The FORGE (Pizza) – Childhood Comforts with an Artisan Twist

Margherita Pizza, bundles of burrata atop a perfectly seasoned tomato sauce!

I grew up in a pizza parlor. Literally. My father’s best friend, with whom we spent at least one night of every weekend he had my sister and I, owned Granata’s Pizzeria in Berkeley. Dad would take us into the restaurant for dinner at least twice a week. I was so at home in the restaurant, I spent most of my time in the kitchen, where I would hang out and watch Carlo and Mike punch mounds of dough, billowy clouds of flour forming in the air around their hands, as they caressed the snowy dunes into submission. When it was flexible enough, they would begin to spin the dough. My Uncle Frank would sit me up on the counter, so I could get a better look at the guys as they proceeded to turn those powdery orbs of fresh made dough into beautiful, whirling spaceships, no wires attached. Transfixed by their skills, I watched as they stretched the mounds into spheres, first rolling and then kneading the dough over their clenched fists, picking up speed as they went. Soon the discs would be spinning in the air, suspended above their heads, flying up so high they would almost touch the ceiling. After ten or so minutes, they would judge them done, and lay them out for toppings. Handing me container after container, I was allowed to build my own pie. Only the toppings I wanted. I felt like a princess. It was magical.

To this day, I’m fascinated by the process of making a pie. Always excited when a new pizza joint opens up, the first thing I like to check out is their oven. After all, a great pie is all about the oven. It’s there that they transform the soft lifeless dough into that which drives us back for more — the crust. Whether it’s brick, tile, or steel, the heat has to be just right to transform the raw dough into that chewy, crunchy goodness that makes the dish. Whatever your favorite form, thick or thin, good crust is essential to good pizza. The art of crafting the perfect pizza is a ritual that takes skill and patience, one that is handed down through generations. It’s at least a thousand years old, and though no one knows exactly where the dish originated, it is, in my mind, uniquely and forever, Italian.

If a restaurant is to produce great pizza, they have to love making it. They have to care about things like temperature and tradition, or they’ll be handing you a confused and soggy mess. That’s what I love about a great slice. Knowing its origins, what it takes to get all the components to come together. So when a steaming hot platter of melted cheese, herbacious sauces and fresh baked crust arrives in front of me, I show it the respect it deserves and eat it while it’s hot.

Delectably, hot, chewy-crispy pillows of fried cheese curd – delicious!!

On a recent visit to The Forge a new(ish) pizzeria on the waterfront of Oakland’s Jack London Square, I was delighted to discover that they get it. Chef Jeffrey Amber is definitely a kindred spirit, someone to whom pizza matters. Owners Michael Karp and Bob Burke went so far as to hire Jeff Krupman (the Pizza Hacker) and Jeff Hayden (Boot & Shoe Service, another Oakland purveyor of mind-blowingly well-executed pizzas) to craft the perfect American version of this legendary food. They clearly wanted to honor the historical traditions of the pizzeria, while reinventing the toppings to bring it a fresh artisan feel, and they’ve succeeded.

We sampled a few other dishes first, the delectably fascinating Fried Cheese Curds were something I’ve heard much about, but had never yet tried. O.M.G. Right up there with fried Hostess Twinkies. One of those dishes everyone has to try at least once. The outside is hot and crisp, and the interior is creamy, melty, goodness. The Soup of the Day was a mild, delightfully creamy concoction of asparagus and seasonings, drizzled with olive oil and bearing a spot-on consistency. Hubs is a soup fanatic, and he enjoyed it tremendously.

Next up was a lovely bowl of mussels, laden with well-seasoned broth and a heaping pile of perfect french fried pototoes.  All of us enjoyed dipping the hot sticks of crispy potato into the steamy broth.  The creamy aioli drizzled across the mussels made its way slowly to the bottom of the bowl, further enhancing the flavors of the dish.

Glorious Mussels and French Fries!

The pizza itself, when it arrived, was simplicity and perfection on a platter. The dough at The Forge is done from a Tartine country loaf recipe, and the result is a fluffy chew with a crispy edged perfection. We had a Margherita style pie, which has only tomato sauce, basil, and cheese, which in this case was a house made burrata.  These are the perfect ingredients for lovers of crust. The more you add to a pizza, the less you really get a sense of the baked dough itself. We dived into our pie, managing to disappear it faster than David Copperfield vanishes at the end of his Vegas act. I’m assuming that meant my dining companions enjoyed it as much as I did.

