When Is A Pizza Greater Than The Sum Of Its Slices?

That's a simple question. It's when said pizza is worthy of a major schlepp. And, furthermore, worthy of a long-ass wait after said schlepp.

Not may pizzas hold these virtues, but I was lucky enough to encounter one last week.

It was a square pie, with a charred, almost caramelized crust, slick with good olive oil. It was topped with a heavenly combination of vibrant, red tomato sauce, rich mozzarella, snippets of fresh basil, a drizzle of more olive oil, and a shower of sharp parmesan.

It was in Brooklyn, in the heart of Hasidic Midwood. It was Di Fara. And, without being Kosher, it was a wholly religious experience.

Needless to say, amen. And, when is someone going to offer to rent a Zipcar to take me there again?