When I was in New York last week for the Your Father’s Mustache Reunion at Carnegie Hall, I couldn’t resist a slice of New York Pizza.  It was just a little hole in the wall place near the hotel on 57th street, exactly like 1,000 other shops on nearly every street in Manhattan.  There wasn’t even room in the store to stand and eat your slice.  I had to go stand outside.  But the crust was perefectly thin and crisp, the sauce was mild but distinctively tomato, the cheese was gooey with a rich milky flavor.  You CANNOT duplicate this at home.  And apparantly, it cannot be duplicated in any other city in the world. Viva New York Pizza.