Home Slice vs. Home Slice

Home Slice Pizza is a pizzeria in Austin that reminds us of New York City back in the day. It’s got cozy pendant lighting. The loud music is a vintage 45 King flavor. And its pizza has a mighty crust, a basily sauce and plenty of dreamy mozzarella.

Oh, yeah. I’m home. Instantly, it’s midnight, and we’re near NYU, and that hot, crispy slice is covered in garlic powder and drippy orange grease. Fuggedaboutit.

But at Home Slice — unlike at some establishments in Downtown Manhattan — there are no crazy guys outside having shouting matches with themselves, and the place is not covered in handwritten signs saying “No public restroom” and “Don’t ask for free water.”

My kids are fans too. They love coloring in their mustachioed-pizza girl with crayons and seeing the guys toss floppy circles of dough into the air. Sometimes a hipster pizza-server gives Big Girl her own dough ball to squish while we wait. And at the end of the meal, your check arrives in a glass filled with Smarties.

It’s totally fun. We come every year for my birthday and when my mother-in-law is in town. Speaking of which, my MIL’s NYC apartment is just around the corner from the authentic pizzeria with all those charming signs, and she’s hooked on Home Slice as well.

But as good this pizza is, you have to pay for it, friends. Especially if you also want a garlic-knot-bedecked salad and some Mexican Coca-Colas with your large, two-topping pie.

And of course you want that.

Problem is, plenty of other people do too — Great Recession be damned. So this often means a long, sweaty wait out on the patio.

Thus, my frugality and impatience have been enough to transform me into a pizza girl — but without the mustache. And over the years, I have become not too bad. Not Home Slice good, but definitely better than the pizza-pizza guys.

What’s more, at home Big Girl gets to squish the dough ball to make actual pizzas, not just to entertain herself. In our kitchen, she enthusiastically pounds the dough because she knows her final creation will soon go live.

So while you’re hoarding cash in anticipation of a crazy night out with perspiring Mexican Cokes and steaming hot pizza, here’s a recipe to tide you over. As my husband said to his coworkers the day he wore leather motorcycle pants to work, “Enjoy.”