Staten Islands . The Forgotten Borough.

The county fittingly named after the bastard son of King Charles II still receives little outside fanfare – something many natives are both pleased with and angered by. Fair or not, if anything, it reinforces the idea of relativity. Only in the shadow of the other four boroughs does Staten Island seem inconsequential.

After being born in Brooklyn, I was raised on ‘the island’, spending my grade school years there before returning over the Verrazzano Bridge for high school. To this day, all of my immediate family calls Staten Island home, which makes it a semi-regular part of my life. 

Still, I’ve never been much of an apologist or defender of Staten Island, despite being an insider. I’ve often reinforced the same stereotypes and lazy generalities that the rest of New York associates with the island. Essentially one giant suburb, to the outside eye it seems to lack any of the culture, color, vibrancy, and diversity of the other boroughs – a notion not helped by the fact it’s the one NYC enclave that votes majority Republican.    

In truth, the place is home to much more than hot-headed Italians, government-defying right-wing bar owners, and the former largest dump in the world (the Fresh Kills landfill was at one time the biggest man-made anything in history). 

Staten Island is a place of substance and character. It has a bigger population than Oakland, Minneapolis, or Pittsburgh. It’s deep history is interwoven with the country’s. A number of great artists and performers have come from its soil. Keith Richards once owned a beach house there. I could go on. 

But there’s one other thing that Staten Island does as well or better than anywhere else in New York or the universe: pizza.

These days, it’s become fashionable to rank New York below other parts of the country when it comes to pizza. It’s tough to see this as more than ‘click-bait’, since it’s always controversial (see: attention-getting) to declare an established power dethroned. 

But if any place is keeping the flag of NYC pizza superiority flying, it’s Staten Island. Because it always has.

Before we get into the island’s Big Three, honorable mention must go to Jimmy Maxx, Reggiano’s, Brothers, and the defunct Basille’s (the birthplace of the ubiquitous Basille’s Artichoke Pizza).

Denino’s

Let’s start with my personal all-time favorite pie. Recently opening an outpost in Greenwich Village, the original Denino’s on Port Richmond Avenue is steadfastly no-frills, only recently accepting credit cards out of necessity. And it doesn’t hurt that it’s directly across the street from another Staten Island icon: Ralph’s Ices (talk about a double dose of dandy deliciousness).

Coming here as a child, an adolescent, a teenager, and an adult, I would get the same feeling walking through the door, one of gluttonous giddiness. Sure, you could (and should) start off with their scrumptious fried calamari appetizer. But don’t fill up. Or do. It won’t matter anyway once those pies come flying out of the kitchen and are placed under your nose. The joint is so good that it makes me forget my pizza-eating ethos of the less toppings the better. Because they serve up a pizza called The Garbage Pie. It’s an unholy pile of meats and onions that looks guilt right in the face and gives it the finger. Make the trip (yesterday) and you’ll see what I mean.  

Joe & Pat’s

This sixty-year-old Victory Boulevard stalwart has a cult following that extends far beyond the borders of Staten Island. Just ask the guy behind the counter at legendary John’s on Bleecker Street who has the best pizza in New York. Of course he’ll rank John’s first (out of contractual obligation), but number two? Joe & Pat’s in far-flung Staten Island.

I’ve spent many a calorie-hording hour here, and the tomato sauce on a Joe & Pat’s pie is just a perfect dressing for their charred thin-crust. And although I rank Denino’s above them, there’s no shame or even total conviction in that. We’re talking Jordan vs. Lebron. Gretzky vs. Lemieux. Seinfeld vs. Curb Your Enthusiasm. Fabuloso vs. Mr. Clean. No matter the choice, you can’t lose. How often can you say that in life? Vastly underrated pie choice, by the way: the vodka.

Lee’s Tavern

Another place with renown that belies its humble setup, Lee’s Tavern in Dongan Hills is a family-run sports bar that pumps out crispy thin-crusts that engender fanaticism and turn one-off customers into devoted regulars.

Full disclosure: I had a bad date here once. Certainly had nothing to do with the pizza. More to do with basic human incompatibility. But unlike the other places I’ve had bad dates (how many is too many?), I had no problem returning to the scene of this courting crime.

The unpretentious, slap-on-the-back atmosphere, the cold beer, the din of outer-borough accents, all sitting on a cozy corner of Hancock Street - it’s really a low-brow paradise.

And the pizza has an integrity, dammit. An understated pride. The term “consistent” sometimes, wrongly, detracts from greatness. The truth is that consistency often is greatness. Which leads us to the following formula: Lee’s Tavern = greatness.

Look at that. And I suck at math.