A mile per slice


A friend told me in passing that there was a pizza shop in Brooklyn that was so good, people waited in line for hours (sometimes) to get a piece. Once she told me this, I was in. "When can we go?" I asked. It took time but we finally made a date to check out to Di Fara pizza in Midwood, Brooklyn. The easy way to get there would have been via the Q train, getting off at Avenue J. But we were going to eat a pie, which meant we needed to do some work, so we walked. Four miles. Leaving Grand Army Plaza at 10am and arriving at 11:45am. Once there we joined the small line out front and waited patiently for their doors to open at noon.

12pm. Doors opened and we streamed in to the charm free shop. Inside were two long office tables, two small round tables and, set on the larger tables, our napkins for the meal: rolls of paper towels. The chairs were stacked up like after a conference, so we grabbed three and nabbed a tiny corner round table. Meg put in our order: one square, cheese pizza. Then we waited. "Shouldn't we get more than one?" I asked, this question arising from my need to try as much pizza as possible. My friends pooh-poohed me. Let's just see how this one goes before we order more. Okayyyyy, fine.

"Meg. Square pie." Our name was called and we quickly crowded up to the counter. The pie was hot, steam was rising up from the surface it looked like you might burn your fingers if you touched it too soon. The cheese was runny and oily, bright red tomatoes peaked through here and there and freshly torn pieces of basil (from Israel rumor has it) were floating around the top. We took our giant pie, ignored the jealous looks, and sat down, each grabbing a corner to start. Where else.

The crust was thick, it crunched loud in my mouth, it tasted smoky and on the right side of almost burnt. It was a perfect crust. The tomato sauce was pungent and sweet with just the right amount of tang. In 2004 Dominico DeMarco, the owner and pizza maker, told the Times that he used fresh tomatoes from Salerno. The cheese (also from Italy) is gooey and hot, it easily (maybe too easily) slid off the tomato sauce so I used both hands while I was eating. The basil was fragrant and as I picked up my fourth slice (yes, four) I could smell the spicy greenness of the herb. I still can't believe I ate four pieces, but damn was it good.

Thirty minutes after we arrived, we left. We ate too fast, and it went by too quick and so, with no leftovers to speak of, we decided to walk another two miles before finally heading home.