All jokes aside, it was raining so we hurried into this renowned pizza shrine as we were downright reverent.  And hungry.  Inside there were easily twenty people standing in relative silence patiently waiting for their pizza.  It turns out that a stroller works pretty well as a people plough so we managed to ‘excuse me’ our way up to the counter without too much trouble.  My first welcome surprise was that the woman that took my order was pleasant and smiling.  Much  different than the ‘Pizza Nazi’ attitude I was fully prepared to endure.  I quickly placed our order for one regular pie.  That’s right… a regular pie.  No messing around with fussy toppings and risk upsetting the delicate ingredient proportion equilibrium.  I wanted to let the pizza master be the pizza master and just do a pizza the way he does it best. 

We then proceeded to wait

And wait.

But all this waiting is a typical experience.  Dom makes each pie by hand so the production output is a little on the slow side.  But you can tell by watching him that he cares about each pizza and about each ingredient that goes into it.  It was so refreshingly surprising to see how nice Dom and the two daughters that were working with him that day were to all of the customers.  They really didn’t have to be.  Us people will still line up for this superb pizza regardless of the staff’s mood.  But the women were kind and pleasant to everyone.  Even those that checked on their order’s status multiple times.  And Dom, as he snipped fresh basil and sprinkled a handful of shredded grana padano onto each finished pie, made a point of asking, “Is this yours?” to the customer standing at the counter.  Even that little gesture of the master looking the person in the eye, connecting his pizza to the person and then passing his creation on to them I thought was a very nice touch.  It is obvious that Dom cares about his pizza.  And he cares about his customers. 

The Di Fara customers, speaking of, are the wild card of the whole experience.  Waiting for a Di Fara pizza is serious business.  People travel long distances to stand shoulder-to-shoulder in this tattered little shop.  And the combination of aching feet, politeness fatigue, and ravenous hunger can put nerves on edge.  For the most part everyone on the afternoon we went was great.  Civil, polite and obedient in observing the social contract.  But there were a couple mumblers in the bunch.  “I can’t believe it is taking this long.”  “I was here before that guy, why is he getting a pizza?”  Etc.  Etc.  All to be expected for waits this long on an empty stomach.  It only becomes awkward when the mumblers turn to you and try to drag you into their low-decibel monologue.  Best to be prepared to smile and nod sympathetically to whoever looks at you.  And then pretend to be distracted by something else.

The wait for our pizza ended up being an hour and twenty minutes.  After an hour on the train.  And then an hour on the train to get home.  A total of three hours and twenty minutes of pilgrimage operational process.  All for a pizza eating experience that lasted maybe fifteen minutes.  Sound crazy?  Definitely.  Was it worth it?  Absolutely.

The Di Fara pizza is most certainly deserving of its reputation for being one of the very best in New York City.  So simple yet so transcendent.  The multidimensional crust the perfect base to a compilation of top-notch ingredients.  The center dough thin and chewy with hints of crispiness while the outer crust billows into pillowy sections of crispy crunch giving way to a chewy bread-like interior.  With bits of char scattered about as flinty taste counter-point.  And the three-cheese combination is perfectly balanced in composition and proportion.  The pizza’s melted base of both fresh and aged mozzarella gives the pie a good depth of character to build upon.  And the addition of a handful of grated grana padano scattered when the pie comes out of the oven is pure genius.  As the pizza is eaten, the diner is able to experience the grana padano as it struggles through its transition between two states.  From its raw state of unadulterated sharp saltiness to the oozy comfort of the cheese in melted form, each bite has the potential to capture not three but four cheese taste characteristics.  For the price of three! 

All of the cheeses and the sublime dough are accompanied by taste accents from top-notch ingredients.  The tomato sauce is San Marzano.  The olive oil is good Italian stuff which Dom drizzles, nay… douses, the pie with both before and after the oven.  Again expanding on the potential of taste character from both fresh to cooked.  And the addition of fresh cut basil at the end caps the whole taste experience off with a lovely herbaceous high note and aroma that would be otherwise muted and largely lost if the herb was allowed to bake with the pie.  All of these high quality ingredients expertly composed and transformed to form a delicious pizza whose taste is greater than the sum of its parts.  That’s Di Fara pizza magic.  And totally worth the trip.

But, after personally witnessing Dom DeMarco’s sublime pizza operation for myself I think that I have figured out the secret to the whole Di Fara’s experience.  Wanna know the secret?  Here it is:

There is no secret.

