It will not shock you to learn that Bunay balks at the dollar slice. “The most important thing is always the dough -- it’s just flour, water, and olive oil,” he says. “If those are bad products, you have bad dough, and that means bad pizza. And I don’t make bad pizza. Remember -- people pay two grand to eat my stuff. It better be good.”
A city that sets fire to money is bound to gin up the occasional pie loaded with Caspian caviar and gold leaf. In its way, the dollar slice is harder to believe. Yet as surely as Australian truffles are shaved onto melted Stilton, at least a few of the diners seated at Bunay’s tables are taking the subway to get there.
For every chef reimagining the New York pizza canon, another kneads dough according to centuries of tradition. With every squid ink crust, comes another tossed in Trumps flour. In spite of inflation -- against all odds -- dollar pizza thrives. And it’s one of the most reliable dining experiences in the city.
“I always go to this one place in Park Slope,” Talde says. “The girl knows I like two slices of pepperoni re-heated. But not too hot, ‘cause I’m gonna eat it as soon as it’s handed to me.
"I’ll eat a slice before they can even fold that shit up for me. The second one, I’ll be eating while I’m running down the sidewalk. I always got somewhere to be.”