Needless to say, everyone has a different favorite style of pizza. Which is the “best” pizza is an argument as old as the dish itself, and has been the source of heated feuds that would make the Hatfields and the McCoys seem like a happy family with minor differences of opinion. I’m not going to get into that here. Thin crust, thick crust, Chicago style, with or without egg, you like what you like. There are just too many variants. For me, good pizza is one that has been crafted with the attention to detail that began somewhere in the villages of Italy a little over a thousand years ago, when some peasant added toppings to the evening’s foccacia bread. How that translates, ultimately, into the final result is up to each participant in the line: from tossing the dough, to ladling it with whatever imaginative toppings inspires the chef, until it is handed off to be artfully paddle tossed into the heat of the chosen oven. Whether the diner finds it enjoyable will depend on what sort of pizza makes that personal connection. But pizza done well, is good pizza, and at The Forge, it is done very well indeed.

So if you want a great time out with family, and are craving the simplicity of a good slice of “pie” by all means stop by The Forge and check it out. Drinks are delicious, and there are a few other fascinating goodies on the menu to round out a meal. Make a memory of your own. Mangia!

The Forge
66 Franklin St., Ste 100
b/t Jack London Sq & W Embarcadero in Jack London Square
Oakland, CA 94607
(510) 268-3200
http://www.theforgepizza.com/oakland/

BELLANICO Restaurant & Wine Bar – A Wine Enthusiast’s Mecca

Are you one of those people who just doesn’t feel confident discussing wine?  I know I am.  I never fancied myself much of a wine connoisseur.  It’s overwhelming.  There is so much information to be digested, so many variations in the grapes, the weather, the year any particular wine was produced.  And don’t get me started on the regions, or for that matter, the various countries.  It feels as though if one isn’t a full-time student of wine, one has no business assuming any posture on the beverage.  It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed a glass of good wine in my time, but frankly, other than the way it tastes, I never really understood the mechanisms with which we are supposed to judge its qualities.  It wasn’t that people didn’t try to convert me.  I had a good friend in the early 80s who would tell me at length about the various wines he had acquired to add to his rather spectacular collection.  He would go on at length about what was special in each of them.  I will say that those wines he chose to share with me were indeed enjoyable, but it seemed to me that he was a little obsessed.  He was talking way over my head.  I just couldn’t relate.

But in the process of tasting his, I learned a little something about what I like in a wine.

Some time later, while passing Superbowl Sundays with another good friend, I received a “class” in this most complicated of beverages at the hands of a yet another self-professed wine connoisseur.  A former colleague of my husband’s who had purchased some acreage in Anderson Valley and had begun to grow his own grapes, this guy had taken things a step further.  He had begun to make his own wines.  As such, he’d managed to accrue quite a few bottles of rather nicely-aged home-made wine.  Opening one was always a bit of an adventure.  In the early stages of learning to bottle it, many of the corks were imperfect, causing some of his product to sour.  So we would either pop the cork on a bottle of a well-aged and lovely red, or we would find the bottles contents were not potable.  The wine we could drink was actually pretty good.  The oldest of his stash had the most unusual quality, a sort of buttery, almost dusty softness in the consummation.  It’s hard to describe when one is accustomed to younger wines, but a lot of the crispness, the acids I suppose, melt away and leave an almost powdery smooth taste on the palate.  I’ve never forgotten how mellow an old red can actually get, though I rarely experience that sensation as old reds generally come with a hefty price tag.   I continue to search for an affordable older wine.

That was decades ago.  Now that friend sells those very grapes to local vintners I often see on my grocery story shelves.  On any given day, one might go into a wine or liquor store and purchase a bottle produced in the Anderson Valley that is made up of this guy’s grapes.  Many of these vintners’s products are considered top of the line.  With prices to match.

Again, learned a little more.

But I remain overwhelmed every time I look at a shelf full of wines. The necessary knowledge is vast and tackling the understanding of it seems a complicated and impossible task.  Maybe it’s because I’m not very math-brained.  I absorb things in pictures and flavors, not formulas.  Understanding wine seems to me a little too much like being a good chemist.  So I wasn’t sure I could relate to those who are so passionate about the details of the vintner.  Could relate to people who seem to have a genuine appreciation for the art of making wine.  It looked to me a little like trying to learn how they do all those really tough magic tricks.  Never seemed worth the effort.  That is, until I met Elizabeth Frumusa.

