By Marco Shalma.

There is nothing refined about how Pete Davidson eats in New York. And that’s exactly why it works.

This is not a man who believes food should be aspirational. Food, to him, is emotional support. It’s a coping mechanism. It’s a reward for surviving the day. It’s something you eat when things are good, bad, weird, or spiraling slightly before midnight.

Pete Davidson eats like someone who knows life is absurd and refuses to pretend otherwise.

You don’t find him at places with tasting menus and therapy lighting. You find him at spots where the menu looks like it was written by someone who cares more about your mood than your macros. This is Staten Island energy filtered through Manhattan availability.

Start with pizza. Of course pizza. But not the precious kind. Joe’s Pizza. Straight up. No explanation needed. Fold it. Eat it standing. Move on. This is pizza as a utility, not a personality trait. Pete doesn’t need a slice to change his life. He needs it to shut his brain up for five minutes.

Then there’s Corner Bistro in the West Village. The burger. No substitutions. Cash only. This is peak Pete Davidson logic. A place that says, this is how we do it, take it or leave it. The burger is messy, comforting, and absolutely uninterested in trends. You don’t eat this burger to feel cool. You eat it to feel okay.

Katz’s Delicatessen belongs here too. Not for the spectacle. For the excess. Big sandwich. Too much meat. No restraint. This is food that understands you’re not trying to impress anyone. You’re trying to feel something. It’s loud, chaotic, and unapologetically New York, which makes it perfect.

Now let’s talk late-night energy. Veselka. Ukrainian diner. Open when your thoughts won’t shut up. Pierogies, eggs, soup, carbs that hug you back. This is where you go when the night went longer than planned and tomorrow feels far away. Pete Davidson energy lives comfortably in places like this. No judgment. Just food and fluorescent lighting.

And yes, there’s also the fast food tolerance. Shake Shack counts. Not as a flex. As a confession. This is not someone pretending chains are beneath him. This is someone who understands that sometimes consistency is the point. You know exactly what you’re getting, and that’s comforting when everything else feels unpredictable.

Put all of this together and the archetype becomes clear.

Pete Davidson is a Chaos Comfort Eater.

The Chaos Comfort Eater does not romanticize food. They use it. Food is there to stabilize the moment. To soften the edges. To give the night a landing pad. This eater values places that are open late, don’t ask questions, and won’t judge your order.

They like food that feels familiar even if it’s not fancy. Greasy is not a flaw. It’s a feature. Portion size matters. Sauce matters. Temperature matters. Vibes do not.

This eater is loyal but not precious. They’ll go back to the same place again and again because it feels safe. They don’t care if it’s cool. They care if it’s there.

They are suspicious of menus that try too hard. If a place feels like it’s selling an identity, they’re out. If it feels like it exists because people genuinely need it, they’re in.

Pete Davidson eating in New York makes sense because New York understands him. The city doesn’t expect polish. It respects honesty. And his food choices are honest to the point of being almost therapeutic.

This is New York eating as survival with a sense of humor. Food as a pause button. Food as a friend that doesn’t ask follow-up questions.

And honestly, that’s real.

In a city full of curated lives and perfect plates, there’s something refreshing about someone who eats like they’re just trying to get through the night without losing their mind.

Extra sauce.

No judgment.

Still standing.

That’s Pete Davidson.