Motorino: Better Than Your Favorite Pizza

I don’t mean to brag, but in NYC good pizza is a dime a dozen.  In fact, I’d say that for the most part, you can stop in almost any place that sells pizza in New York City, and your almost guaranteed to get at least a 6 on a scale of 1-10. Trust me when I tell you, pizza is my favorite food and if you think what you’re eating in your hometown is a 10, it’s probably a 4 at best. So when you live in such a pizza-centric city as I do, you always wonder to yourself “how could pizza be better than this?” as you slurp down one of the city’s cheesy, greasy pieces of triangular heaven. And when it happens, well, you cry. Or you take pictures of it and blog it, after you cry.

Saturday night was the wife and my 2nd trip to Motorino (located at 319 Graham Ave. in Williamsburg, Brooklyn), and we brought some friends along just to make sure we weren’t initially slipped ecstasy before our maiden pizza voyage.  We were put on to the place by my brother Noah, and I personally felt like it was so good that I almost never wanted to go back. To say the pizza was “amazing,” is probably an understatement. From the temperature of the brick oven, to the time they cook it, to the ingredients, to the way that the crust bubbles up perfectly with just the right amount of burn, this pizza is out of this world.

The thing about Motorino is that they pretty much only serve pizza. Sure there’s some salad and appetizer choices (which are delicious by the way), but when it comes to entrees, it’s pizza, pizza, pizza or pizza. All of the wonderfulness comes in personal size, and I always recommend each person at the table ordering one and then everyone sharing. The pies feature some of the most decadent cheeses you’ve ever tasted in your life like Gruyere, and Borata, and the vegetables don’t stop with mushrooms or onions. Oh no cap’n, this ain’t Domino’s. If you’re a pork fan, the chefs actually slice and dice their own prosciutto right in the pizza station, which is open for all of the diners to see. Makes me happy that no one is picking their nose (or worse) and then tossing my soon to be dinner up in the air, and exposing it to their internal gross. Unbeknownst to me, there is also an East Village location (349 East 12th Street) if you’re too scared of the L train and all of it’s wonderment. So get your ass down there and stop playing,  whether you live in NYC or just coming for a visit.  Trust me, you won’t be sorry.

(Thanks for the pictures Christine, I’m glad you like pizza now. Especially because your part Italian, and well frankly, it’s embarrassing.)