My goal for these days off was to eat pizza at Pupatella, the Ballston street vendor beloved by Washingtonian, the Post, blogs, and — as I confirmed today — the crowds of people who have yet to discover it.
The pizza was terrific. Fresh from the mini-ovens on a beautiful day, I ate in the park with a bottle of water, watched the farmers market go by, listened to a shaggy lunch concert, and considered how that Love Potion No. 9 line about her mixing it up right there in the sink was hot (‘cept for the gold tooth). I folded slices in half and they disappeared.
And then I ate Pupatella’s cream puffs. Little red cart, you did so right.