Our meeting was one of those random twists of fate.  I was on the hunt for the next great place to eat in Oakland, someplace I could feature in my blog.  Elizabeth and her husband Chris own a lovely little bistro in the Glenview District of Oakland called Bellanico.  The other is Apierto in San Francisco’s Potrero Hill District.  Glenview is a part of Oaktown I am familiar with, having grown up on Lakeshore.  The restaurant is coincidentally located not far from my day job downtown.  On the occasion of my first meeting with Elizabeth, my pals and I had ventured up to Bellanico rather late in the lunch hour.  Bellanico is a popular destination, so upon arrival we found the place was bustling.  No tables. The BH and I are usually fairly determined table-dwellers, but on this occasion our dining partner suggested we try the merits of dining at the bar.  Close to the action and wine-glasses easily refilled.  Being Irish, it’s his favorite place to be at any given time. So since he was convincing, and bar seats were all that were available, we took it as a sign.  We took three seats open at the far end and began to peruse the menu.

We didn’t know it then, but Elizabeth was behind the bar that day.  So it was Elizabeth who served us our lunch, answering our many questions about the various dishes which are all written up in Italian.  After we gave her our preferences, she suggested some we should try.  We sampled an egg dish called Malfati, a bowl of pasta with spicy tomato sauce and Italian bacon they call “Pepati” and one of the creamiest burratas I have ever tasted.  The food here is truly magnificent, but this article is about the wines, so I won’t belabor the point.

After striking up a conversation (Elizabeth is delightfully forthcoming with information and extremely personable) we learned that she had lived in Italy for some time to study wine and the culture surrounding it.  Before quitting to manage the family’s second restaurant, she was also a wine vendor.  Well, that settled it.  We were definitely having wine with lunch.  The look on Elizabeth’s face as she describes a wine in her flawless Italian would have to be described as a “lit from within.”  Her enthusiasm is more than infectious.  She’s got a gift for describing wines that has a way of captivating the listener.  You just have to taste anything she describes.   She talks of the grapes grown near fruit trees becoming imbued with the flavors of the fruits.  She rattles off names in Italian that sound provocative, mysterious and that carry with them the promise of liquid magic.  The best part?  She delivers.

Elizabeth is Italian-American, as am I, so we really hit it off. But liking her is a bonus.  I remain impressed by her gift for understanding the grape, and for interpreting each guest’s likes and dislikes into a glass of something they will relish.  It is remarkable.  So as always, I say, get there yourself.  Check out her stash, I can guarantee you won’t regret it.

Cheers.

Bellanico
4238 Park Boulevard
Oakland, CA 94602
(510) 336-1180
http://www.bellanico.net

SPQR Fillmore – Senatus Populus que Romanae



California Burrata with hazelnuts and herbs

My youngest daughter is visiting Rome as I write this. She’s one of the people with whom I love to eat most, her delight in good food is absolutely contagious. I am blessed in that my girls are my friends and companions, tolerating my maternal “insights” with boundless patience. Often featured on this blog, my youngest was mentioned first as the Law Student. After three years and a successful attempt at passing the California State Bar, she was soon sworn in, graduating here to the moniker of Baby Lawyer. Well the BL is quitting her fancy job and moving to Rome for love. Once there, she is planning to make a living teaching legal writing in English to native Italian-speaking lawyers. A job like that presents a challenge when faced with coming up with yet another pseudonym for this blog.

But I rise to a challenge.  Once there she will perhaps become the Traveler. The Teacher. The Transplanted Italian. I will hope for inspiration for her new nickname when we manage to eat a meal together “in Country.” At least there is that. I can visit her there, half a world away— time and finances providing. I wonder occasionally if she’ll enjoy living there, and I think for a time the answer will be yes. She is, after all, bringing my father’s family full-circle, returning to live in the land of my grandfather’s birth.



Crudo of Yellowtail

It’s a beautiful city, Roma. An urban place that is both modern and ancient, present and past. Open vistas look out upon the Tiber, an ancient slow-moving river, across which can be seen the dome of St. Peter’s. A morning walk for coffee can easily terminate at a great monument — the Coliseum —  the Pantheon. Yet Rome’s streets are full of frantic mopeds and tiny racing cars, looking like nothing so much as the Matchbox cars of my very American childhood. All of them a blur, all carrying Italians hurrying somewhere else, speeding to a job or a date or an urgent appointment. Perhaps a tryst. Romans hurry. A lot. I wonder if they are conscious of the centuries of history that lays quietly beneath them as they fly about on the surface streets of this massive museum of a City. Or are they somehow in such a rush that they are unaware, taking for granted the magic beneath their feet. “Sempre Avanti” was my father’s favorite Italian phrase. Always forward. Like the Romans.



