On a windy wintery
night two bicyclists rode to a remote industrial street in East
Williamsburg with one mission: Roberta's pizza. The front of the
lodge-like room is dominated by the brick oven, open to the eyes of salivating
patrons, a performance space for some of the most amazing braising and baking
I've ever tasted. Diners get cozy at picnic tables and on country-kitchen
chairs over mason jars of wine and beer and take stock of the oven's offerings.
We warmed up with spicy olives and (roasted) Brussels sprouts--crispy outside,
juicy inside; half-spheres of vegetable perfection. There are several main
entrees which I promise to someday sample, but really it's all about the pizza.
With inventive combinations of fresh ingredients, including
Roberta's house-cured salami, choosing is delightfully difficult as everything
is guaranteed delicious. Our lovely waitress Sarah told us one young patron
asked whether the pizzas come down the ventilation chute and fall into the
oven. For all I can tell they come from heaven. Crispy, fresh, and dare I say
truly authentic, Roberta's makes me wish I lived in borderline Bushwick.