Search for Sacramento’s best pizza slice

We all know whatever pizza that happens to take top honors in our inaugural Pizza Issue is going to be some overcomplicated, paycheck-busting monstrosity. Some people prefer this type of fancy pie. They see themselves as somehow above drunkenly swaying back in forth in line at 2:45 a.m., waiting for congealed grease that's been reheated and formed into the shape of a triangle.

Lucky for you, I am not one of those people. I'm ready to put some damn boots on the ground and hunt for real pizza. With a few friends, I recently embarked on my own late-night Pizza Death March. The mission: to eat at every pizza-by-the-slice joint in Midtown (with stops inbetween for drinks, so that we might forget the folly of the task at hand).

This journey began at Slice Of Broadway (2424 16th Street), an establishment I once believed to be a money-laundering front for the Yakuza. We ordered two slices, which actually became four, because the folks at SOB are overachievers: When you order a slice, you get two! Or, more accurately, each enormous quarter-pizza you get is sliced in half so you don't feel like a giant turd when you're eating it. We ordered a basic pepperoni and something called the “Buff Chick,” which was an attempt to replicate spicy buffalo wings in pizza form (I support this idea).

Let's break Slice of Broadway down:

Value:Seven bucks nets you a whole boatload of pizza. You can eat half now, and the other half in a darkened apartment standing near the refrigerator in your underwear later that night, wondering what happened to the smiling child you used to be.

Taste: Delicious. The Buff Chick is especially great for people who don't have the time to eat both buffalo wings and pizza but can't bring themselves to choose.

Drunkeness Handicap: 0. These were the impressions of a completely sober group.

Next up was drinks at Flame Club (2130 16th Street), the watering hole of choice for people in Midtown who want to hear music “with bass, but not, like, rap.” Turns out, sir, you've come to the right place: It is physically impossible to play rap music on the online jukebox at Flame Club.

Stop two was Uncle Vito’s (1501 16th Street), which appears to be a giant projection screen with a kitchen attached. We ordered a basic pep and their slice of the day, the Smokin' Hot. We took our seats in the glow of the projection screen and awaited smokin' hot doom.

Value:If you’ve got five bucks, you can own any slice you want. You’ll be like Bruce Wayne perusing his garage full of European supercars, except he’s a billionaire who dresses up to fight crime and you’re just the only person in Vito’s who isn’t passionately invested in the outcome of the college-football game on TV.

Taste: For my money, Uncle Vito's is the best slice on the grid. Plus, they have Cholula.

Drunkeness Handicap:±2.

Next on our list was Pizzeria Urbano (1050 20th Street)—but first, more drinks. We decided to visit Goldfield Trading Post (1630 J Street), which is called a “Trading Post” despite the staff ignoring my repeated attempts to barter with them. The bartender wore a horseshoe charm on her necklace, which struck me as so on-brand that I briefly wondered if it was mandatory Office Space-style flair. By now, we were nursing an impressive buzz, the kind that can only be attained with multiple layers of pizza and booze making their way through one's system. It's the same buzz that causes you to sing along with Garth Brooks when he comes on the jukebox—and then continue singing when Will Smith comes on right afterward. Yes, we were full-on White-People Drunk.

Upon arrival at Pizzeria Urbano, I was flooded with memories of slices past at the previous tenant, Luigi's Slice. I shed a silent tear for its passing, and for those who might yearn for a bored high schooler to serve up a tasteless slice that was somehow overcooked and undercooked at the same time. Oh, Pizzeria Urbano, the bar has been set very low for you.

Value:Better than Luigi’s.

Taste: Way better than Luigi's. The Salsiccia deserves special mention. It's meaty, peppery goodness was like pure-life-giving manna to an inebriated traveler.

Drunkeness handicap:±0. No amount of liquor could disguise the fact that we were eating a legitimately delicious slice of pizza and not a stiff, two-hour-old piece of wood. In other words: better than Luigi's.

With the end of our trek in sight, we spilled onto the sidewalk at 2 a.m. Cut off from our alcohol supply, we turned to plan B: an enormous blunt the width of my thumb. We'd need it, too, because our journey ends at Pieces (1309 21st Street).

What can be said about Pieces that you may not already know? It's arguably the most popular spot on our tour—a reputation that is wholly undeserved. Any night owl can tell you its prominence is derived not from quality, value or ambiance, but solely because it's open til 3 in the morning. Does Pieces even exist before 1 a.m.?

Value:Amazing. Incredible

Taste: Superlative. Exquisite. Peerless.

Drunkeness Handicap:± 1,000

My editor is making me write a conclusion for this, even though I've tried explaining to him that I don't really remember anything that happened after all that. There may have been some minor property damage. It was intoxicating to be vox populi—an advocate for those who have a deep hunger and five-to-seven dollars burning a hole in their pocket.

Every time someone stumbles out of their favorite bar and smells the siren smell of (more-or-less) fresh pizza, we'll be there. Every time a wiped-out partygoer needs to eat something before passing out, we'll be there. Every time a cross-faded group of youngish people is making bad decisions, we'll be there.

But come tomorrow morning, you're all on your own.