Salt in Wound

It was snowing like nobody’s business and I had to get to Jersey City. OK, sure, I could’ve rescheduled the interview I was conducting for a day with less inclement weather. But, I’m a bit of a masochist, a firm believer in “no time like the present,” and besides, I might get that meatball sandwich I’d been coveting.

This requires a little background, or maybe a lot. A while back, a tiny pizza joint opened by the Grove Street PATH station. I like pizza, so of course I checked it out. The first thing that impressed me was the price, albeit in an insane cost structure: Your first two slices were $1.50 each, and then $2 after that. (This has recently and wisely been adjusted: All slices are now $1.50 until 10 p.m., and $2 afterwards, ostensibly sticking it to the late-night bar crowd.)

When I first began buying my own pizza as a tween (before the word “tween” even existed), slices were a buck, maybe $1.25. (And I’m talking about buying my own real pizza, not those rectangular Ellio’s-wanna-bes in school cafeterias coast-to-coast, where Friday was always Pizza Day.) I eventually learned about the “Pizza Principle” in the New York metropolitan area, and that generally held true, as pizza prices slowly crept upward: $2, $2.50, more.

Then the craziest thing happened: 99¢ pizza shops started cropping up all over Manhattan. It was as if the clock had been turned back. Sure, these weren’t the best slices around, and you never did get that penny in change, but hey, a slice is a slice, and these are hard times.

But this Favia $1.50 pizza—a rare discounted slice outside of New York City—this was a quality slice. Tasty sauce, crisp crust, and toppings cost the same as plain. Regular slice? A buck-fifty. Pepperoni slice? Buck-fifty. Etcetera. Was this some sort of sorcery?

My first couple of visits, I noticed on their chalkboard that Favia also offered a meatball sandwich ($6). And that’s about all they have: whole pizzas, slices, drinks, microwavable Italian meals to go ($7)… and meatball sandwiches. There are no tables, no seats—it’s too small inside. Napkins, grated cheese, crushed pepper, plastic utensils, and a microwave if you want to heat that meal right then and there.

Now, I like meatball sandwiches. I like them a lot. So I was seriously tempted. But $3 for two solid slices—with toppings? It was just too good to pass up, each and every time I went by.

Then came December 16, 2013. I had been at my buddy Chris’s monthly trivia night at The Merchant in Jersey City. That bar and restaurant is also on Grove Street, so it’s a convenient time to drop by Favia. (Stella’s Pizza, I have forsaken thee.) On the night in question, my trivia team didn’t win the $75-tab top prize, I had not ordered my semi-regular Farfalle Chicken at The Merchant, and I was rather hungry. I walked over to Favia and ordered a ziti-topped slice. (Had a hankering one ever since my friends Sean and Alex posted a photo of a ziti pizza on Facebook.) As I waited for the slice to be heated up, I struck up a conversation with Jerry behind the counter. He’s from Gambia and he’s a good dude. Later, we discussed the ziti slice (quite good, basically a meal in itself—like eating baked ziti and a slice, not just a slice with pasta on it). I also admitted that I hadn’t tried their meatball sandwich. Jerry sang its praises, so I made a solemn vow to order it next time.

For January trivia, my college pal Larry offered to drive us to The Merchant. I certainly appreciated that, even though it would mean missing out on a good long walk from Hoboken and that meatball sandwich. (For the record, I had the Farfalle Chicken that night.)

A fortnight passed before my fabled return to Jersey City. I had set up the interview well before I knew we’d be hit with several inches of snow that day. Walking there seemed stupid but actually ended up being my best option. As I started out from my apartment, I was pleased with the decision: Heavy snow clung to every tree branch, every surface, and it truly seemed like a winter wonderland.

As I approached the Jersey City border, however, I began to question my judgement. The long sidewalk in front of a strip mall had not been shoveled, so I was either in the street or deep in the snow. Forty-five slushy minutes later, I made it to my destination. The interview went well but I dreaded the wet, icy walk home.

First I’d have to fortify with a meatball sandwich.

Five snowy blocks east and four blocks south, and I was there. I had eaten slices standing in the small space at Favia, but could I eat a meatball sandwich in there as well? That would be a bit more labor-intensive. Had to shake off doubts; it was too late to turn back. I reacquainted myself with friendly Jerry and placed my order. Did I want cheese on that, he wanted to know. Well, now, I love cheese, but… “Uh, what’s the usual way to have it?” I asked. Jerry said without cheese, so without cheese it would be.

Moments later, Jerry was ladling two large meatballs into a sliced ciabatta roll. He assured me it was OK to eat on the premises, so I walked the piping-hot sandwich—steam steadily rising off of it—to my makeshift table atop the microwave. For a moment I considered shaking on some parmesan but opted to trust my man Jerry. I picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

Oh my god it was delicious.

It tasted so very good and I had so many bites ahead of me. The first thing I noticed was how ridiculously fresh the meatballs were. Like, almost-falling-apart-but-through-some-miracle-still-holding-together-as-a-meatball fresh. I asked Jerry how this was possible. I didn’t even know where he had taken the meatballs from—it seemed like there was only a pizza oven behind the counter. Jerry pointed to a couple of built-in pots next to the oven. He stirred the marinara in one pot which he said contained the meatballs. And they are made fresh every day.

The next thing I noticed was that I could see the excellent flavoring. Right in the middle of the meatball were chopped bits of onion and garlic (in addition to other unseen seasonings). I don’t recall gazing upon a similar meatball interior before.

The sauce—the same one they use on the pizzas, Jerry explained—effectively did its job. Flavorful yet subtle, and thankfully not sweet. The bread fulfilled its “role” too, cradling the meat—but was thin enough to not overwhelm the sandwich.

But with each bite I kept coming back to the freshness. I kept thinking, this is hot meat and I am loving it. The direct pot-to-mouth route allowed the meat to retain its heat throughout the eating process. And kudos to Jerry, who waved off my money until after I was done, which permitted me to begin eating very quickly.

It’s another week and a half till the next trivia, and I’m kind of hoping that nobody gives me a ride.

• Meatball sandwich review #1: Spring Street Natural (NYC)
• Meatball sandwich review #2: Sanpanino (NYC)
• Meatball sandwich review #3: Pizza Per Tutti (Aruba)