Run, Don’t Walk to Get Yourself Fini’s New Haven-Style Pizza

If you’ve read more than a single post on this blog then you may think that I get jazzed about certain foods or things way too easily. On the contrary, I’m usually quite reserved in my gastronomic celebrations (which look somewhat similar to NFL end zone dances) and am known to be a predictable creature of habit with my everyday munchings. So, it requires more than just well-packaged, Instagrammable hype to turn this Big Body from skeptic to believer. 

It’s not about the panache. It’s about the pa-nosh. I’ll see myself out. 

The thing is with Fini’s Italian American in Hong Kong, there was minimal skepticism to begin with. I’ve been an ardent and vociferous supporter of its SoHo branch for many years and can often be found pensively staring down the bottom of an Asahi draft and bowl of their homemade mac n’ cheese post-Peak hike (walk?). 

So, like Don Ready, an American hero (in the company of legends like Henry David Thoreau and David Lee Roth) who stood up for our right to smoke a cigarette while 30,000 feet up in the air, I already knew Fini’s had “the goods.” But I didn’t know just how much better it could get. Enter Hong Kong food and beverage industry titan Vinny Lauria (and fellow New Hampshirite) and a pizza that, outside of New England, is relatively unknown (albeit it is still nationally lauded by pizza critics) – the New Haven-style pizza. 

Here’s why you need to get on down to Fini’s Italian American to pick up one of these coal-fired, thin-crust saucers of perfection before another Hong Kong pizza joint attempts to hijack this apizza (pronounced “ah-beets”) glory and puts you off from ever trying it. 

The Apizza Deets 

I hope you read above just how to pronounce ‘apizza’ as the header of this section is all that more intelligible if you did. 

Website, Address, & Details: https://finishk.com/ 

• Location: 69 Stone Nullah Ln, Wan Chai, Hong Kong, 49 Elgin St, Central, Hong Kong
• Price: $$ – $$$ – New Haven-style pies start at HK$188 for a 12” and run up to HK$408 for 18” specialty pies (HK$408 being the most expensive pie on the menu). The average you can expect to pay for a 12” is around HK$228 and HK$378 for an 18” specialty. 

Before we dive into anything, Fini’s currently only serves up New Haven-style pizzas at their Wan Chai and SoHo branches. So, don’t go over to the Elements branch expecting a New Haven pie and coming back at me with more sass than a teen whose parents recently took away their phone privileges for failing remedial math (again).

I first met the humble, intrepid Nashua chef behind Frank’s Italian American Social Club (and Frank’s Records), the fossilized yet loved Posto Pubblico, and probably every Italian hoagie pop-up you’ve seen around SoHo, one Thanksgiving many years ago at Frank’s. 

It was also the first time I had ever actually eaten at Frank’s but for a random Deliveroo order of one of their signature meatball subs (which I had consumed my fair share of flammable liquid prior so I can’t say I remembered too much).

After putting down roughly two pounds of green bean casserole and stuffing, like Nana after a warm glass of milk (“Now, you will go to sleep. Or I will put you to sleep.”), I had to express my gustatorial (and libidinous) thanks to whoever was behind it all. 

Pale Ale Travel Tip: If you’re an absolute pizza fiend, make sure to check out my post breaking down what I consider to be the best pizza restaurants in Hong Kong. Fini’s gets its own special post because well…it, like Geena Davis and Madonna, is in a League of Its Own.

It was homestyle cooking with nostalgia, high-quality ingredients, and a hint of fine-dining flare all in one. I was converted and ready to follow this man into the Promised Land, which I’m guessing would look something like present-day Wooster Street in New Haven Connecticut (what some call the “Pizza Capital of the U.S.”). 

I may be getting a little off-track here. The TL;DR here is that Vinny knows his stuff and has spent the last fifteen-plus years in Hong Kong bringing comforting, refined, and evocative Italian-American cuisine to the Fragrant Harbor (I don’t spell it with a ‘u’ because I’m not a Brit).

Now, a little primer on why you came here in the first place, the ever-so-elusive New Haven-style pie.

New Haven-Style Pizza in a Nutshell

I’ll say it, New Haven-style pizza is my favorite style of pizza. I’m a New Englander who grew up on a heavy diet of Market Basket generic brand ‘Cola’ and crispy, crunchy bar pies boasting an elliptical crust, so this is right up my alley and what I know. 

Tracing its origins back to mid-1920s Connecticut, New Haven-style pizza, sometimes referred to as a ‘tomato pie’, consists of a thin, coal-fired, not overly cheesy bar pie with an oblong crust. It’s technically classified as a “Neapolitan” pizza, however, I think calling it a “descendant” of the Neapolitan pie would be more appropriate. 

The key difference lies in its narrower build, charred outer crust, and crispness (brought about by the coal fire). The dough is typically “less hydrated” compared to traditional Neapolitans, which renders that soft, pillowy, and puffy crust you’re generally used to (a characteristic of wood-fired ovens).

Further, New Haven-style pies are limited in their use of melting cheeses, resulting in a “tighter” and drier pizza. Because of this, it’s light and easily something you can take down solo. Neapolitans are a bit denser due to their chewier and heavier center. 

My rule is if there isn’t an audible crunch when you bite into a New Haven-style pie, it ain’t a New Haven-style pie. 

And, keep in mind, there’s a difference between charred and burnt. Just because the crust is brownish-black, it doesn’t mean that it’s inedible. One imparts flavor. The other is intended for the garbage and your mangey, half-blind Shih Tzu that has somehow held on for the last three years despite all odds and medical diagnoses.

