Eating a legend

I've never written a review on Yelp before, and I doubt I ever will. I probably should, since I often read them and base my decisions about where to eat on them. But I guess I figure everyone has a right to their own experience and I don't need to color it for them. Kind of like parenthood, right? I mean once I figured out that no one really wanted to hear all about the pitfalls of having a colicky child, I eased up a bit. I couldn't give anyone any real shortcuts on how to be a better mother. It's something you have to find out for yourself.  Oh parenthood? It's great. [Said with a knowing smile].  So that's how I kind of feel about today's little adventure to Di Fara Pizzeria in Midwood, Brooklyn.  Over the years we've lived here, I've seen it's name pop up again and again in various lists of NYC's best pizza.  It's charm lies in the fact that one man, Domenico DeMarco, has been making all the pies there for over four decades. I love a good Sicilian slice, but for $5 a pop, it better be phenomenal, right?  Well, today my curiosity finally caught up with my desire for a great saucy bite so off we drove south along the BQE until we found our little piece of pie heaven...

The man himself Dom DeMarco making each and every pie to order...very slowly.

Dom chopping the basil with scissors over each hot pie

Me giving the wait time (an hour and counting...) a big thumb's down

And that's where I wish the story ended...in pizza heaven.  Only after showing up and taking a good look around the place, I realized that the taste experience of their pizza must be partially based on equating grime with authenticity.  Seeing barely any line, we placed our order for three square slices (one olive, one pepperoni, one cheese) and one regular slice (sausage) and the wait began.  Now I might have been delusional, but I kind of thought we were in for a 20-30 minute wait.  Maybe 40.  I mean, given the stories of lines wrapped around the building, there was no one there.  We grabbed some drinks, found a great little table and the only high chair (can I just say I'm amazed there even was one) and proceeded to use up our goodie bag treats to keep the girls entertained.  By the time Elisa said she needed to use the bathroom, I was happy to stretch my legs and so we ducked through the counter and followed the pointing fingers back through the kitchen.  As we pulled the rickety old door back to reveal one of the smallest, darkest bathrooms I've seen in a restaurant, we were only inches away from a huge mound of resting dough. In all honesty, it was kind of cool for us to get a sneak peek at the inner workings of the kitchen, but it also reminded me of all the headlines of Di Fara's health code violations and shut downs (both in '07 & '11).  The old man definitely has a quirky little world unto himself with his hand shaved mozzarella and drizzled olive oil and cut basil.  He moves at such a snail's pace that I can't imagine he really loves the work anymore. It seemed like such a chore.  But who knows.  Maybe he really has nothing else to do.  I think I was more intrigued by his hunching figure slowly turning and stretching dough than I was by the pizzas appearing every half hour. I picked up my camera at one point and started clicking away wondering a bit if they worried I was documenting all the hazards for some kind of Kitchen Confidential blog. But no, this was just for me. 

Another 30-40 minutes passed and we tried to wait it out at the table. But eventually I took the girls outside for a bit to walk around since it didn't look like we were anywhere close to getting our slices. Four meager slices.  I think Nacho was getting more restless than Carolina, but at least he stayed seated. Elisa took turns dancing both outside the restaurant and inside close to the counter. I really couldn't blame her for wanting to do anything but sit some more, so I followed her around. We must be getting close, I thought. Luckily, the two guys seated right next to us were amusing with their conversation about all things New Yawk. One of them had been by Di Fara's three other times and never gotten in the door. He was determined to make it happen today and we kept track of the wait by marking how much time he had left in his meter.  Surely he wouldn't need more quarters...oh, but he did.  Yes, the wait was going on an hour and ten minutes before I dared to ask the counter help "so, how are we looking?"  An icy stare and "you're next" greeted my inquiry, and placated Elisa who demanded to know where her pizza was.  And then it was our turn.  I watched a news crew descend on the scene, shooting footage of Dom cutting basil on my pie.  Time for the best slice in the city...and I'd love to say it was.  After the steam stopped rising from the sauce, I attempted a bite.  It was good. The cheese was thick but perfectly oozing and chewy.  The small pepperoni disks pooled with oil and the basil infused everything with strong, vibrant note.  Elisa declared that she loved this "store" the best, and Carolina refused all crusts but took care of some pepperoni for me.  I think Nacho and I were too hungry and tired of dealing with restless children to savor every bite, but we managed to exchange glances of approval.  So my final verdict:  the pizza itself might not be worth the wait, but the experience is one you will never forget. And that is worth something in a world where food is often taken for granted and the people who make it overlooked. Dom DeMarco is a legend in this city, and to see him shuffling around in the same restaurant he's run since 1964 was an honor.  This was a kind of culinary theatre and everyone who enters must know it.  How else can you explain the crowds? Sure the quality might have slipped in the past few years.  If you want a good fast slice, just about any place can give you that. But Di Fara gives you a glimpse of something more. Imagine Willy Loman making your pie and you kind of tear up a little....yeah, that pretty much sums it up.