DEBATES ABOUT PIZZA are a lot like debates about religion, or politics, or monetary policy: There are a lot of strongly held beliefs, but very little is ever truly resolved.
Yet if one were to make a list of candidates for the best pizza in New York City—which, with apologies to Chicago, Detroit, and New Haven, is a reasonable proxy for the best pizza in America—then Di Fara Pizza would almost certainly make the cut.
Di Fara is something of a legend among pizza enthusiasts. In 2009, The New York Times called it “one of the most acclaimed and sought-after pizza shops in New York City.” The shop has repeatedly won contests for best pizza in New York and has at times been overrun by bustling crowds and long lines. A slice of Di Fara isn’t just a piece of pizza; it’s a tradition, a public ritual, a foodie culture event.
Di Fara is located on Avenue J in a heavily Orthodox Jewish neighborhood of Brooklyn called Midwood. Taking the subway from Manhattan takes the better part of an hour, and when you arrive, you encounter a shop that has been open since 1965 and looks the part: Outside, there’s a large, heavily weathered sign advertising “PIZZA” and “ITALIAN HEROS,” though most of the place’s nonpizza items were discontinued long ago. Inside, Di Fara is what one might politely call unassuming—or, less politely, dilapidated.
After you order a slice, it takes about five minutes to heat it up in one of the shop’s gas-powered metal ovens. The slice also looks unassuming. There is nothing on the plate or in the shop to visibly signal this is trendy food, sought after by connoisseurs. There is no pretense in the presentation of the product, which is served on a paper plate and a tear of tinfoil. Aside from a slightly elevated price of $5, there is little to indicate this slice is all that different from any of the other hundreds or thousands of slices of pizza one could eat in the greater New York area.
Instead, it