There is no ancient coal oven imparting mystical smokey-charred taste.  There is no secret recipe.  Sure the dough is great but there are other pizza places in town that make great dough.  And, really, dough ingredients are so simple that there is not much room for adjustment.  There is no secret ingredient added behind the scenes.  Heck, you can stand there and watch the guy make every single pizza.  No, there is nothing that Dom DeMarco knows that you don’t have access to yourself. 

But that is just it.  The thing that makes Di Fara so good is that they use only great ingredients to make their pizzas.  Great tomatoes, great cheeses, good olive oil and fresh basil.  And they don’t skimp.  Anyone could use these same ingredients.  On the long train ride home I was thinking that any crummy pizza place in the city could change up their operation and make killer pizzas very similar to Di Fara’s.  But they don’t.  Why not?  That is what is so maddening about it.  If you have a good pizza oven and some basic business insight, great pizza that people will clamour for is within your reach.  But very few pizza makers understand this.  So people like me have to travel from all over the place out to sleepy Midwood, Brooklyn for some of the very best pizza in the city.  In the country possibly.

Dom DeMarco’s genius is a straight forward one.  Just use great ingredients to make great pizza and the rest of the business equation will fall into place.  That is what he does every day that Di Fara’s is open.  Pizza is Dom DeMarco’s soul focus.  His passion.  His meditation.  And maybe, now that I think about it, that is the actual secret behind Di Fara’s.  Hidden in plain sight for everyone to see.  The tiny details that make up the process.  How the dough is treated, the careful proportion of sauce and cheese, the length of time a pizza spends in the oven.  How often it is turned while baking.  The right sized handful of grana padano and just the right motion to scatter it.  These sorts of little motions and details that have a cumulative effect on the final product.  All of which can, of course, be learned and recreated.  But it is more than just learned behavior that Mr. DeMarco uses in making his pizzas.   He actually cares about each and every pie that moves across his counter is and shaped by his hands.  And he cares about the people eating his pizzas.  His taking the time to speak to each person that he hands a pizza over to is a subtle, yet very powerful part of the experience.  It is obvious to any attentive observer that he loves what he does.  And it is evident in his pizzas.  Maybe that is the real secret behind Di Fara’s Pizza.  A pilgrimage worth taking.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I am a pizza addict.  A promiscuous pizza floozy.  If it was socially acceptable I would eat pizza every day.  Along with sushi every day.  Pizza and sushi every day.  While listening to the Smiths.  O.k… that’s a step too far.  But suffice to say that I love pizza.  Of course upon hearing this you might think that my pizza bar is set pretty low.  “He will eat any ol’ pizza and be happy with it,”  you’re thinking.  And this is pretty close to the truth.  BUT, just because I have a vast breadth of pizza experience does not mean that my pizza discernment lacks depth.  On the contrary.  I have a great love for pizza.  And because of that love I am an expert at knowing what constitutes a great pizza.

In terms of Sal & Carmine’s, they had me with the first slice.  And hundreds of slices since. 

Now let me just say that Sal & Carmine’s is a bit different than, say, Lombardi’s, Grimaldi’s or Patsy’s.  There is no 100 year old coal fired oven to lend its aged flinty smoke to the taste complexity of the crust.  Sure they have been in business for a long time, since 1959 if I am not mistaken, but there is nothing sacred or storied in their space or their equipment I don’t think.  Heck, they even moved a while back.  Maybe I am wrong.  But from what I can tell Sal & Carmine’s space seems pretty typical of New York’s many pizza joints.  It is small.  Only a few tables.  It sells whole pies but mainly slices.  It’s menu and its range are limited in that it has only a pizza oven, a counter and fridge to make and hold the dough and a cooler for drinks.  That’s pretty much it.

But the pizza that comes out of Sal & Carmine’s oven is quite frankly some of the best in New York city.  Easily within the top ten.  Possibly within the top five.  I am not sure what their secret is but Sal & Carmine’s crust has a character all its own that subtly sets it apart from other pizzas.  The dough of every pizza is multi-dimensional.  Thin and flexible in the center.  Then bubbling up into pillowy heaps toward the outer edge.  As if driving across the Great Plains the fields on either side of the road were covered in cheese with the Rocky Mountain foothills and muscular peaks of crust rising before it.  The crust itself, instead of charring to a hard dark outer shell, somehow maintains a light coloring of flour, slicked here and there with some of the cheesy oil that has found its way through a ‘mountain pass’.  When bitten into the crust has a slight bready give to it and then a satisfying toothsome chew.  With just enough salt in the dough to keep the taste buds dancing.  Thick in places, yet airy and pliable, a real pleasure to eat.  This is not crust that will get left behind by a picky pizza eater.

