Slim's Pizzeria: It's hot, honey
And there's nary a nugget in sight
I want to think that you come here to follow my travels (here's the latest) or to avail yourself of my wildly creative writing prompts, but Mama didn't raise no fool. I know what you're really interested in is food and drinks, so here's my latest discovery – Slim's Pizzeria in Crestline Village.
Slim's calls itself "a neighborhood pizzeria and bar," but this is not your kid's pizza palace. There's no arcade. There are no walls to climb. And there's nary a chicken nugget in sight.
Slim's is a neighborhood pizza joint like Chez Fonfon is a neighborhood hamburger shack.
And I like it.
Sign me up for a warm, comfortable café atmosphere with nostalgic touches like black-and-white-checkered tile floors, rich mahogany booths, and warm pendant lighting. Give me the mercury glass mirror behind the bar, gold lettering on the windows, and cloth napkins. Take me to the river of hot honey butter and dunk me in a French 75. (That's an Al Green reference, just in case you didn't know.)
Hot honey butter, you say?
Yes, my child. Hot honey butter.
Apparently, it's a thing at Slim's because the menu features baked Gulf shrimp in hot honey butter with Calabrian chilis and parsley as well as a hot honey pizza with pepperoni, mozzarella, chili, honey, and jalapeños. Friends, do not scoff at the sweet and savory mashup. Just get it into your mouth.
Let's start with the shrimp because we started with the shrimp. The appetizer portion is about six large shrimp with the head and tail on, but their scrumptious little bodies are nekkid. They are swimming in an unusual, warm, unctuous (I've been dying to eat something that compelled me to use that word) sauce. Take my advice, good people – don't just throw the head to the side. Suck all that shrimpy, brainy goodness out like they were crawfish. Crack their craniums open and lick out all that sauce-laden head goo. Then, and only then, dredge the body through the sauce again and nibble it up in little bites to make it last longer.
They'll give you a spoon with this dish. Use it. Use it to slurp up every last drop of this piquant nectar. Then throw caution to the wind and lick the bowl.
Ok. Don't actually lick the bowl because that's a little gross. But you'll want to, so don't be ashamed.
We also ordered the burrata with prosciutto, sweet peas mash, asparagus ribbons, lemon, and mint, which comes with four little pieces of toast. Tell me, restaurant folks, why do you serve a generous portion of cheese with the least amount of bread you can get away with? This dish, creamy burrata cheese wrapped in porcine saltiness and topped with citrusy herbs and such, just screams for more bread. But we only had to politely ask for more, and it came very quickly so we could sop up all of the creamy lemony pea parts.
You probably want to know about the pizza, too. Frankly, the appetizers were so good that I wondered how pizza—even pizza with hot honey—could measure up, but it did.
We ordered our one-size-fits-all pizza with half hot honey and half capocollo, which came with green olives, onions, tomato, mozzarella, and rosemary. They will do two types of pizza on one crust if the chef thinks they are complementary, so just ask. The pie came piping hot and was placed on top of an old can of tomatoes. If you like crust, this is what I'd consider nearly perfect – thin in the middle, bready around the edges with big, puffy charred bubbles. The hot honey side had whole basil leaves, crunchy peppers, and plenty of pepperoni. It was slightly spicy, but not too much, with a definite sweetness that cut through the herbs, salt, and heat.
Here's a fun fact for you: Honey helps things not be too spicy. It counterbalances and reduces the perception of heat from spicy foods by coating the mouth and absorbing some of the capsaicin molecules responsible for that familiar burning sensation. That makes this pizza a bit of scientific genius.
The capocollo pizza had big chunks of tomato, Castelvetrano olives, and a generous dusting of rosemary that all came together like magic in my mouth. I'm sure there was actual capocollo somewhere, but it got lost under the cheese, I guess. To me, this was like a really good tomato and olive pizza, and I loved it for what it was. In fact, I didn't think about not seeing the ham until I was just now writing this and scrutinizing my pictures.
When you go to Slim's, you'll see the word "COCKTAILS" painted on the front window. Get you one…or two…this is a solidly good bar experience. Ricky tried the Manhattan, and I opted for the French 75, a nice light drink I love. I thought my French 75 was the perfect fizzy complement to our somewhat spicy dinner, and the rich depth of the Manhattan did not detract either. Slim's also has a small selection of wines by the glass or bottle and beer.
Perusing the menu after our dinner, I thought, "Affogatto get me an affogato!" (How does wordplay translate to print? I'm curious.)
I had seen one come to a table nearby, and although we were stuffed, it looked too good to pass up. Big Spoon Creamery's fior di latte ice cream (that's Italian for sweet milk ice cream made with no eggs) comes frozen in a coffee cup with a little divot pushed into the top. Once at your table, the server pours piping hot espresso into the little hole, and it all comes together in melty wonder. Two spoons took us to the finish line.
While our meal ended there, this story does not. I have a few other notes about Slim's.
First, who is Slim? As it turns out, the Slim of Slim's Pizzeria is Miller Mobley, a photographer turned restaurateur who co-founded this "neighborhood pizzeria." Mobley, who has worked with everybody from Robert DiNiro to Taylor Swift to Michelle Obama to Dolly, once lived in New York and returned to Birmingham to partner with former Bottega Chef de Cuisine John Rolen and create Slim's. That's why it's got such an air of Stitt about it, I presume. The name "Slim's" was inspired by a New York bar Mobley frequented.
Slim's is not open for lunch so Ricky and I went on a Saturday evening at 5:30, and there was already a 45-minute wait. We managed to score two seats at the bar, though, right next to this hook that changed my life on a rainy night. Seriously, more restaurants should have coat hooks.
Speaking of sitting at the bar, I love to eat at a bar. What I don't love are people waiting for a seat who rudely stick their arms past me to summon a bartender and then proceed to crowd all around me while I'm trying to enjoy my meal. Diners, have a little awareness, pretty please. Restaurants, have a dedicated space to serve drinks to waiting patrons, please.
But at least they weren't waving their dirty dolla bills all over my pizza because Slim's is cashless. That means bring your plastic and leave the greenbacks at home. And no, they will not take your cash "just this once."
Despite the drapes and upholstered booths, Slim's is loud. I have a decibel reader on my phone, and at one point the sound in the room shot up from 80-85 (about as loud as your vacuum cleaner) all the way up to nearly 90 (equivalent sound to a really loud hair dryer). It's the kind of loud where you can only tell what song is playing by the beat—Man Eater and Sultans of Swing tipped me off to the fact that there was music behind the din.
They also seemed to be doing a mighty take-out business on a Saturday night, so that's an option as well.
While Slim's isn't your typical juke box and Jolly Rancher pizza joint, it's a darn good one. And I'm happy to forgo the chaos of families with small children (don't in-box me… I've had a child and I also have grands that I adore) for a night of good cocktails and pizza in an adult environment. And gee dang… don't forget those swimps!
Here's how we rate Slim's Pizzeria on a scale of 1-5 🍕:
Atmosphere: 🍕🍕🍕🍕(It’s really, really loud.)
Food: 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕
Drinks: 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕
Service: 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕
Bathrooms: 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕
