Margherita Nonna
San Marzano tomato, fresh mozzarella, basil, a good glug of olive oil.
Three generations of dough, dragged out of a 900° oven and onto your table before it has time to cool. No shortcuts, no gimmicks — just the recipe Nonna refused to write down.
Nonna Lucia started selling pizza out of a folding table outside her apartment because the landlord wouldn’t let her run a real oven indoors. Fifty-something years later we finally have a building, but the dough recipe hasn’t moved an inch. Her grandkids run the ovens now. She still checks the salt.
Dough gets worked by hand every morning, the same way it did in 1962 — flour, water, salt, and whoever got to the counter first.
Twenty-four hours, minimum. We tried rushing it once, back in 1998. We do not talk about 1998.
Ninety seconds in a 900° oak-fired oven gets you a leopard-spotted crust and a kitchen that smells like a good decision.
The kind of pizza that makes you call your mom after. I don't make the rules.
I've eaten here every Friday for six years. My cardiologist knows. She's fine with it.
Brought my in-laws here to make a good impression. Now they show up uninvited. Worth it.
No app, no waitlist gimmicks. Call ahead and we’ll have a table — or just show up, the counter seats six and the wine’s already open.
Tue–Sun, 5pm–10pm
Closed Mondays, always
214 Mulberry St
Use the door that smells like garlic