Sal & Carmine’s toppings are all fairly straight forward.  There is nothing fussy here like fresh basil or buffalo mozzarella.  But everything from the aged cheese to the pepperoni is good.  Really, though, it is the dough that takes all of the ingredients and toppings and elevates them to something very special.  I usually eat only the simple plain cheese slices so that I can savor the crust all the more clearly.  But whatever you order you can be certain that it will be good.  The one detail that Sal & Carmine’s does add to the diner’s experience is that they tie each pick-up order pizza box with a few wraps of red and white kitchen string.  Which I love.  I carefully untie the string and save each one I get.  Not only is it pretty but I have also then gone on to use it to tie the odd roast or bird. 

So what makes Sal & Carmine’s pizza so good?  The quality and taste of their pizza is simply astounding considering its humble home.  Pizza this good should be served to hundreds every day in a large restaurant.  But maybe that is the point.  Sal & Carmine’s is a family operation.  Brothers Sal and Carmine Malanga have been making pizza together for a long time.  Unfortunately Sal passed away last year.  But Carmine and grandson Luciano Gaudiosi (with the help of a couple other family members) continue to carry on Sal’s tradition and make the pizza every day.  So maybe it’s that family understanding, the familiarness of shared experience and values, that gives Sal & Carmine’s its outstanding flavor and character.  Its pizza dough mojo.  Sal & Carmine’s is run by a family that is not so concerned with growing the business, making lots of money or opening a second restaurant.  They just want to make seriously good pizza.  Which they do very well.

So a little more about the space beyond the communal tables.  At first blush the space is finished in a sort of warm yet austere modernism.  Concrete floors, a recess-lit wood wall behind the banquette and a clean white background.  A few nice light fixtures and the space seems pretty good in a modernist-sensibility sort of way.  But upon further inspection I noticed a couple incongruities.  First, for such a small space, I think there are too many different table varieties.  If a restaurant wants to go the communal table route – fine.  That is a completely viable concept.  And at Co. the communal tables are very nice.  But then the line of two-top tables along the wall are white surfaced.  I am sure they are lovely tables but their whiteness visually breaks up the floor to ceiling wood-y warmth of the north wall.  Why not construct them of the same hardwood that the communal tables are made of so that everything matched?  Or even gang some of them together into bigger tables to continue the communal-ness?  And even less fitting are the two larger round tables at both ends of  the banquette.  Not only are they also white but they are the only round pieces of furniture in the joint, throwing a visual wrench into the rectilinear machine that is Co.’s space.  A better solution, in my opinion, would be to populate the north row with the same sort of communal tables as the ones that create the main organizational ’spine’ of the restaurant.  It would visually simplify the space as well as reinforce the communal concept.  Making it a sort of modernist Italian country trattoria.

Of course an argument might be made for the round tables in that they were meant to relate to the two round light fixtures hung above them.  This detail brings me to my next point.  In this restaurant there are a total of only five hanging light fixtures.  Not very many.  But they are of two different designs.  I am not sure I understand why.  Sure, the long rectilinear fixtures are probably meant to accentuate the horizontal lines of the communal tables.  But then why not pick up on the horizontality of the north row of tables?  A missed opportunity I think.  Personally, I much prefer the round light fixture.  It is beautiful in it’s simple utility, straight-forwardness of function and chrome-y bigness.  Really nice fixtures.  I might have placed them in two rows of four or six marching along each line of tables.  A sexy grid of simple shiny modernist lighting.  And then maybe done one big splashy light fixture over the bar that would be a visual punch when coming through the door.  The long rectangular fixtures over the communal table have a fussy ‘modernist-pool-hall’ feel to me.  But… it’s not a deal breaker.  And I have seen much worse.  Oh, and it doesn’t bother me if a round fixture hangs over a rectangular table.  Round is a logical shape for a light source and rectangular is a logical shape for a table in a rectangular room.  Logic is so modern.

