Review: Di Fara Frozen Pepperoni Pizza

Di Fara is one of those names that carries the kind of weight that made pizza pilgrims stand in the Brooklyn heat for two hours while Dom DeMarco (R.I.P.) snipped basil over a pie that costs as much as a Broadway ticket. The original Pizza Quixote review from 2011 captured that magic: the cramped shop on Avenue J, the ritual, the inefficiency, the oil, the basil, the sense that you were witnessing something closer to performance art than lunch. That aura is difficult to freeze, box, and ship. But Di Fara has tried.

The frozen Di Fara pie is an 11‑inch round, modest in calories but not in sodium (more on that later). The crust is the first surprise, with a genuinely lovely crumb and texture, airy and well‑developed. Mine was a little dry, likely the result of too long a stay in the freezer, but the underlying dough quality still came through. It’s leagues better than the cardboard‑adjacent crusts that dominate the freezer aisle.

Out of the box, still frozen, before baking

The sauce is the star. Deep tomato flavor, concentrated and bright, reminiscent of the San Marzano–forward approach Dom's family uses in Midwood (and, presumably, other brick and mortar locations that have opened in recent years). It doesn’t quite hit the same fresh‑and‑canned hybrid complexity that Scott Wiener has described in his Di Fara tours, but it’s closer than you’d expect from something that spent months in cryogenic stasis.

Fresh out of my oven

Pepperoni lovers will appreciate the thick, cupped slices — hearty, meaty, and unapologetically salty. This is a high‑sodium pizza, no question, but the payoff is big flavor. The cheese blend (mozzarella plus Parmesan) brings a ton of umami in its savory punch. It’s a bold and satisfying frozen pizza.

But is it Di Fara? Not really. And that’s OK.

The in‑store pie was defined by Dom’s hands, the olive‑oil deluge, the fresh basil snipped with shears, the blistered crust that somehow stays soft in the center. Adam Kuban has written for years about how the Di Fara experience is inseparable from Dom himself — the slowness, the chaos, the sense that you’re eating something ephemeral and unrepeatable. The frozen version can’t replicate that any more than a postcard can replicate a vacation.

Compared to other “prestige frozen pizzas,” though, Di Fara holds its own. Roberta’s frozen pies — reviewed here in 2018 — set the modern standard: thin, crisp, flavorful, and surprisingly faithful to the Bushwick original. Roberta’s Baby Sinclair was described as “the best frozen pizza I’ve had,” with a crisp wafer‑thin crust and a cheese‑driven flavor profile. Di Fara’s frozen pie isn’t quite as cohesive or as texturally dialed‑in as Roberta’s, but it delivers a richer tomato presence and a more indulgent pepperoni experience.

Bottom line: This is a great frozen pizza but not automatically the best. And it’s not particularly reminiscent of the Midwood shop. What it does capture is the intensity of flavor that defines Di Fara: the deep tomato, the salty richness, the umami‑heavy cheese. It’s a worthy upgrade from the usual freezer fare and a fun way to bring a little Brooklyn legend into your kitchen, even if Dom’s family and those basil shears remain thousands of miles away.

Dom in 2009

If you go in expecting the Di Fara of Avenue J, you’ll be disappointed. If you go in expecting one of the best frozen pizzas on the market, you’ll be delighted. And maybe that’s the right way to honor a legend — not by trying to freeze perfection, but by giving us a taste of what makes it special.