Maggie's Farm Wood-Fired Pizza

Raised in a neighborhood settled by many post war veterans, Jerry’s earliest remembrances include the smells and tastes from the kitchens of great Italian moms and homemakers. His frequent testing of delicious homemade ravioli and fresh pasta while rich tomato sauces simmered on the stove was foundational to his view of great food and his love of cooking. When he was about eleven and his brother, Ricky, was twelve and a half, they traveled into New York City with their father on a December day to pick up his annual bonus check. After proudly introducing his boys to all the office staff, Zimmy (their handsome, gregarious dad), took his boys to the Village for the “best pizza in the world”. The oversized pizza, straight from the oven, the red and white tablecloths, the smell of oven-fired crust, the perfect mixture of cheese and red sauce, and the warmth of that open flame all melded into happiness -- family, a good year and great food. This image never left Jerry. During his college years he spent many afternoons and evenings searching for the “best pizza” in the Village. Years later, when he and his wife, Carolyn, were in NYC, they walked up and down Mulberry and Mott Streets. Not able to recall the restaurant name, they studied each store front for signs of the past pizzeria. Then one Saturday afternoon in the late nineties, Jerry’s oldest son, Ben, called to report that he had found the “best pizza in the City”. On their next visit to New York City, Ben and his wife, Thorunn, and Jerry and Carolyn met at 53 Spring Street, between Mulberry and Mott to test Ben’s thesis. After waiting in a line that snaked around the block, they finally reached the entryway to Lombardi’s. There, a newspaper article hung on the wall that pictured the original pizza place, describing their move down the street many years before. Forty years later, Ben had brought his dad back to the “best pizza in the world”.