#Pizza #Za #LosAngeles Some of the best pizza in Los Angeles can be found in an empty lot in the back of a wine bar. It’s open only once a week, for four hours (or until it runs out of dough), and it’s nestled between the Thai Town and Little Armenia neighborhoods of Hollywood, where a pizzaiolo and his home-built, wood-fired dome oven (made in a Charleston backyard, of all places) spits out upward of 70 pies over the course of the night. It’s often gorgeous: Neapolitan in technique, but with the spirit of a sturdier New York pizza (as in, the core will not dissolve into a tomatoey pool after the first slice). And yet, every week, an Armenian mother will step out from her balcony adjacent to the lot and gaze down upon the action. Every week, she offers her consult: Let me show you how to make real pizza. Thus far, it’s been an empty threat. She’s never actually come down. Perhaps intuition tells her there’s no need. There might be better snapshots of the city, but few would more ...
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