Waygu Beef Carpaccio



Italians are rooted in the pride of their history, yet often so absorbed in the business of living that they don’t stop for even a moment. Perhaps they believe that if they did stop, they might miss some tiny glorious fragment of life, and in doing so, commit the worst of mortal sins. That of failing to appreciate la dolce vida. Italians are nothing if not aware of the power in the beauty of simply living.



This train of thought took me naturally to a meal I shared recently with friends. We dined at S.P.Q.R. in San Francisco. A restaurant named after something uniquely Roman. The big heavy cast iron manholes line the streets, another bit of visible history speaking to a time gone before, all of them stamped with the logo ‘S.P.Q.R.’ Senatus Populusque Romanae : The Senate and People of Rome.

 The restaurant that bears this ancient moniker manages to capture in its food everything that Rome herself conveys. Without necessarily always translating directly into Italian food, the meals to be had there are vivid, like the city herself. The food at SPQR wears a modern exterior, culinarily speaking, yet holds within it flavors that bespeak a generous amount of adventure. Perhaps the chef understands what it means to build impact into layers of flavor, giving the diner a sense that beneath the surface there is more to be discovered. Much like the city reflected in the inscription that graces it’s doorway, SPQR embraces its name, and bears witness to the notion that there is more than meets the eye, that here there may continually be found something new, an adventure to be had. The next mouthful may reveal hidden treasure.

Pork Trotter

We are an adventurous lot, and so sampled a great deal of the menu. My companions on this occasion were the Dapper Diner and @CarinaOst. Both experts in all that is food. My BH made up the fourth at our happy table, and once we were seated, we were off and exploring.

The meal began with combination of severa Primi.  We had a lovely California Burrata with Herbs & Hazelnuts. Served on a large slice of toast, it was easy to slice into and share. I found it creamy and the toppings selected really enhanced the rich fatty cream flavor of the cheese. Along with the Burrata we ordered a gorgeous Carpaccio of Waygu Beef and a Yellowtail Crudo. The beef  was a platter of lovely thin slices of Waygu beef, perfectly rare and smothered in shaved Parmagiano Reggiano. The seafood crudo was a platter instead of raw fish, delicate slices of Yellowtail tuna gently sprinkled with olive oil and herbs, a few black cherry slices and a few nuts for texture. The final appetizer was a lovely Pumpkin Agnolotti, a delightful dish of creamy, rich pasta with pumpkin seeds and cheese crumbled over it.



Lamb with tangerines

 After our various appetizers, we feasted on our Secondi(s), the Italian name for the main course. My most adventurous dining companion, @thedapperdiner ordered the Black Pudding. I tasted it, but am admittedly not completely into the more outrageous of dishes. Black Pudding, if you are unaware, is a sausage made of pork blood and fat cooked down into a semi-solid. I like to try some offal, but some tries are more successful than others. Though TDD is brave and adventurous, I found that while I enjoy a good platter of brains from time to time, this may have been above my pay grade. From there we moved on to the BH’s choice which was a Napa Valley Lamb dish, delightfully prepared. The exterior of the meat kissed by the smoky flavor of the grill, the inside moist and succulent. A few slices of tangerine and some pepper really set off the flavor of the meat. Another of our companions had a gorgeous Idaho Trout, fluffy white fish with a nice crispy skin buried beneath tiny bits of potato and pork. The Pork Trotter Burger was rich and fatty, and delicious.  The final main we enjoyed was a Pork Ravioli. Like the Pumpkin Agnolotti the pasta was house made, golden and perfectly al dente. All of the flavors were unique, perfectly balanced, each dish a portrait in artistry.



Pumpkin Agnolotti

 Just writing this up is making me want to get back there soon. Some places just resonate with me, a little like Italy. They vibrate with life and flavor. SPQR was an absolute delight, and though it has taken me some time to get around to writing about it, I think it’s time to make a return visit. Remembering the flavors and the company I shared it with makes me want to go back. Maybe next week. But isn’t that what life is all about?

Check it out for yourself, and Bon Appetito!

SPQR
1911 Fillmore Street
San Francisco, CA 94115
(415) 771-7779
http://www.spqrsf.com/

Follow them on Twitter @spqrfillmore

Table size: cramped seating, but space for dishes (very European)
Noise level: boisterous, not for the deaf
Cost: moderately expensive