Pizza Pilgrimmage in Brooklyn - Di Fara
Destination: Best Pizza
New York City is known for its pizza, and every native New Yorker has their favorite. But I’ve learned since becoming a Brooklynite that not all slice joints measure up. Since moving to the borough two years ago, I’ve explored some of the more highly recommended pizzerias, but only today made it to the place that many experts have crowned as “best” - Di Fara in Midwood.
I arrive just about opening time - 12 noon - and there are already three guys in line when I queue up. One has a fire department shirt, another is a bus driver. This is no hipster joint - it’s a quick, inexpensive lunch for neighborhood folk.
But there are others here on a pilgrimmage besides me. I overhear two young men in trendy footware and understand that they are also pizza lovers looking to snag a slice of greatness.
The order window is only open wide enough for a masked woman to listen to what we want. I copy a couple of the guys who went first and order a regular and a square. She draws a tiny box and triangle on the notebook where orders are taken, writes diet pepsi and my name. I step back with the others to the street corner and wait. We are all patient and chill, some looking at phones. Little old ladies pushing carts and holding flowers walk past us. Cars honk at the intersection. But we are not distracted by the bustling Avenue J behind us. We are focused on the action inside, and after about ten minutes, we see a pizza wheel being taken to a square pie from the window. It’s almost time.
Then, with efficiency, the slices are loaded into thin cardboard boxes and our names are called. We grab our box and step away quickly, making room for who’s next.
Three metal chairs on the corner - maybe for a bus stop - are damp from afternoon rain, but the bus driver had wiped one down to take a load off. Now he’s gone, so I snag a dry place to sit. I smell the savory sauce before I even open the box. Then, when I lift the lid, I smile at the fresh basil, bright orange-red tomato sauce, and creamy blobs of melted mozzarella on the slices.
I start with the regular. The sauce is really delicious - so fresh, barely spiced, the quality of the tomatoes is so good it needs almost nothing. The sauce has an acidic tang and sweetness, and I’m in love. The crust has a nice chew and the mozzarella tastes fresh, with a little pull and a smidge of salt. I love the aromatics that the fresh cut basil add as well. “Oh I got a Pepsi” I say to the guy next to me, who is digging into a pepperoni square.
“She mixed up the drinks - you can take it back if you want.”
“That’s okay, Pepsi actually tastes better,” I laugh with the idea of calories far from my mind.
There is a comaraderie to the pizza people - most just stand on the sidewalk and eat. It is understood that it’s preferable to eat it when it’s hot, rather than take it back to your place. The two other pilgrims - tall young guys who, like me, seem to be making the pizza rounds - are very pleased with Di Fara. One of them says, “Why isn’t more pizza like this?” I hear him sing the praises of the crust and silently concur it is delicious.
When I sink my teeth into the square slice, it immediately becomes my favorite. The chewiness of the dough really shines in this format, and there seems to be even more delicious sauce on it.
In the end, I am full. I am happy. The skinny pilgrim guy says, “It’s not just the pizza. It’s about the experience.”
He’s right. On a gritty corner of Brooklyn, there is peace, love, and pizza. A worthy reward for a pilgrim.
