Because if feels like forever since I did a pizza round-up, though it’s actually only been two months, and I’ve fit in a couple of pizzerias here and there in the Bite Marks and other posts. But, pizza!

This place has been on my radar for… ever. It has to be at least five years, maybe a lot longer, since someone opined that the best Argentine style pizzeria was outside the city, in the southern suburb of Sarandí. I had to be out that way dropping something off to Henry’s sister for her to take to Peru, since she was heading that way (to join him in this pandemic inspired exile, though she’s convinced that she’s got an “in” and will not only be able to return, herself, in a couple of weeks, but get him back here too). I realized that I was passing through Sarandí on the train, both ways, and Los 3 Ases, Av. Mitre 2772 (that’s “the three aces”) was just a block from the train station. So, on my return, I got off and headed into this narrow, soccer themed spot, emblazoned with various superlatives, from “the temple of pizza” to “the world’s best pizza”. While they have some tables and chairs out on the sidewalk, it was a chill and grey day, and it’s really one of those “stand at the counter and eat” old school Argentine pizzerias, and when in Sarandí….

It’s good pizza. It’s damned good pizza. If you like Argentine style pizza. To whit – it’s a thin crust pizza, actually surprisingly thin, with a huge amount of cheese atop. The cheese is easily twice as thick as the crust. For a change, from many places, it’s good quality cheese, not dripping with oil, but stretchy and gooey and tasty. The fugazzeta slice was embedded with lovely caramelized onions, just the right amount, the calabresa is tiled with spicy sausage slices. Is it the “best pizza in the world”? By no means. It’s not even the best Argentine style pizza in or around Buenos Aires, but, it’s damned good pizza.

One of the things that detractors of the Argentine style of pizza point to is the inordinate amount of cheese mounded upon dough which is usually on the dense, and bland, side of things. There are plenty of exceptions, but a whole lot of places that fit that mold. There are also, when it comes down to it, three common traditional styles of Argentine pizza – a la piedra, usually a fairly thin crust, cooked on a pizza stone, or directly on the oven deck, like the style of the above entry; al molde, in a mold, or pan, which is a thicker crust, akin to what we might call Sicilian style or grandma style, just generally round rather than square; and a la parrilla, or grilled pizza, which is very thin crust that’s literally been grilled on both sides, and then topped and either heated over the grill or in an oven to melt the cheese and warm the ingredients.

Picsa, Nicaragua 4896, Palermo, falls into the middle category. “Picsa” is the lunfardo, or street slang, word for pizza – an often bizarre mashup of sounds and a sort of pig-latin-spanish, that includes the similar, and often accompanying, “pecsi” for Pepsi. or “Néflis and chill”. This pizzeria is the latest venture from the restaurant group behind Casa Cruz (steakhouse) and Aldo’s (chain of high end gourmet wine bars). A bit of a departure from their norm.

The pizza crust here is a light, airy pillow of dough. And that sounds delightful, and it’s even tasty, but it’s pretty much all there is to the pizza. It’s a huge, flattened round of bread with a mere brushing of sauce, and in the case of the choice that I made, a meager scattering of bits of mozzarella, ‘nduja sausage, pickled Italian frying peppers, and some black olives. The ratio is just way out of whack heavy on the bread side.

It’s also, inexplicably, or at the least, without having advised me, nor do I see anything on their listing, delivered cold. I don’t mean like it took too long for the delivery guy to get here (although he arrived carrying it on his bicycle, not in a thermal bag, just balanced on his handlebars for a solid fifteen minute trip), but it’s clearly been just par-baked and then chilled. It arrives with instructions for how to cook it, which, given that I hadn’t been prepared for this, meant that I had to heat up the oven to maximum for about fifteen minutes and then bake the pizza for ten minutes more. They did… thoughtfully… provide a couple of sprigs of fresh oregano in a little paper bag, that I could then strip from the twigs and scatter over the top when it came out of the oven. Overall, meh.

Being from the Midwest US, I grew up on a mix of styles of pizza. There were the more New York style places, there was a sort of generic American style (the sort offered up in commercial form by the big chains like Little Caesar’s, Domino’s, Pizza Hut), and then there were our unique Midwestern styles, in particular, Detroit and Chicago. So when just prior to the pandemic, Chicago Style Pizza, Av. San Martin 6372, opened up in Villa Devoto, it went straight onto my list to try. And then, lockdown, and more than a year of restricted movement. The place is too far away from home to justify the cost of delivery, which would likely be as much or more than the cost of a pizza itself. But, a recent evening available, and a friend who’s from Chicago also available, and we headed out to check this spot out. [Closed late 2021/early 2022]

It’s a hole in the wall, really – there are a few tables at the front, a takeout counter, and a wall mounted TV blasting some sort of tecno music concert. The chef behind the place is Maxi Matsumoto, who is also, interestingly, the chef behind Tora, and the Aldo’s restaurants mentioned above, but isn’t, as best I can tell, involved with their venture at Picsa, and nor are they involved with his pizzeria. That’s gotta be interesting. And like that spot, quite a departure from his usual offerings, which tend to the high end gourmet world.

We decided on two small pies, rather than a half and half large one (as they won’t combine a tomato sauce based pizza with a non-sauce pizza). First up, the mushroom pizza. Excellent crust – it’s light, delicate, perfectly shaped, and has that touch of cornmeal crunch to it that a good Chicago pie has. The mix of pine, oyster, and portobello mushrooms was flavorful, and generous, and beautifully complemented by the mix of mozzarella and white cheddar. We were happy campers. The pepperoni pizza, on the other hand, was an abject failure. The crust was still great, and the mozzarella as well, but it was ruined by a tomato sauce that reminded us both of a can of Spaghetti-O’s – sweet, insipid, off-putting; and the claimed “Tandil pepperoni” (Tandil is a city southwest of us that’s famed for its sausages), was nothing at all like pepperoni, plus they put it on cold because “it’s better that way”. No, no it’s not. Half the joy of pepperoni is when it cups up and the edges get browned. But it was some sort of bland, uninteresting sausage.

And in conversation with the guy at the counter, who seemed to be the manager, we mentioned these things. He noted that when they first opened, they used a zesty, herb, spice, and garlic laden, fresh tomato sauce that would be more akin to what you’d find in Chicago, but that their Argentine customers hated it. They wanted something without such a strong flavor and just a small amount, Argentine style. So they switched to blending canned tomatoes with sweet onions, a mere hit of garlic, and salt, and nothing more. And likewise, the pepperoni was too spicy for them (while Argentines generally aren’t into really spicy food, pepperoni’s not that spicy, and see the first entry above – that calabresa sausage was far spicer than most pepperoni, and Argentines love it), so they switched to a more bland, almost mortadella-ish sausage without any strong spices – they just didn’t change it on the menu.

So we were left with one great pizza and one nearly inedible one. Which, unfortunately, we ate part of, because we both ended up with massive cases of food poisoning (mine lasted a full 24 hours), which we’re guessing was either the tomato sauce or the sausage – more likely than the mushrooms, but, who knows? I let them know, and while they said they’d check their ingredients, they also said that we were the only ones to complain, and they eat the pizzas too, so I’m not counting on that they’ll really do much. Food poisoning happens even in the best of restaurants, so I’m not holding that against them, but it’s worth noting. I’m not sure what to recommend – I did really like the mushroom one, though I’m not sure I liked it well enough to make the hour and a half trip out there again.