Remember when I said I wasn’t going to write more negative reviews…? Yeah, I’ve forgotten about that too. I was going to save this and write a mini-review along with some others of the newer pizzerias, but I got on a train and just couldn’t get off….

 

There are two young Italian women, I’ve mentioned them on and off, who regularly write me either when I write about an “authentic” Italian or pizza place, or when they come across one, to either thank me, agree with me, disagree with me, or just share info. We have symbiotic relationships of a sort. One of them told me about this new spot that was being run by a New York pizzeria chef with some solid pizza “chops” behind him. His name is Anthony Falco, he was a (the?) chef at the much lauded Roberta’s in Brooklyn for many years.

A bit of research, including several local press articles that tout him as the messiah of the pizza world, and browsing his Instagram account (what a little stalker I am), turns up that he’s basically a flying pizza consultant. Or more, a flying pizza dough consultant. He bounces around the world, staying in various places for a week or few at a time, helping existing or soon to exist pizzerias make their dough and their pizzas better. And then he moves on.

The problem with consultants (and this is a generalization, nothing against Mr. Falco) is that they leave behind a group of people who often think that because they’ve had their consultation, all is perfect, nothing is lacking. And that seems to be the case here at Atte. Pizzeria Napoletana, El Salvador 6016, Palermo. Let’s start with the complete lack of warmth or hospitality in greeting customers (no “good evening” or “welcome”, just “do you have a reservation?” as you step in the door), the strange reservation system which seems to consist of putting a scrap of paper on a table with the person’s name and number of people, so that the hostess has to walk around the room looking for your assigned table, the push to order within a minute or two after the menu is handed to you, because we’re busy and we’re going to need that table back as soon as you finish eating, to the sneers from the pizzeros if you ask a question about something on the pizza, as if you’re too stupid or uninformed to understand just how much above your pay grade everything you’re experiencing is.

But let’s get on to the pizzas themselves. Do they ameliorate any of that?

Visit #1 – I love a good mushroom pizza, and there are two on the menu – one with regular button mushrooms (and ham) and one with oyster mushrooms and baby portobellos (or “cremini” as they style them on this menu). I went with the latter, which comes in for an individual size pizza (30cm/12″, a bit larger than the typical individual, much like Orno that I reviewed recently) at 530 pesos ($9). No tomato sauce on this one, instead, a roasted garlic puree, and a topping of high quality mozzarella, a grating of parmesan, and a dusting of parsley and black pepper. The pizza is served with pepper and sea salt grinders at its side, which strikes me as a little odd. Until I taste it, because it desperately, despairingly, achingly, needs the salt, and maybe even a bit more pepper, though that’s more personal taste. Even the garlic puree is bland, there’s no seasoning to this pizza whatsoever, except in the dough. And there’s very little in the way of those mushrooms – basically a thin strip of oyster mushroom and a thin slice of baby portobello on each slice – maybe 4 whole mushrooms in total on the pie.

But, the dough. What about that much hyped dough that ferments for 48 hours? Oh yeah, that’s pretty glorious actually. Some of the best pizza dough I’ve had in BA. And cooked to a beautiful char above and below. It almost makes it all worth it. And so…

Visit #2 – Let’s start with the same lackluster greeting. Now, I don’t need to be recognized for who I am. But I came by myself both times, three days apart, sat by myself at the end of the row of tables by the kitchen both times, had the same hostess, same manager, same waiter, same pizzero looking out over my table, and there was no glimmer of recognition, no welcome back, no, nice to see you again – pretty basic for hospitality. It was three days, not weeks or months. Guess I’m just not that memorable.

But, to the pizza. Hmmm… where’s that beautiful char? This one is barely past blonde, and, it turns out, in the center, is basically raw – picking up a slice, the pointy end simply droops and falls off like goo. It’s still got great flavor, but it’s way undercooked. I wanted to try the tomato sauce, and of the several offerings, I thought I’d try the trapanese, which had tomato sauce, mixed herbs (parsley, basil, mint), some lemon, garlic, and almonds (355 pesos/$6). An unusual topping, but sounds like it could be quite good. Nope, it’s weird. It’s doubly weird, because you see that squiggle of something pureed that covers most of the pizza? That’s all the same ingredients – the tomato sauce, the mixed herbs, the lemon, the garlic, and the almonds, all pureed together in a blender, just to “reinforce the flavor”. It’s their “almond pesto” the pizzero closest by assured me (the waiter had no idea what it was, he thought it might be a cream of… nope, no idea). No, that’s not pesto. That’s a liquefied puree of ingredients, it’s a sauce. And it’s unpleasant – very acidic, with, once again, no salt for balance. Great that they have those sea salt grinders on the table…though less successful this time because the grinding of salt doesn’t penetrate that acidic puree.

Why I let myself be talked into trying their tiramisu I’m not sure. Well, actually… my conversation with the waiter prior to ordering the pizza, went something like, “would you like to start with one of our small plates before your pizza?” “I’m not sure, they sound good, but how big are they? I was thinking about the meatballs.” “Oh, those are delicious, but you get three big ones, it’s really a sharing plate for 2-3 people.” “Okay, how about one of the others?” “Yes well, I’d recommend, … (and he proceeds to point to each of the remaining seven items on the small plates menu and extols the virtues of each as the most amazing…)” “Which ones would be a good size for someone dining solo?” “Oh, they’re all sharing plates, they’re all made for 2-3 people, none of them are really for a solo diner.” Okay… why are we having this conversation then?

Somehow that translated into me wanting to at least order something else later on, so I went with the tiramisu for dessert (the other choice is a chocolate marquise). No. Just no. First off, tiramisu should be a chocolate-espresso combo – this is just chocolate and creamy. I shouldn’t say no, because it’s tasty enough, but it’s just chocolate and almost pudding like with some crumbled chocolate biscuits in it. There’s no espresso flavor at all. Ah well.

So, overall? Amazingly great dough, but inconsistent cooking, generally inhospitable service (not rude or anything, just no warmth or professionalism), and toppings that in one case were skimpy and bland, and in the other, unbalanced. None of this is uncorrectable – in fact, it’d be easy. Taste your sauces and put enough salt in them, and maybe a little on the pizzas, depending on the toppings (maybe this is that whole salt avoidance thing that the local government has been pushing?), and show a little warmth to your customers – you chose to be in the hospitality world. But as of right now, I don’t see returning. There are too many other good pizza spots in town these days, and quite a few offering really well made, artesanal dough, with delicious and well seasoned toppings.