One of the other things that struck me is the relationship of the mirror behind the banquette and the mirror/window at the back kitchen wall.  Why are they detailed differently?  And why are they placed at different heights?  In a space this small one can’t help but see architectural elements as they relate to each other.  And these pretty much do not.  I think much more compositionally pleasing would be to raise the long mirror panel so that it felt like it was part of the same horizontal ‘cut’ that punctures the kitchen wall.  If the wood of the communal tables and banquette and north all all line up, why not the glass too?

One last thing about the design.  I think it is a bummer that the pizza oven had to be in the back enclosed kitchen,  relatively out of the sight of the diners.  A major aspect of the appeal of pizza places is the diner’s close connection to the fiery oven that blisters their crust.  Being able to see the pizza artisans expertly handle the choreography of pie movement and transformation in and out of the oven is lovely to watch and great dinner theater.  I missed it at Co.  But maybe it was all the better that I was not distracted by the pizza making.  I had to focus all of my concentration on the act of hearing my friend’s conversation.  The place is loud.

But…  I was there for the pizza, so to the pizza we will now turn.  I have reviewed several of the other ‘new-ish’ pizza places that Frank Bruni mentions in his extensive pizza article in the New York Timesa couple months ago.  And Co. was next on my list.  I will say right off the bat that I was very impressed.  My margherita pizza was super good.  Maybe could have used a little more salt, but super good.  The olives we got at the beginning of the meal were a stand-out also.  Done dead-simple in a bowl of wildly good herbaceous, grassy olive oil we really enjoyed them.  Though the olive oil might have used a touch of salt to make it sing a bit more.  But very nice.  The pizza bianca that came was our first experience of Co.’s much talked-about dough.  And it was awesome.  Chewy, not too heavy.  A little char on the bottom.  Really Nice.  And ample amounts of that great olive oil on top.  But not enough salt to tie it all together.  And no rosemary.  I love the smell of fresh rosemary scattered across pizza bianca.

But, as I mentioned, my pizza was very good.  A straight-up traditional pie done very well with great ingredients.  I will say… that there was not as much olive oil on the crust as there was on the bianca so it was a little drier.  But, otherwise, very good.  Unfortunately I think a few little mis-steps happen when creative liberties are taken with ingredients.  Some of the copious amounts of spinach on the Popeye became dry and burnt from the oven.  And the heavy garlic and lack of saucy-ness didn’t really balance everything out.  The special pie of the night featured several types of German sausage as well as sour crout and mustard.  A fun idea to be sure.  But way.  Too.  Much.  Sausage.  My friend could only eat half of his pizza.  Maybe that was a good thing since I got to take the extra home with me.

Overall the pizza at Co. is of superior quality and taste.  And it has great promise.  I will definitely go again very soon.  I will probably, though, stick to the more ‘traditional’ pizzas.  Just because a restaurant is trying to be modern does not mean that it should turn its back on on traditional ingredient combinations.  There is probably a good reason why some typical pizza compositions have been around for so long.  Here’s hoping that Co. is around for a while too.

To begin with, even though it was completely busy we didn’t have to wait long for a table, which was very nice.  The space is totally casual with an open pizza prep / oven area in the back.  A good vibe and a good crowd.  Presented with a menu we were pleasantly surprised to find that Motorino has a bit more in terms of selection than a typical pizza place.  We immediately ordered the fingerlings & anchovies and a selection of cheeses to nibble on while awaiting our pies.  This actually proved helpful in that the wait for our pizza was a bit… on the long side.  I know that they were busy but I was always under the impression that super-hot bad-ass brick pizza ovens belched out pizza in record time.  Maybe it was just a table timing misstep.  Whatever.  Anyway, the pizzas came and we dug in.  I loved my Margherita DOC.  Good pliable crust.  Good ingredient proportions. Really yummy.  The sauce could have used a touch more salt.  But otherwise really good.  The other pizzas at the table, however, were a little more varied in successfulness.  After eating a piece of the wifes’ brussel sprout and speck pizza, I question the use of the sprouts.  I like sprouts and think it is an interesting concept…  But the sprout leaves are thin and tended to burn leaving the pizza speckled with char.  Which ended up overpowering the speck and cheese.

