I took a right from Oxford Street, heading down to Berwick Street, to the market beyond where Pizza Pilgrims resides. Not that I haven’t tried a few on my way back, but it felt uneasy to unwillingly avoid all other gastro-traps along the short walk to the rearmost of the market where the dark green van was enthroned, apart from others. Somehow, or after reading all that stuff about them, I was well aware that I was about to taste something special.
On my way there, abruptly, I found myself in a fragrant aura of rich tomato sauce steam nourished by the fumes seeping out of the stone oven constructed in the van ahaed of me. At that very moment, I charged to the van and rapidly browsed the menu board to pick my feed. I would have picked Margherita of which I believe a ‘pizzaiolo’ can only be rightously evaluated with. But there was ‘Nduja, which is actually margherita topped with ‘nduja itself – a spreadable italian sausage similar to chorizo, but a little spicier. So I went for ‘Nduja this time.