Even on a Sunday night at 10pm, in the freezing cold, and being out in the middle of nowhere (Bushwick), Roberta’s had a 45 minute wait for a table. The hostess was really nice about it (we had a baby in tow) and so we did what we normally wouldn’t do, sucked it up, and waited for pizza. Even though it’s Brooklyn, and you can get pizza at a million places, people come from all around, yes including Manhattan, to eat at Roberta’s. The pizza oven is directly to the left side when you walk in. Bar is all the way to the back, serving up pitchers, gallons, and cocktails. Then there’s a couple other greenhouse looking spaces outside, near to where they grow their ingredients. There are communal picnic tables inside, clamoring with excited, bespectacled young folk, filling up the main dining space. This is where the bathrooms are, along the wall where everyone’s eating. They’re kind of in a weird spot and, although spacious, its weird peeing 2 feet away from the table I’m eating at, so 3 flushes. The decor at Roberta’s screams trailer park grandma. Wood paneling, framed pictures of lions, and forgotten Christmas lights. The menu is more sophisticated though, offering squab pasta dishes and sweetbreads alongside their pizzas, with names like Duck Hunt (duck prosciutto, sweet potato, leek) and Millennium Falco (pork sausage, parmesan, red onion). After ordering like 3 different pizzas, 2 salads, and some skirt steak, (we had to be sure everything checked out), we decided we would wait those 45 minutes all over again for another slice. 

If you want classier pics of things other than bathrooms and to check out their tumblr, click here.