Domenico DeMarco is still there, making the pizza at Di Fara. It’s been over 15 years since I’ve darkened its doorway, and it’s a thrill to see this accomplished artist at work.

I’m meeting my friend at the iconic pizzeria. He grew up around Avenue J, and he’s the perfect guy to talk to about Di Fara. His stories don’t disappoint. They’re like unto legends. He talks about his family, and how his father would bring him to Di Fara. Domenico was behind the counter then, too. His friends used to refer to Mr. DeMarco as "God’s Arm” when he took pizzas out of the oven.

Fitting that Domenico would be compared to a deity. The pizzeria’s dining area is almost like a church. Everyone in the place, waiting or dining, is silent and respectful.

It may take more time to get a pie from Domenico now, but nobody complains. His deliberate and ritualistic movements mesmerize all those waiting. Voices are low from the tables as others eat. Many take pictures or video as he works.

Finding a seat is no small task. We’d come at the slowest point of their day, but Di Fara was still packed. Millenials mixed with senior citizens, a scene that’s all too rare in New York City these days. When was the last time you saw young folks and old people sitting and eating at the same table together?

[anad]

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My buddy and I snag a corner of one of the long tables. We park my snoozing two-year old’s stroller between us, and take in the scene. Well, we try to, anyway. I immediately knock a plaque off the wall behind me. The noise of it is loud and jarring in the quiet of the eatery. Liam flinches in his stroller, but naps on.

The plaque fell because not only am I a big clumsy dude, but because the walls of Di Fara are absolutely covered with them. There are so many that they reach down to the tabletops. There’s almost no room for all of them. During our stay we see others knock plaques off the wall too. Each time, there’s an embarrassed smile, and then the award is placed reverently back where it belongs.

Domenico works slowly but steadily. He rarely looks up, as if he’s lost in his work, consumed completely.

My friend points out the old cash register and the pad of yellow paper. No computers here. The phone jangles and peals from the back room. We can’t see it, but you just know it’s a rotary phone.

All one can think looking around the pizzeria is that old cliché, If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

The staff moves quietly about in support of Mr. DeMarco. He didn’t used to need any help at all. Domenico would make all the pizzas back in the day, but he’d also answer the phone, take payments and give back change, and absorb all the orders as well. He’d do it all by memory. He didn’t write anything down. Speaking as someone who worked in “The Industry,” that last part is absolutely mind-boggling.

Di Fara is located in one of the last vestiges of old New York. This Brooklyn neighborhood hasn’t been corporatized yet, and much of its old character remains intact. There are modern banks, yes, but the storefronts are still mostly homegrown. My buddy says that you can tell a place has been around a long time if (718) isn’t included in the phone number on their awning.

[anad2]

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Now God’s Pizza is ready. Settling back at the table, I once again knock a plaque off the wall. There seems to be one from everyone: Best Pizza This, Highest Rating That, The New York Times pieces gushing, the Daily News trumpeting praise, and on and on and on.

But the pie is in front of us now. It’s a thing of beauty. Although I disdain those who have to post pictures of their food on social media all the time, I can’t help but do the same. Once the pic is uploaded, we begin the feast.

These are the moments you live for. Di Fara pizza is unlike any other. Savory and succulent, the flavors swirl and dance together, making beautiful culinary music. This is New York pizza at its best. It is world class.

It’s no wonder. Domenico has been doing this, mostly by himself, since 1965. That’s 50 years of artistry, just in this location. I have to say that again, 50 years. Just imagine how good food tastes when the person making it has a half century’s experience at making it. Then you’re scratching the surface of just how amazing this pizza really is. Again, I’ve worked for years in the restaurant business, including Italian bistros and pizzerias. Di Fara is in a class of its own.

Truly good food is transcendent. It doesn’t just sate your hunger, or taste delicious, it tells you a story. Di Fara takes you on a trip back through time. It reminds you of the way things were; how things used to be done; and how special it is to find food such as this. It’s a rare experience, and one everyone should have.

,

It’s only been a few minutes, but I check to see how my pizza post is doing on Facebook. It’s popular. A dozen likes and a bunch of comments, after just a few minutes. Graig Kreindler, renowned New York baseball artist, chips in with, “It’s the cutting of the basil with the scissors that makes it clutch.”

Liam rouses from his slumber, and sits forward, immediately focused on the pizza. While he’s not exactly a picky eater, this toddler remains very expressive of food he enjoys. It isn’t long before he’s scarfed down a slice and a half, exclaiming in joy the whole time. He’s easily the noisiest diner in the place, but he brings no annoyance, only smiles.

The three of us expound upon the taste of the pizza. That perfect mixture of cheese and crust, the tang of the oil, and the basil, which is indeed “clutch.”

It’s difficult to describe just how good it tastes. Those of us in this line of work hesitate to use the phrase “words don’t do it justice,” that’s supposed to be what we do after all, but that’s the phrase that fits right now.

Of all of us, Liam describes it best, “Ah-EEEEE-Yah!” 

New York is famous for its pizza. But there’s New York pizza and then there's Di Fara. Domenico DeMarco is rightly known as “Brooklyn’s Pizza King.” Fifty years of perfecting his profession has resulted in works of art as opposed to some dough with ingredients on it. This is not something you can get just anywhere, even in New York City.

Gotham is growing and changing every day. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, legacies are being left behind. The Big Apple loses homegrown businesses all the time, and it doesn’t always have to. Skyrocketing rents and leases seal the doom of many icons, even ones we thought we’d never lose.

[anad]

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Di Fara is above water for now. Lines still stretch around the block. With as sterling a reputation as it has, and boasting such a loyal clientele, the little pizzeria still does booming business. But that’s no guarantee of a long future. Domenico isn’t getting any younger.

You see, Di Fara is a family run spot. They face the same problems all families do, with the extra burden of a business’ demands on top of everything else. Health issues, financial concerns, and the myriad stresses of owning a business compound your life.

[anad2]

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It’s a double-edged sword to run a popular eatery. When business is booming, there will obviously be lots of income. But the downside is that you can’t take a break. If you’re popular, then you’re always working, and that also means you’re always tired.

If you’re making money, your bills then go up. Landlords crank the rent up. Expenses increase. Taxes, supplies, payroll, you name it. It will seem like everyone has his or her hands out. It’s not an easy life. You may be unfairly perceived as making more money than you actually are.

But the difference is pride. Di Fara is world renowned for their food.

A common theme I write about is how New Yorkers can forget how incredibly blessed they are to live in this city. The best of everything waits for us in these five boroughs. Di Fara is but one example of this.

The care Domenico DeMarco takes in his ritual is a wonder to behold. That’s why those waiting for their pies can’t take their eyes off of him. That’s why kids growing up on Avenue J referred to him as “God’s Arm.” Di Fara is a legacy of New York City, a patron saint of pizza.

And it’s easy for New Yorkers to get run down. We get that. The relentless grind of Gotham; the ever encroaching corporate Disney-fication of the city; the “what have you done for me lately” style of the work environments; all make it a simple thing to forget yourself, and where you are. To escape from this, you just need to remove yourself from it. Even just a little while will do.

That’s why you should get on the Q train on your next opportunity. Take it to Avenue J, and hang a left when you leave the station. What you need is just half a block away. There will probably be a line. There may not be a seat available. But there will be Di Fara, and that will make everything better.

Just try not to knock their awards off the wall. Trust me, it's harder to do than you think.

If you enjoyed this article, check out #SaveNYC: Why McSorley’s Is (and Always Should Be) a Thing in NYC!