High pizza pie in the sky hopes
There's a pizza place somewhere in Brooklyn that I've often thought about trying. It looks like it's been there awhile - always a good sign of a pizza place, especially a decently-sized one. Other than that, there's not much special about it. The fixtures are well-worn, but clean. It's your garden-variety slice-a-torium, with a high turnover on plain pies but some other options that look interesting. And it's always buzzing with a healthy amount of activity. As opposed to a DiFara-level amount of activity.
So recently, Kip and I gave it a shot. No, it wasn't bestowed upon us in a glow of heavenly light by a chorus of angels that all look like Dom DeMarco, but it was pretty damn good. The crust was nicely crispy, the sauce was neither too sweet nor too salty, and the toppings were all fresh and perfectly balanced.
His slice, one of those stacked-to-high-heaven pizza/pasta mutant hybrids:
Mine was a little less complicated, but it had all the things I love, including lots of fresh basil:
I'd have to try a plain slice to give you a final verdict on the place, of course (I haven't earned my pizza-nerd wings yet, though six years in New York has taught me that generally speaking you don't need to put lots of stuff on your pizza), but I think I've found a winner.
Where is this wondrous Brooklyn pizza haven, you ask? Well, I ain't telling. If years of living near DiFara has taught me anything at all, it's that you should keep your secret hole-in-the-wall pizza places to yourself, lest they turn into mob scenes full of pseudo-cognoscenti who believe that there is no good pizza without suffering. (Okay, that and "when the health inspector comes over, you should probably clean the 'visible evidence of rodent activity' off of your work station before he notices." Seriously. WORK STATION. Like, where the food is prepared. If my stomach wasn't already tired from the gymnastics it did when I realized I'd eaten at that Taco Bell by the West 4th Street subway, it would have done some more.)
But I promise you, if you're tired of long lines, cruel treatment, Chowhound snobs, and caving into hype, there is still good pizza to be had out there, if you're willing to look for it.
Besides, pizza is kind of like sex - even when it's bad, it's still better than most things.
On that note, I'm off to Patsy's with my coworkers. And after work, Crocodile Lounge.
So recently, Kip and I gave it a shot. No, it wasn't bestowed upon us in a glow of heavenly light by a chorus of angels that all look like Dom DeMarco, but it was pretty damn good. The crust was nicely crispy, the sauce was neither too sweet nor too salty, and the toppings were all fresh and perfectly balanced.
His slice, one of those stacked-to-high-heaven pizza/pasta mutant hybrids:
Mine was a little less complicated, but it had all the things I love, including lots of fresh basil:
I'd have to try a plain slice to give you a final verdict on the place, of course (I haven't earned my pizza-nerd wings yet, though six years in New York has taught me that generally speaking you don't need to put lots of stuff on your pizza), but I think I've found a winner.
Where is this wondrous Brooklyn pizza haven, you ask? Well, I ain't telling. If years of living near DiFara has taught me anything at all, it's that you should keep your secret hole-in-the-wall pizza places to yourself, lest they turn into mob scenes full of pseudo-cognoscenti who believe that there is no good pizza without suffering. (Okay, that and "when the health inspector comes over, you should probably clean the 'visible evidence of rodent activity' off of your work station before he notices." Seriously. WORK STATION. Like, where the food is prepared. If my stomach wasn't already tired from the gymnastics it did when I realized I'd eaten at that Taco Bell by the West 4th Street subway, it would have done some more.)
But I promise you, if you're tired of long lines, cruel treatment, Chowhound snobs, and caving into hype, there is still good pizza to be had out there, if you're willing to look for it.
Besides, pizza is kind of like sex - even when it's bad, it's still better than most things.
On that note, I'm off to Patsy's with my coworkers. And after work, Crocodile Lounge.
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