We were told that there was a feud going on between the top pizza restaurants of New York. Reassured by our guide books that this was unrelated to Mafia gang warfare and more to do with the correct consistancy of dough, we decided to lucky dip which pizza restaurant we would head to that balmy saturday evening in March.

Grimaldi's came up trumps, and it was the one everybody secretely hoped would appear so that we'd have an excuse to cross Brooklyn Bridge. It was the night of the most vividly appearing moon, and it hung low, slung over the New York sky-line, lazily waiting before it began it's progression across the night-sky. The lights of the Woolworth tower competed with the moons steady glow, and standing on Brooklyn Bridge you could make out a war between nature and the man-made world: the sy-scrapers reaching tall into the sky, their lighthouse windows illuminating whilst the moon tauntedm, turning from grey to an orangey glow.

Buoyed up in anticipation of a good pizza, we strode across the bridge, huddling for warmth against the bitter wind that had suddenly picked up. Afraid that it was from some pizza god who was angry that we had chosen the wrong place, we stepped up the pace, heading across the river and past DUMBO, one of the trendier areas of New York City. Down under the bridge we went, back tracking towards the river, where we were greeted with a bar selling strawberry tequila and a queue of about 40 people.

'It's probably for a gig or something' asserted my father, pushing through the throng. On the other side of the group was a misted up window, and above it, a sign. Grimaldi's.

'Well, we're here now' said my mother, heroically, as the March night turn a turn for the coldest. A smell of fresh dough drifted out from the shop now and then, and with every waft came a hunger pang. There was a great sign of cameraderie in the queue. Every time a couple of people came out of the door, everybody in the queue cheered, and shuffled closer to the entrance. If I was ever called upon to award a prize to most unluckiest dresser, I would nominate and award the girl who stood in front of me in the queue. A floaty black skirt, bare legs and flip flops, which clackety-clacked every time the queue moved forwards. My jeans, pumps, leather jacket and scarf weren't getting me through this arctic spell adequately, and yet she stood, heroically, alive. My parents and I were about to suffer early onset hypothermia where one of Grimaldi's lackeys came out of the doorway with a clipboard.

'Names and numbers please. Names and numbers'. Encouraged, we eagerly shouted out the size of our groups at this poor man. After a wait of about an hour (interspersed with those: 'well if we leave now, agroup of 37 might leave and then we'd miss out' comments) we felt the surge of warm air from the restaurant and we were enveloped into its muggy interior. It was a large square room, full of chatting, with huge, full pizza stands towering over each table. A smell of olive oil hung around the restaurant and every so often there would be puffs of smoke coming from the kitchen, emitting smells of garlic and onions.

We were crammed into a window seat under a smiling picture of Frank Sinatra, and a waiter came up to us, friendly and considering the fact that there was a queue of about 50 people still waiting outside, incredibly calm and relaxed.

Within 5 minutes of ordering one enormous pizza between three of us and three cream sodas (lets stick with the all-American vibe here), the waiter was back, a pizza almost a metre wide cradled in his arms. Even if it wasnt the best we had eaten, it was by far the biggest.

The cheese was mozarella, the vegetables fresh with a crunch. There was a smoky taste from the well cooked garlic and the dough under the topping was neither to soggy or too firm. There was too much salt however, and the topping was slightly dry. Having eaten pizza in Italy, and even pizza in places like Strada, the quality was ok. For the experience however, the fact that I now expected to be presented with some sort of secret society membership when we were handed the bill, made the evening for me. The pizza was average, but huge and incredibly cheap considering NYC price. The atmosphere and the service was just great, and the walk back along the bridge, was, well, stunning.