Pizza Politics
ON MY WAY to L'Asso, a newish brick oven pizza place that opened a few months ago in that ambiguous, hip dirty land between Chinatown, Soho, Little Italy and Nolita, I was struck by its proximity to Lombardi's. L'Asso is just one block from the coal oven pizzeria on Spring St. that unabashedly refers to itself as the country's first, and which Zagat calls the world's best. Ballsy, I thought.
I popped my head into Lombardi's to see what was doing, and for a little compare and contrast. Nothing that I witnessed surprised me. Tourists, blaring air conditioning, red-and-white checkered tablecloths. Though Lombardi's no longer has the employ of the oven that originated the restaurant a few blocks down the street in 1905, they still hold their own in New York's pizza pantheon, with good cheese, slightly charred crust and seasoned tomato sauce.
Whereas Lombardi's is the Italian of yesteryear, L'Asso (the "ace," not the "ass"), a hip corner joint with its rough-around-the-edges yet sleek design sensibility, represents what now passes for casual Italian in New York City: fresh, upscale ingredients in a deliberately grungy setting. But some things remain fundamentally similar. The central feature of the understated dining room is a sumptuously bulging brick oven that is responsible for L'Asso's number one attraction-pizza.
If the first thing to be noticed at Lombardi's was the air conditioning, at L'Asso it was the sweet smell of burning wood. A good sign for a pizza place, and generally a warm welcome, even if it is August.
For such a small, no-frills space, L'Asso's comparatively extensive menu made it rather awkward to choose. Our well-meaning waitress, who was sweet but a bit absent-minded (my wine, a glass of Montepulciano, didn't show up until the second course), offered several recommendations. It turns out she had lived in Rome, so we were getting the added bonus of native-inspired confidence.
L'Asso pizzas come in three sizes, and prices can go quite high. The 12-inch pizzas, which were round, range from $8 to $15. Rectangular 18-inch and 29-inch pizzas can climb up to $25 and $35, respectively. After much deliberation (there are 18 varieties), we ordered the waitress' choice, buffalina ($15), with sliced tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, basil and olive oil, and pizza soppressata ($15), covered in cured Italian sausage, mozzarella, pecorino and onions.
Before long, the pizzas arrived at our table, hot and limp. Without a doubt the ingredients were high. The buffalini boasted mouthwatering tangy sauce and virginal soft cheese. The thin crust equaled the toppings in quality, but, as it was rather floppy, lacked texture and character. It wasn't the kind of show-stopping crust that makes a good pizza great, or a great pizza ridiculous. The soppressata pizza, served with broad rounds of the Italian cold cut draped over each slice, compelled us to the same positive, but not overwhelming, verdict.
After sampling from the other sections of the crowded menu-pastas, salads, appetizers, entrees-we discovered L'Asso's strength is, indeed, the pizza. Our pasta, fagottini with walnut sauce stuffed with spinach and thyme ($12), wasn't bad per se, but it was a graceless, imbalanced dish. The ravioli were fresh but a bit heavy-handed and doughy, and were smothered in a taupe-toned sauce that lent the dish an overpowering taste of walnuts and a dull patina. The salad, an appetizing combination of octopus with greens, potatoes, red onions, olives and parsley ($9.50) served in an oversized ceramic bowl, was verdant and attractive and an enormous value, but was shockingly bland.
Fritto misto ($12.50), an overstuffed cornucopia of fried vegetables, calamari and shrimp, was alternately crispy-ish and soggy, depending on the item. The little baby squid were crunchy and appealing, but the red peppers and eggplants were flaccid. Nothing was glaringly amiss, but nothing stood out. The recommended entree, a special dish of white chicken meat stuffed with mushrooms, cream, asparagus and ricotta on a bed of carrot puree ($16) was also a mixed bag. The puree was sharp and flavorful, but the chicken was ordinary and dry.
In symmetry with dinner experience, the desserts that are normally flavorful were peculiarly bland. The tiramisu ($6), which our excitable expatriate Roman waitress pronounced rapturously with a rolling "r," was according to her, the most authentic she had had since Roma. Its presentation, in a glass bowl, dusted with cocoa and topped with crushed pistachios, was adorable. But bite, after bite, after bite, I couldn't catch the flavor, no matter how hard I tried. Less subtle were the dessert ravioli, actually deep-friend turnovers, stuffed with apple caramel filling and a strawberry and white-chocolate emulsion ($7.50). They were sweet, doughy and to the point.
A few days later I learned that Salvatore Olivella, L'Asso's chef, was not preparing the food that night. Apparently, it would have made a difference if he had been. I guess I'll find out next time. o