No. With reservations: really, I love what Dom DeMarco stands for as much as the next guy, but you don’t wait two hours for pizza in Italy. And shouldn’t anywhere else. It’s pretty good pizza, but not mindblowing. And it wasn’t mindblowing the last time either. I’m never going to DiFara’s on a Sunday night again.
Yes. With a car and a starting point in lowest Manhattan, getting to Jersey City is no sweat. I never bother to take down the names of the restaurants I go to when Robert’s conducting the train, but this is an Alexandrian fish place on or near Newark Ave. and all those Indian joints and cash & carrys. Their fish “barbecue” is really grilled until blackened over charcoal. You discard the skin and dig in to the sweet, subtly smoky porgy or striped bass or whatever it is they pulled out of the water that day. The fried fish comes with a garlicky, tomatoey vinaigrette. Great dirty rice and eggplant. (Also, the neighborhood is worth checking out for the neon signage. There’s a lot of it. I mean, what does a dentist need with neon? Can you even see that shit in the daytime?)