Pizza
For a purist, pizza is at once the most movingly simple and the most infuriatingly complicated of foods. It consists of nothing more – or less – than a flatbread furnished with trimmings. Yet pizza's multitude of variations have developed such that it might now be considered the quintessential global dish – the favorite of New Yorkers and Melburnians alike. On the other hand, there've been so many corruptions and misrepresentations of the real thing that trying to find a good pizza can be a thankless (though quite essential) task. Lousy pizzas abound – even if some might say that one gourmand's Pizza Hut is another's Da Michele. But while people worldwide engage in heated debate about their particular brand of pizza, I'm bound to say these disputes are really quite irrelevant because there is – of course – only one correct pizza. (I'm ready to concede grudgingly that there are worthwhile deviations – see below.)
It stands to reason that, being a dish born in Naples, pizza must be faithful to its roots for a truly satisfactory experience. And dubious leaps of logic aside, the Neapolitan pizza's austere grace does indeed taste far better than its American bastard son. The typical pizza aficionado in this country, so used to gorging on flatulent disks of what can only be generously termed aspirant cardboard, may blanch at the sight of a pizza marinara in Naples. We can only imagine the misguided resentment overwhelming his senses. He stares with disbelief at the diaphanous crust – adorned with little more than a delightful spatter of tomato sauce. “No cheese?!” he may exclaim, “and what's this aromatic greenery on top of my pie?! Basil?! How effete! And where's my meat?!” To this apoplectic effusion, we may only glibly respond that, in the case of pizza, less is indeed more.
The simple magic (magic simplicity?) of true pizza is precisely what Cathy Whims strives to recreate at Nostrana. From the gorgeous, specially imported wood-burning oven to the placard above the bar boldly proclaiming authentic Neapolitan pizza, all signs point to a great pie. Sadly this is not the case. With a blistered golden surface, the crust looks tantalisingly like the real thing; yet chronic over-topping (a pizza smothered in so much broccoli rabe it resembled green fur) and ill-advised combos (caramelized onions, gorgonzola and anchovies) make for an all-too-often disappointing experience. This being said, the tasty margherita with buffalo mozzarella is a fair try – even if the crust lacks the affecting chew of a real pizza from Naples.
Portland's tragic dearth of half-decent pizza is brought into stark relief by the wild-eyed horde gathered in front of Apizza Scholls before it even opens. Unpleasant experience has taught them that scratching at the door merely leaves splinters under their fingernails. Instead they shuffle and drool like extras in a zombie B-movie, waiting for the doors to be unlocked on what's really the only place in the city (and probably the Northwest) with noteworthy pizza. If you were able to elicit an intelligible response from the patrons with their mouths full of cheese and crust, some would rave about the perfectly balanced tomato sauce and aromatic basil on the signature margherita, while others would extol the pungent virtues of the tartufo bianco (a tomato-less pizza suffused with truffle oil).
But what really distinguishes Apizza Scholls from any of its competitors (not that they constitute any real competition) is the consummate thin crust on all of its pizzas. It's beautifully charred, gratifyingly crisp, and delectably light, with an agreeable chew. Neapolitan it's not – for one, it hasn't the mouthwatering smokiness imparted by a wood-burning oven; neither is it chewy-crisp to the point of poignancy – but it's still a wondrous creation. The method is deceptively simple: fresh dough made daily by hand, sparingly garnished with flawless ingredients, finished in a scorching oven. The result can be gaspingly close to perfection. Although $18 for a simple pizza margherita might seem exorbitant, it's reasonable considering (if nothing else) the sheer size of the thing: two famished people will barely finish one between them – and not for want of trying.
While Apizza Scholls is pretty much peerless, it also exemplifies how a pizza that's technically an aberration can actually be quite good. With this generous outlook, it's worth reflecting briefly on other purveyors of non-Neapolitan pizza in Portland. The most popular of these is quite likely Pizzicato, self-regarding peddler of “gourmet pizzas,” and whose presumptuous claim to the “Art of Fine Pizza” is belied by the regrettable mediocrity of their pies. Far superior are Hot Lips and Flying Pie. The first has fine vegetarian options and is known for sourcing locally grown, organic ingredients. The environmentally enlightened company even does delivery in electric vehicles – though sadly not as far as Reed. “Giant” pizzas with multiple trimmings can approach an eye-watering $30 each. Flying Pie is similarly priced. Its pizzas are corpulent (unless you request the New York-style crust, in which case you might as well go to Apizza Scholls). They're also loaded with toppings – overly so for my tastes, though perhaps not for yours.
On Hawthorne, Rovente and Oasis are essentially a pair of bids for gastronomic anonymity: the former makes a passable but ultimately forgettable thin crust pie; the latter offers one that's a bit thicker and softer but not really any better. Both are eminently munchable, and (as ever) piled high with stuff. But what pleasure each affords seems inevitably based more on the eater's nostalgia for the middling pizzas of his or her childhood than the sheer enjoyment of the present.
Finally, at the time of writing, Ken Forkish of Ken's Artisan Bakery was set to open the doors on the imaginatively named Ken's Artisan Pizza. For well over a year, Forkish has been experimenting with pizzas on Monday evenings at his bakery. The fervent success of these pizza nights has finally led to the development of a pizza outpost on the Eastside. If Forkish maintains his current form, you can expect very good, if conspicuously tough, crust with a minimum of toppings. The nauseatingly sweet and assertive sauce has a tendency to mar an otherwise pleasing pizza – but with its brand new wood-fired oven, the new restaurant will undoubtedly be a force on the Portland pizza scene.
Apizza Scholls: 4741 SE Hawthorne Blvd $$ R V
Flying Pie: 7804 SE Stark St $$
Hot Lips: 2211 SE Hawthorne Blvd $$
Ken's Artisan Pizza: 304 S.E. 28th Ave
Oasis: 3701 SE Hawthorne Blvd $$
Pizzicato: 1630 SE Bybee Blvd $-$$
Rovente: 3240 SE Hawthorne Blvd #B $-$$
See also: Nostrana.