I think the main issue with Motorino is that the more creatively endowed pizzas can be sometimes less than totally successful and end up blurring the restaurant’s focus.  It is hard to balance a restaurant that is super serious about great pizza with the expectations of the typical diner.  Most people can get annoyed if the menu has a choice of only two pizzas, no matter that they are the best two pizzas in the world.  Sometimes a salad is all I want.  Well… maybe some people would say that.  Not me.  Especially when pizza is around.  But I think some people may.  So I applaud Motorino for trying to build a well-rounded menu.  They are well on their way.  Not to mention that the pizza is pretty dern good.  And for that I will definitely come back.

Craig is from out of town so it was up to me to pick the place to eat.  So I chose Otto.  I have been to Otto hundreds of times.  I have taken dozens of visiting guests to Otto over the years.  But why?  Now let me set the record straight by saying that I love Otto.  Mostly.  And I love Mario Batali.  Really. (except when he and Gweneth and Mark Bittman ad lib while schleping around Spain.  They need a script…)

I think it boils down to this:  Otto is a bit… odd.  There is something within the concept – from the menu, to the meal structure, to the design of the space, to the color palette,… the train board… that doesn’t quite work.  And yet the place is always pretty full.  Not to mention that I keep going back…

So what is it?  Well, it’s not the front bar room.  As annoying as the train board gimmick is, when the bar room is full of waiting diners, I don’t mind standing there with a glass of wine.  (Although I DO see through the subtle tyranny of the ’no reservations’ policy that forces you to wait for a table… and consequently buy more alcohol than you might had you been seated immediately).

It’s not the food.  Batali’s food always tastes great.  Great Flavors.  Always seasoned well.  I particularly enjoyed the peppery cauliflower “alla Siciliana” and the lentils “Toscana”.  And the pizzas are… er… great too… I think.  Although, now that I am thinking about it, ‘grilled pizza’?  Why?  Let’s be honest, if you put Otto’s pizza up against other top-tier pizza in the city (Patsy’s, Lombardi’s, Grimaldi’s, John’s, Di Fara’s, etc.) it does not stack up.  Maybe because of the cooking process, I’m not sure, but the pizza turns out a bit dry.  Toppings included.  The crust is dangerously thin in places and less plyable than one might look for.  When all is said and done, I don’t think that grilling brings any added value to the pizza.  It’s still good.  But not ‘better’.  And speaking of grilling, if Mario is going out on a limb by introducing a new twist on typical pizza making by grilling, why does the diner not experience that ’specialness’ somehow?  Shouldn’t Otto put the grilling on display so that people can see it and ‘get’ it?  Like seeing the white-hot coal-fired oven from your table in other pizza joints.  Otto displays the salumi counter in the front bar.  Why not the pizza grill?  An odd choice, I think, from a restaurant design standpoint.

Also, gettng back to the antipasti for a moment – the vegetables we ordered came to the table in little ramekins.  As usual.  They tasted great, of course, but the experience of eating them is a little odd.  Are you meant to simply spoon them onto your plate and then fork them up?  Or should we be using the bit of bread that comes to the table wrapped in paper?  The paper wrapped bread is a nice visual on its own but it does not lend itself to the experience of enjoying the antipasti course of a nice Italian meal.  Shouldn’t there be some nice olive oil to drizzle over the bread and ‘verdure’?  Make a yummy oily mess with it all and scoop it up with bits of bread?  As it is the bread ends up getting ripped apart and eaten dry.  And never finished as the taste of dry bread gets old quick.

Another part of the experience that struck me is the relationship between the servers and the menu.  Our server was nice.  But the menu is broken up in such a way that an order placed without a thorough understanding of how best to structure your meal can produce a clumbsy dinner.  The servers should, in my mind, be muchmore hands-on in terms of guiding diners through the ordering process and suggesting selection progressions, etc.

The last thing I want to mention it the dining room.  I have written about this before but the dining room is really. Really. Drab.  That ‘Burnt Sienna’ color on the walls is downright oppresive.  And on walls devoid of any artwork or ornamentation I might add.  Save for some sad little light fixtures…  Being led to the dining room from the more cheery front bar room is a real downer.

I will save comment on the relentless soundtrack of slightly too loud 80’s pop for another time…

All of these little things, while not neccessarily bad on their own, add up to a dining experience that is… good.  But clunky.  Which pains me to say.  Because I like Mario and I like his food.  But the overall dining experience, from how the diner is led through the restaurant’s progression of spaces, menu and food, does not come together, in my thinking, to produce a unifying concept to reinforce the ‘brand’.  I’ll eat there again, of course.  But I’ll know ahead of time that something is not quite right.  And I guess that will have to be o.k.