This is the first in a series about  pizza done with an ethnic twist in New York City, the de facto capital of straight-ahead pizza. Fuhgeddabout about whether you think my fair city's pizza is the "best." I know the answer to that one. These missives concern crosscultural pies, which I'm a little skeptical about. Nonetheless, I  like to keep an open mind and sometimes ignore the fact that I cut my teeth on home-made Calabrian square pies.

I first heard "kimchi" and "pizza" mentioned in the same sentence  on Chowhound. At the time, I was a Korean food dilettante. I gladly enjoyed gas-grilled Korean barbecue, but never imagined the splendid smoky bulgogi  that comes from a charcoal grill. Nevermind  paejun. I had little or no experience with this pancake that combines kimchi, seafood and green onion. Shapewise at least, paejun, is the closest Korean fare comes to pizza.Years passed and I became better acquainted with Korean cuisine. I  partook of spicy tofu stew and such rarer barbecue items as pork belly wrapped around raw oysters. By this time I'd had my share of fiery crunchy kimchi. And truth be told, I'd broadened my pizza horizons having tasted a pie made by one of Brooklyn's old masters.

But despite my love for both, I never actively sought out kimchi pizza. I always figured that my frequent visits to eat Chinese and Korean in Flushing would bring me face to face with it. There were times I came to doubt its very existence. Maybe my procrastination was spurred by the sheer cultural incongruosness of kimchi and pizza. I'd come to enjoy both in context, and didn't want to ruin either. Sarah J. Gim's "Kimchee Pizza=Crazy Delicious" post last week finally prompted me to get my butt over to T.J.'s Pizzeria.

The funny thing is once I realized where T.J.'s was, I knew I'd walked right by it hundreds of times. The elusive kimchi pizza had been right under my nose, so to speak. I ignored the advice of the guy at the counter who encouraged me to try the barbecue chicken pizza, touting it as a favorite at malls everywhere.

I made the mistake of not ordering both the kimchi slices in the case. For some reason I thought I'd try a slice of regular, which was mediocre at best. As for the kimchi slice, it was topped with a combination of spicy fermented cabbage and cheese. And yet the kimchi remained crunchy. My fears of pizza and kimchi both being ruined in this bizarre snack evaporated. Clearly kimchi pizza is far greater than the sum of its parts. And there's no need to doctor it with crushed red pepper and garlic powder either.

T. J.'s Pizzeria, 136-88 Roosevelt Ave., (718) 321-8571