Here Today, Gone Tomorrow
WE WERE THERE FOR the secret pizza. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, my partner, Tony, and I parked in the St. Claude neighborhood of downtown New Orleans. That morning, I’d been messaged an address for a membership-only wood-fired pizza pop-up, which asked to remain nameless. When we located the cottage, we opened a side gate that led into a backyard bordered by firewood, a handhewn bar, and a stone pizza oven radiating waves of heat. Umbrellas shadowed a handful of tables spread with printed cloths. We were the first guests to arrive, but as bees buzzed around an herb garden, other diners trickled in. They sipped on rosé sangria and summery riffs on mimosas, while D, one of the proprietors, loaded the oven with wood and rounds of dough covered in sauce and toppings.
As we ordered a white pie and a bottle of rosé, J, the other proprietor, explained that pizza used
