Stephen Starr took the boys (and a couple of girls) out for pizza Thursday. At 9:41 in the morning. For a clam pie, in New Haven, Conn., for goodness' sake, four hours and change by jouncing shuttle bus from his offices over the Continental in Old City.
In the gray, drumming rain.
He was so hungry by the time he got there that he did what any famished pizza-eater would do: He promptly, and with rueful chagrin, burned the roof of his mouth.
And that was just pizzeria Numero Uno. There were four more to come on this gonzo pizza tour - back down in New York's East Village, and in Brooklyn, the harp wires of the bridge going hazy in the fading light.
It would not be until 364 miles later, the posse staggered, that the pizza run ended, 12 minutes after midnight.
In late September, more likely October, you may assess the fruits of the junket yourself: For months, Starr and team have been mining the Northeast's rich pizza vein for nuggets to inform a new pizzeria in the works for Second and Lombard in Society Hill - venture number 19 for the restaurant czar who has transformed the city's dining landscape with the likes of Continental, Buddakan, Morimoto, and most recently Butcher & Singer.
So this was not about a poetic soul building a brick oven. This was about the business of a heavyweight trying to get it right, leaving nothing to chance.
Starr lieutenants had done advance scouting. Scoped out Philadelphia's finest. Scoured the Internet for reviews. Chatted up out-of-town pizza-makers at the Alex's Lemonade Stand fund-raiser Marc Vetri had held at Osteria on North Broad Street the night before.
Starr's trademark is adapting successes from elsewhere (Nobu's signature black cod, for instance, at Buddakan) and making them his own. For this project he was leaving no pizza stone unturned: A trek to New Haven, then back through the storied pizzalands of New York's boroughs, was plotted.
By 6:44 p.m., the new venture still didn't have a name. A minute later, Starr spotted a word on a sign at stop Numero Two, the pretentious Una Pizza Napoletana: "That's it," he declared: "That should be the name. Pulcinella!"
Pulcinella is mostly associated with the masked, slightly sinister figure in Neapolitan puppetry, the model for Punch - of Judy fame.
But it was a long bus ride, and it was obvious soon that second thoughts, or third or fourth ones, might be required regarding the name. ("What about using the Italian word for the blisters on the crust?" Starr also wondered.)
Every other aspect of the pizza endeavor seemed to be on the table, too: The virtues and drawbacks of coal would be debated across the aisle. And the optimal size. (Should they all be 12-inchers? No larges? Simplify the whole process?)
Should they be sliced, or land on the table - as they did later at Franny's in Brooklyn - unsliced?
Even direct witness didn't settle matters: The famed clam pie at Frank Pepe's, the New Haven landmark? The tender fresh-shucked clams: Thumbs up. The crust: Mixed reactions. Compatibility: "I don't think this would go over too big in Philadelphia," Starr said. "It's too salty."
Yet Pepe's might get another visit. And several of the New York favorites (definitely Lucali's in Brooklyn), and late add-ons: The tour had to skip Patsy's, the East Harlem original, to save time, and it had belatedly heard praise for L & B Spumoni Gardens in Bensonhurst.
Indeed, Trenton's vaunted tomato pies had not yet been vetted. Nor a new New York-style hot spot in Atlanta called Varasano's. Two staffers were booking flights for Phoenix: They'd been dispatched to sample the critics' darling - Chris Bianco's smoky, storied pies.
In the end, the head of Starr's culinary team and the pizzeria's new pizzaiolo would be tasked with creating a line of pies borrowing features - the four swirls of oil on the hot pie from Pepe's? the shaved-to-order artichoke from Lucali's? the heat-burst of tossing a paddle-full of sawdust on the fire? - from the finest of the tradition.
The boys on the Starr bus were the brains of the organization: development director Michael Palermo (who'd been on the roof of the Continental Midtown since 4 a.m. that morning trying to get a massive water-chiller repaired); Bradlee Bartram, vice president of operations; Al Lucas, regional operations manager; and Chris Painter, culinary director.
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