Look, I’m not proud of this, but I once drove three hours just for a really good bagel. Another time, I took a day trip to Pennsylvania solely for a specific brand of artisanal cheese.
My friends stage interventions, my therapist sighs deeply, but when it comes to culinary quests, I have no shame. Which brings me, inevitably, to the Star Tavern. People talk about crossing the Delaware for historical reasons, but trust me, they’re crossing it now for pizza.
Specifically, the kind of pizza that makes grown adults confess, in hushed, reverent tones, that they’ve driven from New York, from Connecticut just to get a slice of what the New Jersey locals swear by…