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A Hellish Wait at Di Fara

The Crowd

This morning at the Serious Eats office Ed came in talking about how he had dinner with someone last night who had spent two hours in line at Di Fara earlier this week.

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 ages—I love the place, but most times my hatred for crowds and lines overrides that. Has the wait really become two hours long?

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