Long before London developed an incurable crush on vodka pies and an aesthetic best described as ‘Pizza Express reimagined by a r/thesopranos thread’, Vincenzo’s had already perfected the art of the New York slice. One teeny tiny issue: the original Vincenzo’s is in a place we promise isn’t just a fictitious location invented by a Netflix Christmas special—Bushey High Street. It was a stoic pizza pilgrimage made by anyone whose thin crust adoration burned bright enough to justify sitting on a train destined for Milton Keynes. But now, these pies are also available on Bethnal Green Road, and it is the formidable Shoreditch slice scene every single NYC convert has been hoping, wishing, and pining for. For all intents and purposes, it’s a classy American-Italian sweat box soundtracked by every Stones and Springsteen hit that gets our blood pumping. For a fleeting pepperoni slice fix, grab your order and park yourself at the counter in front of a painting—by the owner, because clearly some people get all the talent—of Signore Paulie Walnuts looking ominous. But that look isn’t malicious, it’s envy. There’s a bar-like thrum that encourages passers-by to press their noses against the glass, and the infectious hangout feel had us bopping along to Roxy Music, re-joining the queue just for kicks, and quietly praying the couple in the corner would leave so we could secure one of the two little tables inside. Despite our long-standing commitment to being horizontal at all times, even if you aren’t blessed with a free stool, Vincenzo’s slices are so glorious that you won’t care if you have to eat them standing up. They’re thin enough to fold, long enough that a cute little pizza tongue hangs over the edge of the white paper plates, and they politely give the middle finger to anyone who’s ever dared to say “there’s, like, a ceiling on how good pizza can be”. Whether you get a round of slices or pre-order a whole 16-inch pie, each crust is like a divine act of nature—blackened crisp peaks, low sunny dough valleys, and pockets of airy clouds that are the perfect chaser to the intense tang factor of the tomato sauce. More isn’t necessarily more here: please see the sharp, oregano-spiked simplicity of the tomato slice. Much like Crisp and the other thin-crust heavyweights that have joined this city’s roster of New York pizza impressionists, it has all the makings of a cult obsession that you’ll queue and elbow and sit outside on a fold-out deck chair in the depths of winter to be a part of. Only, it’s better. Cooler. More swagger. A little less interested in influence, and more concerned with doing their own thing and doing it brilliantly. So many of the red sauce pizza joints in London are kitsch tributes to their Manhattan counter ancestry, but Vincenzo’s is the real deal.