So my family and I went to check out the aforementioned food vendor event at The Yard in Brooklyn. It was kind of a bust, as when we got here there were only 3 vendors, and one of them made fruit drinks. (The fourth, a fancy ice cream truck showed up late.) The buzz was they had invited a lot more, but not many accepted, as they thought the crowd wouldn’t be large enough. Well, they missed it. The lines were huge for the two food vendors. Like 30 minute wait huge. I would have skipped the whole thing and just gone down to the Empanada Lady on Sackett, but the Pizza Moto guy was there. And I’ve been wanting try his pizza. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/05/dining/05pizza.html?_r=1&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
So I waited the 30 mins to order…and then the 40 mins to actually get the pizza, once they got down the list, written on a piece of paper, in long rows. There had to be 30 people, names and orders, before me on that list. And the women right in front of me ordered like 8 pies. But I, a New Yorker, for some reason, was thoroughly patient. And my son, 10-years of pure genetic and learned environmental impatience, was totally alright with hanging around an ungodly long time to get a nine-inch ring of dough with sauce and stuff on top. It was an amazing day, nice breeze, people were a little too hipster, but nice. So I stood around Pizza Moto mobile wood burning oven, because even thought there was a million people in front of me , my neurosis prevented me from leaving the ring of people who were also waiting. I didn’t want to miss my pie when my names was called. What it did afford me was being able to watch the three person team systematically, artfully and precisely make some of the best pie I’ve ever had. I had ordered a Ramp pie, that came with the spring time fetishized wild leek, incredibility delicious thick cut pieces of bacon, Grana Padano cheese and tomato sauce. I also got a taste if the artichoke and oil pie from a guy eating some in next to me. That I was staring at. Until he offered me a piece. Yeah at eleven buck for a nine-inch pie seems a little much, but all that was on it was just really good and fresh, was cooked in a wood fired oven on wheels and made with great care. Ya know…it’s just f&#$ing pizza. But when it’s done well, with honesty, of all things “integrity”, and no pretence, (which these days in short supply,) well hell, one would probably have to work pretty hard to screw it up. (I put “integrity” in quotes, because when they screwed up and forgot to put cheese on a pie and set it aside, I offered to take it and just have them cross my name off the list. At first the woman said no, them she said “well…how about you just take the pie and when yours is ready, you can have that too.” And after a pause “It’s an integrity thing.” She explained.)
The pie was just good, hands down. I ended up getting the “Last ramp pie on earth.” When they ran out of the topping and she “took” the last one from the 8 pie person in front of me. The boy was happy, my wife was happy and yes, patience still intact, I too was in infected with a glorious pizza happiness.
The pie was just good, hands down. I ended up getting the “Last ramp pie on earth.” When they ran out of the topping and she “took” the last one from the 8 pie person in front of me. The boy was happy, my wife was happy and yes, patience still intact, I too was in infected with a glorious pizza happiness.
