Big Mario's Pizza

With a name like that, how could I not review it?!

Last week I found myself walking the rainy streets of Seattle thinking to myself, “Sam, how do you possibly sustain this much travel?”

Driving back and forth between Los Angles and The Bay, flying to Mexico to sail across the Sea of Cortez, driving up to Mendocino to report on the MMIW crisis, and now flying to Seattle only to drive several more hours to the quaint Victorian fishing village of Port Townsend to see a friend graduate from Boat School… it’s truly been one of the most untethered years in recent memory.

So, how do I manage?

The truth is, I don’t! I am absolutely unraveling at the sheer uncertainty and instability of my life as a roving reporter and podcast producer. With almost no money left in my pocket, I can’t help but go wherever the wind blows me, and then cope with the stress by binge eating pizza and bagels. As a matter of fact, this humble blog is the only predictable thing in my life right now, despite the fact that I barely manage to publish on a regular basis.

But I shan’t complain, for it’s a joy and privilege to bring you on this chaotic journey across the West Coast seeking comfort, pleasure, and sometimes disdain in the foods of my culture.

Enough whining, let’s talk about pizza.

So there I was, walking the streets of Seattle’s “Cap Hill” neighborhood, when my attention was seized by a delicious scent wafting through the air - the unmistakable musk of hot, fresh pizza.

To my right was a grimy box fan venting pizza smells directly onto the sidewalk. Looking up, I beheld a beautiful sight.

The red and green lettering in corny 70s font… the corrugated off-white background… the familiar dirt and grime covering the facade… could it be?

This, my readers, appears to be a genuine East Coast slice joint.

And the name… what a name! How could I not review an establishment with such a fantastically New Yorkian name as Big Mario’s Pizza?

With hope in my heart, I cleared my schedule for the afternoon (which was easy to do, since it was already empty) and walked into Big Mario’s for a slice.

Taking a look around, a wave of familiarity washed over me. Get a load of this menu.

The hand painted lettering; the fantastic drawing of Big Mario himself in the top left corner; the complete lack of bougie, foodie-pandering flavors in favor of simple, classic pizza toppings… this looks like the real deal!

Behind the counter is just one man, wearing a grease-stained apron. He is both the pizza maker and the order taker. I ask him for a pepperoni slice. Without a word, he slides one into the oven. No overly cheery employees with big smiles saying “Hi! Welcome in!” No crappy touch screens or QR codes. Just a dude in an apron making pizza. That’s my kind of a pizza guy.

The entire pizza place takes up about 20 square feet. To the left is a dive bar where you can order beers. And up above, looming over you like Christ on the cross, is a massive portrait of Big Mario himself.

I can tell from the photograph that this man is an absolute legend.

The white suit! The mustache! The helmet-like mane of greasy black curls! What a guy. I don’t even care what the pizza tastes like, this place already won me over by its sheer authenticity.

Just kidding, of course I care what the pizza tastes like. In 3 seconds less than no time, the pepperoni slice appeared on the counter on nothing more than a white paper plate, exactly as it should. It cost $6, which is about 2 bucks more than on the East Coast, but is about standard here in the West.

By looks alone, this slice is a winner. Dripping in oil and heavily laden with many small pepperonis (you should know know by now, the smaller the pepperoni, the better), this slice looks like home.

I take a bite. Crispy-crunchy crust, salty-savory cheese, and spicy pepperoni seize control of my taste buds with the force of an Italian mafioso grabbing me by the collars. It’s a fantastic slice.

My partner ordered the Sicilian, which I think cost a dollar or two more, but I can’t remember because I was enraptured by pizza.

This one was thick, but not too fluffy or doughy, which is often the downfall of the Sicilian. Fresh tomatoes, shredded basil, and a huge dose of garlic make this slice a delight to eat.

So who is Big Mario anyway? According to their website:

Big Mario’s Pizza truly began in New York City, when Mario Vellotti arrives in 1964 from Italy. He spent many years working in all the big New York pizza places learning the craft of making high-quality pizza. He joined up with his uncle and brother to open their own pizza restaurants in New York City, including Sal’s on Broome. Eventually, Mario moved to Seattle to start Big Mario’s Pizza, bringing great-tasting pizza to the pacific northwest. And the rest is history!

Now if that’s not an example of the American Dream, I don’t know what is.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Considering atmosphere and aesthetic, menu, taste, and overall vibe, I think Big Mario’s is the single most authentic New York slice joint I have ever tried on the West Coast. Their slices are simple and decently priced. The fuss factor is near zero. And the origin story says it all. Next time you’re in Seattle, do yourself a favor and get a slice from Big Mario’s

WEST COAST: 9

EAST COAST: 8.5