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Because maybe you do care what I had for lunch...

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Miracle on J Street

We went to Brighton beach for couple hours today and then took the Q train to DiFara, New York's most famous out-of-the-way pizza outpost. It appears regularly in every city weekly's "Best of" issue and the line there just keep getting longer and longer. Dominick DeMarco makes every pie by hand, lovingly, using carefully chosen ingredients and his own herbs, grown right at the pizzeria. Pots of rosemary, basil, and oregano grow occupy every bit of window space. And he even makes his own sausage.

We arrived after lunchtime and well before dinner, but there was still a mob at the counter. I tried to entertain Jasper near the entrance while Lane resigned himself to waiting at least a half hour to order and another half hour or more to receive his pie. An overly tanned woman with two young daughters tapped her foot impatiently. "We've been here 45 minutes! Is that pizza really that good?" "Unfortunately, it is," I replied. She snorted and shook her head. I was obviously an untrustworthy, brainwashed cult member.

Meanwhile Lane watched one of the customers hassling Mr. DeMarco. "Hey, Dominick, you otta have numbers. I got here before that guy! You should have a number system!" "No numbers," Mr. DeMarco muttered. "We don't do numbers here." He carried on, caressing his pizza dough, pouring olive oil from a long-spouted copper can, grating fragrant Parmesan cheese.

We hadn't been there long at all, maybe 15 or 20 minutes, when Jasper and I returned from viewing the herbs growing at the back door. Lane actually had a pizza box in his hand and was heading for the door. "Let's go, let's go!" he said, hustling us out. The overly tanned woman stared with a look of shock and disgust.

Apparently when the complaining man's pie arrived it wasn't what he'd ordered. "Hey, this is sausage and mushrooms! I ordered sausage and pepperoni!" Mr. DeMarco looked at the box, and, sure enough, he'd written sausage and pepperoni. Lane, who hadn't even put his order in yet, held aloft his twenty and said, "I'll take it!" And that's how we got our DiFara pizza in record time.

Our good luck continued. A nearby private garden was unlocked, so we got to enjoy our pizza seated under trees. The mushrooms were a medley of porcinis. Not just some canned white caps. Not even one kind of porcini. Three different, thickly sliced, chewy varieties of porcini. Lane couldn't believe how foolish the complainer had been. "Doesn't he know that ANY pie at DiFara is going to be amazing? And how could he talk to Mr. DeMarco that way? I got my pizza because I'm a fellow artist. I know what Mr. DeMarco does for those pies."

1 comment:

Swizzies said...

Hey A - I fully DIG your blog, I look at it daily...especially when I'm hungry. I could kill for a NYC pizza pie right about now, especially after reading about your DiFara experience... And Jasper is SO cute! I have to say, I REALLY wish I could absorb your mentality about food and cooking, and your energy/motivation to try new things seemingly daily. Impressed am I.