Lansky's Pizza Pasta & Philly Steaks

4601 S 50th St (at L St) 

402-731-1919 — put this one on speed dial (people still do that)

Open daily 11am – 9pm or something 

Plus locations in Bellevue and Council Bluffs

lanskys.biz 

Sleek font, sloppy food

Imagine waking up in a parallel universe, where animals can talk, the cab company doesn't suck, and your neighbors champion really disgusting foods. For one of those scenarios, you don't have to imagine anymore — you can just go to Lansky's. 

We were bumbling around near 50th and L when hunger struck and a quick consultation with the smartphone (93% on Urbanspoon!) ultimately pivoted the car into the parking lot. At first, it seemed Lansky's had the makings of something good. The awkward layout and quaint-yet-hideous interior all pointed to the idea that the food's too good to be bothered with atmosphere. A sign at the translucent iceberg lettuce salad bar read, "One trip only, please." I felt that was legitimate, that the owners are too busy quietly turning out Omaha's best pizza to be bogged down by unnecessary salad costs. The aroma of the place even reminded me of the neighborhood pizza joints I terrorized as an adolescent. (The reader has been reminded that I grew up on the East Coast and am therefore an absolute authority on most things, including all types of pizza.) Tables started to file in with subdued excitement, placing their orders at the counter and then plopping down on the salmon-colored padded chairs, sipping from styrofoam cups and chatting about all the joys and hardships of being a South Central Omahan while nonchalantly waiting to have their minds blown by the best food on the planet. 

No, I don't do food styling: the Philly cheesesteak with wayward onions and peppers

But no. Just, no. With the food on the table, and the shock of its appearance faded ("It could still be good!" I screamed in my head), we dug in, only to be met with hopelessly poor quality — it was in-your-face cheap. The Philly cheesesteak bun tasted like a knockoff of something you'd find at a church spaghetti dinner, and as a whole, the sandwich had an off-putting flavor; I think the mass-produced "American Swiss cheese" was the culprit.

Then there was the pizza. Piled with pounds of tasteless cheese and pepperoni, the spongy crust was the color of pasty legs in winter.  I thought it might just be undercooked, but it became clearer and clearer that another few minutes in the oven wouldn't have done much for this heap of shitty ingredients. In one final attempt to reconcile my hunger, I pulled back the inch-thick inedible layer of toppings and pushed it to the side, folded the white, doughy, sponge square in half while it oozed yellow oily matter, and gulped it down. I cursed myself for not stopping at Casey's General Store instead. I thought about the last time I had DiGiorno, and how it's only $4.99 for a pie. I wondered why I put myself through this. 

The pepperoni pie:
It's true I loathe the party cut and toppings under cheese,
but what I loathe more than anything is a bunch of Sysco-sourced ingredients masquerading as something good.
I'd say it's more in line with school cafeteria quality, but I wouldn't want any children eating this.

By now we all know the internet is riddled with untruths. But studying the restaurant's red hot glowing diner reviews online is more than puzzling. It makes me feel like there's something wrong with me. If this is it, then what am I doing? Why am I here? What's the point? Am I trapped in a dystopian novel? 

The way people feel about Lansky's makes me think it's me against the world.  

Frank's Pizzeria (and other thoughts)

711 North 132nd Street
402-493-0404
Open Mon-Thurs 11am-9pm, Fri & Sat 11am-10pm, Sun 3pm-9pm
franksnewyorkpizza.com

One time we ordered a bunch of Frank's at work. It lasted five minutes.

As I sat today compulsively wringing the excess cream cheese from my jalapeño popper before submerging it in a ranch bath, anticipating another just sorta decent pie at Frank's, I thought I'd weigh in. The Omaha World Herald recently named Frank's one of the three best pizzas in Omaha, specifically dominating the "less fancy" category. I found that interesting because I've eaten at Frank's four times in the last two months, but not necessarily because I love it. A more accurate description of why I make the trip Out West would be that I don't regret it. It's not bad by any means. It's just not that great.

Frank's is decent, but this pile of raw onions and
floppy sausage, combined with the wonky pizza cutter work,
sort of beg the question,
"What the heck is going on here?"

The cheese, sometimes with a grainy quality, often comes not melted enough -- it's definitely not the bubbling, browned appearance desired of New York-style pizza. In fact, both the sausage and onion on today's pie were curiously undercooked. The crust, however oven charred on the bottom it may be, somehow manages to reduce to a soggy state within minutes. A "best pizza" title holder might want to address this major structural flaw. It flops under the weight almost immediately.

Still, for the most part, Frank knows what he's doing. Overall, the assemblage of dough, cheese, and sauce tastes good enough to come back to, though I can't quite explain why.

Brick Oven likes to serve slices with an unusual 90° angle.

If you're looking for another New York-style option, try Brick Oven. Concealed in the shadows of Nebraska Furniture Mart, this pie -- available by the slice -- has a much sturdier and more flavorful crust. I can't vouch at all for consistency (one time I had to leave behind a mangled pile of stringy cheese and chewy sausage on the plate) but on a good day, it might just be better than Frank's. Plus, the place reminds me exactly of the mom-and-pop pizza joints I grew up eating at, save for the zealous owner/operator behind the counter who might be overbearing or just extremely passionate about his brand.

I'm partial to New York-style because I grew up with it. But I like Neapolitan. I like Sicilian. I'll own up to my vices and admit I even have a soft spot for total junk food Godfather's garbage when the time is right. Mostly, though, I'm a sucker for a timeworn recipe, or at least a healthy fervor for the craft of pizza making that doesn't wane after a few years. I think that's what makes a good pie, no matter what your style preference may be.

Consider the gallery below for a few other good ones in town:

A recent gut busting cheesy favorite,
albeit with an unimpressive crust
considering the owner's penchant for baking,
is the meatball pizza at Nicola's in the Old Market.

(UPDATE: A more recent visit revealed an herby, buttery,
flavorful crust. I stand corrected.)

Tasty Pastry serves personal sized pizzas on the cheap.
Here, atop an absolutely delectable, chewy crust,
are Brussels sprouts, pecorino, brie, bacon, and onions.

This is what Baxter's in Benson looked like when it first opened:
I'll trade you a sloppy pile of haute toppings
artfully made from local ingredients for a crust that's not corrugated cardboard.

This tasty jalapeño bacon slice illustrates the progression
of working out the recipe kinks at Baxter's. Cheers.  

Denying yourself a Dante pie because you're
repelled by its unfortunate location would be a shame.
The "Amore di carni" is a love worth dying for, even if that's just a
cheesy claim meant to convey that this
Neapolitan-style pizza is really effing good.

More Frank's