Thin Enough to Fold Into a Pizza Airplane Yet Sturdy Enough to Carry Hong Kong’s Pizza Cross

Close your eyes. Now open them. That’s one gorgeous pizza right there. I just wanted you to see it with a fresh look and rested eyes. 

I’m a pizza purist at heart so I had to first order a ‘control’ 12” Margherita New Haven-style pie to see if it stayed true to its roots. As you can see by the picture above, calling this a “tomato pie” would be correct. 

The bright, balanced, and slightly sweet San Marzano tomato sauce (with several secret ingredients) is the star of this pie, making one question without the mild, creamy dollops of mozzarella if the pie could actually stand on its own two feet. I’d contend it can. It’s fresh, it’s tangy, it’s simplicity at its finest. 

The rest is all gravy, baby. 

Fini’s stays true to the New Haven-style origin and coal fires this bad boy up to give it the char and crunch we all know and crave. The contrasting elements between the runny, gloppy tomatoes and milky mozzarella that sit front and center and low moisture, springy crust are really what do it for me with this pie and yield a mouthfeel that is addictive – and easy to scarf down.

The second pie, Fini’s ‘Homemade Sausage,’ a 12” New Haven-style pie, took the already formidable control ingredients and amplified them, like a portly little cherub blasting his horn to announce the arrival of Christmas celebrations. 

Slathered in Fini’s signature secret red sauce and topped with a sweet, slightly “licoricey” fennel sausage, caramelized red onion, soft and milky mozzarella, and gritty, nutty parmesan (grated on top), this pizza was and is everything right in the world. 

The interplay of the multitudinous sweetness fronts and sharper parmesan complemented the almost smoky, sooty, and blistered undercarriage of the well-done pie. The generous chunks of fennel sausage offered a coarse, fatty, and chewy blast of richness that gave Hong Kong’s thinnest pie, unparalleled depth. 

What I especially love about New Haven-style pies is just how clean they look. If a Neapolitan is you throwing on your finest light-blue summer blazer and khakis for that destination wedding, the New Haven-style pie is you in a sleek, black three-piece suit (black tie of course) ready to talk numbers with the bossman over Old Fashioneds at Overstory in the Financial District. 

I’ve just found myself my new favorite pie in Hong Kong. 

Pale Ale Travel Tip: If you’re more in the mood for a slice, make sure to read my post breaking down Sonny’s Slice Shop in SoHo – who I consider to be doing New York-style slices justice (minus the Hong Kong prices that is).

Mac N’ Cheese That Hits Just Right

I’d be remiss not to mention that Fini’s Italian American is home to some of the best mac n’ cheese I’ve eaten in Hong Kong. It might surprise you but I’m not a huge fan of the overly clumpy, coagulated mac n’ cheese casseroles that are commonly served across the city. 

I like my mac n’ cheese velvety, slightly runny, and glistening. I think it’s because I’ve already experienced the apex of mac n’ cheese in casserole and/or baked pan form thanks to Cathy H. down in Lexington, Kentucky, a southern housewife and mother of one of my college fraternity brothers who had been in the kitchen MacGyver’ing home cooking longer than Paula Dean (and without the not-so-subtle racism). 

The secret? Crumbled Ritz crackers and Cheez-Its sprinkled across the top of thick shells fastened together via a tri-cheese concoction. Oh, and pounds of butter. While I’m thankful for reaching the “Mount Everest of mac n’ cheese,” deep down I know that my cholesterol levels and heart just can’t handle that on the reg.

Fini’s mac n’ cheese keeps things simple, with a sharp cheddar melted across large macaroni (elbow pasta) that is topped with a shimmering orange egg yolk (for luxuriousness) and green onion (for color and slight dilution of the cheddar and egg richness). Each elbow can stand and fall on its own merits, a nice reprieve from the clumpy, hardened miniature bricks that inevitably form with most baked casseroles you’ll encounter in the city. 

You want your cheese to be fluid yet viscous enough that it finds a way to imbue itself in every little crack of the elbow macaroni AND latch on like Tom Cruise hanging off that plane in Mission Impossible Rogue Nation. Check and check. 

While it’s not Honky Tonks Tavern’s gruyere-powered mac and cheese that has its not-so-subtle cheesy hooks in my back (and stomach), it sure beats out 99% of the other macs I’ve “macked on” in this city. Playa please.

Don’t Be an L7 Weenie, Go Eat at Fini’s

It’s hard to miss Fini’s right next to the ‘Blue House’ in Wan Chai, a relic and one of the few remaining tenement buildings with traditional tong lau balconies. 

Nothing is worse than an L7 weenie (when you make the shape with your hands, it forms a square – get it now?) who is afraid of pizza change and unable to let the new kid on the block (“You’re killin’ me, Smalls!”) glove up to form a full squad. 

What should instill confidence in you is that Fini’s Italian American has been around and slangin’ pies since 2009. 

It’s tried and tested pizza excellence that has taken a gamble on a geographically limited style of pizza, which is technically considered the “new kid on the block” re: styles permeating Hong Kong’s traditional Neapolitan club. And that gamble has paid off.

I’m thankful for Fini’s helping diversify what I consider an otherwise one-dimensional pizza ecosystem in Hong Kong (but for a few gems here and there like BRKLYN and Florence Trippa). But it’s not even one of those “thanks” driven by the fact that it’s the only one of its kind and “feels familiar.” It’s genuine, laudable admiration and gratitude – because it’s done right. 

Let me know if you’ve tried Fini’s New Haven-style pizza in the comments and what you thought! I’d also love to hear what your favorite pizza is in Hong Kong or where you think I should check out next. 

Finally, if you have any comments about restaurants or dining in Hong Kong, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me via info@palealetravel.com. 

Eat well everyone,

Big Body