm-11pm
(213) 413-2668 for delivery