the pizza at delancey

I'll admit it: I'm a food blogger stalker.

I love food blogs. Before Adriana and I started this one, I pored over and adored the blogs of others for years. Food bloggers were like the cool kids in high school, but way better. They received the bounty of the land and cooked it into deliciousness, then wrote about it eloquently and with such warmth it made me feel as if I could be the best of friends with them. Becoming a food blogger was that thing that I knew I could do, but that I didn't want to do for fear that I couldn't measure up to what was out there.

Thankfully, I have a really great friend in the Land of Deep Dish Pizza who makes me feel a lot less timid about doing things. We started a blog, and we keep on working at it and trying to make it better. Still, I think I can speak for both Adriana and myself and say that we're thoroughly in awe of other bloggers. One of the many blogs I adore is that of Molly Wizenberg, Orangette.

Back in the spring, I trucked to a bookstore in Chelsea after a particularly arduous day of work to hear her read from her book, A Homemade Life, and have her sign it. If I believe in what someone is doing, and they seem like a really nice person, chances are high that I'll be excited to support them. When Molly announced that her husband, Brandon Pettit, would be opening a restaurant in Seattle, I couldn't wait to pack my bags to go and eat there.

So it was that, after many months of antsily waiting and following Delancey's progress on Orangette and Twitter, the restaurant was open, and I was in Seattle. I dragged my friends along to tease me about being a food blogger stalker as I pointed out to them Brandon, and Molly, and The Chef (of Gluten-Free Girl fame) with pride.

While it may seem to you that I'm a tad partial to this restaurant, I've got to say: Go to Delancey. Go now. Do not wait. Even if you're not as obsessed with food and food bloggers as I am, I think you'll love this place. The restaurant is sparse yet warm, somehow charming in its almost barren decor. The Italian pizza oven entrances you with its neon flames while you wait for a table. The salad we had was unbelievably fresh, and perfect in its simplicity. Then there was the pizza. We tried the Padron, which you need to have if you really love spice; the crimini, bedecked in thinly sliced mushrooms and thyme; and the Brooklyn, a pie that embodies what pizza should be.

While usually I would have stopped with the pizza, we knew we had to try Delancey's desserts. And so we did: A warm chocolate chip cookie ready to be dunked in a glass of creamy milk, and a blackberry yogurt popsicle served in a shot glass. Incredible.

Do I need to say it again? Go. Go to Delancey now.

-Kylie