I was like, "TWO HOURS?!?! At Di Fara? Surely that's an exaggeration! Maybe two hours' total time there, but not solely in waiting."
Funny then that I should get a copy of David Rosengarten's Tastings newsletter in my inbox soon after. In it, Mr. Rosengarten recounts his very long wait, after which, he and his friend employ a novel tactic for getting their fix:
Mama mia. So it came down to this: to get a slice of pizza at Di Fara, you have to go up to a couple of complete strangers and beg for it. Not that I minded, mind you.....after all, this is major 'za we're discussing......but there's gotta be something wrong with a system that reduces a man to that.
The pizza was good. Really good. Though not quite up to my five-year-old memory. Why? I remember more flavor then; this one was quieter. But it still had that droopy, soupy, wet-but-crisp textural complexity that the best Neapolitan and New York Neapolitan pizzas do. My faith in pizza was still secure—though my faith in humanity was a little shaken.
The full story is almost too painful to read because it's all too familiar.
I haven't been to Di Fara in agesI love the place, but most times my hatred for crowds and lines overrides that. Has the wait really become two hours long?