A Fistful of Pizza

We “ciao” down at Pizza Lupo

Written by Matthew Bessen / Photography by Rachel Lutz / Andrew Kung Group

About fifty years ago, American moviegoers got their first taste of the peculiar progeny of cross-cultural fertilization called the spaghetti western. Italian director Sergio Leone plucked Clint Eastwood off the Rawhide soundstage, handed him a six-shooter and a script, and dropped him on a horse in the Spanish countryside. The “sauce” topping off this cinematic gunslinging was composer Ennio Morricone’s tasty soundtrack. Suddenly, a distinctly American art form had been reinvigorated by inspiration from across the Atlantic. This was exactly what came to my mind in the dining room of Pizza Lupo, seated across from a giant poster promoting the middle movie of that trilogy, "A Few Dollars More", where I considered how proprietor and chef Max Balliet had turned the tables on the fabled director. As his guests, Ellana and I learned how Max has been able to refresh his affection for authentic Italian cuisine with his own spirited American ambition.

The Pizza Lupo menu lists a “housemade” sparkling limoncello. This immediately got our attention, as Ellana has produced a few batches of this limoncello concoction herself. The sparkling cocktail was as sweet as a lemon drop candy but light and effervescent. I challenged Ellana, whose limoncello recipe never produces a result this delightful. We later had shots of limoncello with desert, confirming for me that the Pizza Lupo bar master had “one-upped” his Italian counterparts. My cocktail was a mix of scotch whiskey, spiced pear liquor, and a bitter American aperitivo named Bruto Americano. In Italian, when you tell someone he doesn’t look so well, the idiom translates as “you have an ugly wax”… una bruta cera. Fortunately, the ugly American spirit imparts a pleasing smoky flavor evoking the comfort of a roaring fire on a cold night.

We started dinner with a plate of wood-fired oysters. Concealed beneath layers of garlic-infused n’duja (a spreadable Italian salami), horseradish and pea shoot pesto, all lightly crusted by a patina of flame toasted Parmigiano _Reggiano, the smoky flavor of the delicious oyster flesh had to wait patiently with every mouthful, to make its triumphant debut after the other brash accompaniments had receded. Another Mediterranean favorite, fried smelts, had acquired a shimmering finish of tan and silver brushstrokes across their crispy surface. The buttery meat beneath had a delicate marine saltiness. The dish had been assembled with a festive cluster of capers ranging in size from peppercorn to elephant’s teardrop, and tangles of fresh dill alongside a ramekin of creamy harissa aioli. As a journalist committed to sharing the entire dining experience, I made the effort to collect bits of all these elements and then spritz my crowded fork with a shower of lemon juice, so I could best appreciate this satisfying appetizer.

Clint Eastwood accepted the chance to portray “the man with no name” because he was getting tired of playing “the good hat” character and was eager to display a greater range of his talents. The Pizza Lupo salads spotlight two ingredients known for a similarly broad range of tastes. The gorgonzola family has some pungent varieties, but chef Balliet picked one of the mellowest to create the dressing for his gorgonzola and pear salad. Mixed among a bouquet of greens and lace-like strands of red onion, the dressing left a sweet lingering halo that blended with the mild acidity of pear slices, each covered in a mound of toasted hazelnuts. For his endive salad, the lead went to a cast of meaty white anchovies. These had the predictable saltiness of the more vulgar brown variety but were imbued with a pickle-like flavor that made my mouth pucker, and my hand reach for what was left of my cocktail. Their robust taste was good company for the collection of chicory, rocket, and frisée coated by a lemon-infused anchovy vinaigrette and kernels of crushed toasted almond. Among them were crunchy shards called breadcrumbs in the menu, but more akin to what I would expect to become of croutons if I were to explode them with one or two taps from a wooded mallet.

If pizza was to be the “leading man” for our dinner drama, we were pleased to let some supporting players get a scene or two. Ellana ordered cassoulet, a rustic amalgam of duck confit, house-smoked boudin sausage, braised pork, and Italian white beans, all resting in a hot cast iron pan and tucked under a blanket of woodfire pecorino breadcrumb crust and a handful of chopped chives, cast across the surface like a sprinkling of fairy dust. At their center, the pieces of duck revealed a warm rosy tint that mimicked the way this succulent comfort food warmed the diner from within. My portion of bigoli alla Puttanesca was equally hearty fare. The kitchen-made, hand-cranked extruded semolina noodles, thicker than a spaghetti noodle, had the heft needed to balance the brawny pasta sauce that relentlessly clung to it. This was a plaiting together of the distinctive tastes of smoked tomatoes, capers, Castrelvetrano olives, chili pepper, anchovy, garnished with thin ribbons of Parmigiano-Reggiano that started to melt as soon as they reached the palate. I paired this pasta with a humble chianti, served, as is proper, in a stout glass tumbler. Just the right quencher to smooth over the lingering hint of hot chili.

Which would you prefer to do? Slaughter a dozen ruthless bandits with unkempt beards and bad teeth? Liberate a village of suffering peasants? Stuff the railroad payroll into your saddlebag and ride out across the mesa? Or, perhaps, exceed these all, and fashion a pizza crust so perfect and delicious, it would inspire a legend? I exaggerate only a little. Chef Balliet’s pizzas all feature a wide rim of the savory crust with a tantalizing hint of sourness and a puffy, al dente texture dotted by leopard-like dark spots where the dough thins out under pockets of air. Our evening’s special was a house-made fennel sausage, anchovy, and braised broccolini broadcast atop a traditional french style white sauce and smothered in stracchino, a mild soft Italian cheese, and airy snowflakes of grated Parmigiano. Just as good was “Roasted and Toasted,” a vegetarian pizza with roasted eggplant, those tongue-pleasing smoked tomatoes, capers, fresh mozzarella, ricotta, basil, and walnuts. These ingredients are each so unmistakable and took turns introducing themselves as I navigated across my pizza slice. The basil leaves were left whole, and the pillowy mouthfuls of ricotta jostled with the crunchy walnuts as they competed for my attention. Our table was supplied with a bottle of chili-infused olive oil. When I visit Italy, I am always taken aback as I watch the majority of pizza eaters dump buckets of this condiment on their pizzas with reckless abandon. I tried to conform with this custom at Pizza Lupo, but could not go beyond a few delicate drizzles. I am not cut out to be a true paisan.

For dessert, we sampled two ice creams from Gelato Gilberto. The sea salt caramel flavor was garnished with sugary caramel pieces, just as the pistachio had a belt of whole roasted nuts marking the scoop with a salty meridian. I cannot restrain myself from sharing that as much as I enjoy all things pistachio, including the elusive pistachio liqueur, I particularly enjoy hearing the Italian pronunciation: PEE-STACK-EE-O (accent the STACK). Some day, I may even take the trouble to hunt down an Italian language version of "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" so I can vex myself as I struggle to decipher the unsynchronized dialogue. No matter. After, I can head to Pizza Lupo for some real Italian flavor with no translation necessary.