I'm old fashioned in some ways, not in that I appreciate tin ceilings and uneven wooden planked floors, but how I kind of like the appetizer/entrée convention. I sound like a grandpa but small plates and big plates commingling on the same menu confound me at times. I never know how much to order and often overdo it.

I did start appropriately with a whiskey old fashioned, though. The cocktails are definitely one of Rye’s strengths and you know they're serious because they're doing the big ice cube. You know, the giant solid square that fits the tumbler perfectly. Ideally, to keep the drink from watering down, though the more shrewd might say it's so the drink looks bigger despite only a few ounces of alcohol. Me, I like the big ice cube. There has been some experimenting with concocting them in my household lately.

Neither of us felt up to doing a full on main course. There was something about the room, despite its grand size, that made me antsy. Maybe it was the absence of air conditioning, an overall lackadaisical sensibility, who knows. So far the entrees are neat and tidy, just five: chicken, steak, vegetable lasagna and two fish. The smaller stuff just seemed more fun.

So, the grill section seems ok for sharing, and if I'm correct the portions increase along with prices as they descend down the menu. The sardine crostini, lying on spinach, had just enough char and good acidity from the vinaigrette.

Pork belly probably shouldn't be eaten as an entrée. Of course, I didn’t let common sense stop me. This was intended to be shared along with the meatloaf sandwich but slabs on bread hefty enough require tackling open-faced don't lend themselves to splitting. There was sufficient contrast between the thick slices’ browned edges and softer centers. The bitter broccoli rabe and light mustard seed-dotted sauce did help counter the fattiness, though eating more than two rectangles can still be overwhelming.

The substantial meatloaf sandwich with herbed mayonnaise and topped with thin onion rings. Assorted pickles, both cucumber and otherwise, were a nice touch.

I can see Rye as the type of place you might pop into for a drink and a snack--maybe oysters or duck rilletes--if you live in that inbetween stretch of Williamsburg. But it doesn't strike me as a destination restaurant; they're more of a General Greene than a Buttermilk Channel.

Rye * 247 S. First St., Brooklyn, NY

For not being much of a pizza aficionado, I managed to try two very good, very different Neapolitan pies in one week. First Brooklyn’s Motorino, then New Haven’s famous Frank Pepe. I know I was just bemoaning the lines at Lucali (Saturday at 5:25pm there were already about eight people out front and they don’t even open until 6pm) so it might seem nonsensical to drive two long hours in a violent rainstorm in order to stand in line at a potential tourist trap.

But it all ended up being worthwhile, the 35 minutes or so, mostly under an awning, didn’t kill me. (I didn’t partake, but I did like that drinking bottles of beer from paper bags while waiting outdoors seemed perfectly acceptable.) And the pizza was better than expected.

The non-New York-ness of being in a genuine pizza parlor--spacious wooden booths, enormous $11 pitchers of beer and big metal serving trays clanging around--was refreshing. I perked up immediately; the second I picked up the laminated one-page menu, I felt less bedraggled and damp. Or maybe it was the heat of the coal oven that they claim burns at 2,200 degrees Fahrenheit.

The menu was kind of baffling in the amount of variations offered. Maybe I'm not used to choice. Small, medium and large then fresh tomato pie or original tomato pie, mozzarella or not, toppings were grouped into different prices and you could also go half and half. We were confused because there’s a pricing matrix at the bottom of the menu as well as prices listed at the top. We had to pull out a calculator to determine if they were the same (they were).

Getting a clam pie was a given, but if we drove all the way up there we needed to try another style too, so we piggishly ordered two mediums: a white clam pie with no mozzarella and another with spinach and bacon. I guess that’s a weird combo but the novelty of bacon on a pizza was impossible to resist and the clumps of greens gave the illusion of a healthy counterbalance. The other vegetables like mushrooms or broccoli just didn’t seem right. I have a hard time with broccoli on a pizza. As you can see above, there is a fair amount of cheese on these pizzas.

There's nothing delicate about a Frank Pepe pizza. The browned crust is stiff and more than a little chewy. These are filling irregularly shaped slices. The squiggles of briny clams are substantial as well, with nice chunks of soft garlic, rivulets of olive oil and a dusting of parmesan that all meld into one oozy layer. I think mozzarella would've been too much, though the popular addition of bacon I could totally get behind. But it's best to experience tradition before going wild with extras.

I'm not sure if this original location is the best (there are currently branches in Fairfield and Manchester) but I didn't want to take any chances. Pizza-loving gamblers should note that they will be opening a Frank Pepe location inside Mohegan Sun this coming Wednesday. In some ways that makes more sense than transporting Rao's, Bouchon and the like to Las Vegas. At least they're keeping it local.

Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana * 157 Wooster St., New Haven, CT