In Crust We Trust
REGINELLI'S PIZZERIA is 'the one' when it comes to providing those pizza love handles.
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Consistency is a virtue at all three REGINELLI'S PIZZERIA locations, which offer a relatively inspired gamut of fresh toppings.
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WHAT: Reginelli's Pizzeria
CUISNE: Pizzas, calzones, sandwiches, salads
WHEN: Lunch and dinner daily
WHERE: 874 Harrison Ave., 488-0133; 741 State St., 899-1414; 5608 Citrus Blvd., 818-0111
CARDS: Major
Pizza lovers are either disciples or pilgrims, faithful to a favorite pizzeria
or in the arduous pursuit of "the one." I have been a desperado in the latter
pack for some time in New Orleans, hoarding coupons and sneaking peaks behind
the scenes to learn who hand-tosses and who unwraps pre-rolled frozen rounds of
dough. Therein lies the truth, of course, in that pliable mixture of flour,
water, salt, yeast and, usually, fat. It looks simple on paper, but the
interactions between these ingredients depend upon a long list of variables
including many intangibles. Thus the thick and the thin, the greasy and the
cardboard, the runner-up and the one. In the love of crust, Reginelli's is the
one.
During one stop on my recent pizza quest, I sat facing an
anatomical poster dissection of a cheese-loaded disc. The crust, it said, is
nothing more than a handle -- the device with which one transfers topping to
tongue. Sure enough, when I exited that joint still hungry, my plate was strewn
with nibbled handles. In contrast, every last crumb of my pizza left with me
when I walked with bulging middle out of Reginelli's in Lakeview a few nights
later.
The difference in Reginelli's crust was the levity in its heft, the
sweet, yeasty aroma of its steamy air pockets, and the honesty in its rustic
goodness. Geographically, Reginelli's pizza crust lay equidistant between
Chicago's lofty pan-style pie and New York's even plane of dough and dairy. It
was chewy and moist like a focaccia, a salty-sweet breadlike bottom made for
eating, not just transporting. At the same time it was sturdy enough to take on
the most resolute sauce. And the Italian lager, Moretti (only $2.50 per bottle
on Wednesdays), was a golden accessory.
Partners Darryl and Reggie Reginelli, and Bruce Erhardt (the three
opened the Lakeview and Elmwood locations together this year, while the
brothers alone own the three-year-old Uptown store) know what they've got, and
they're not telling. The recipe is patented. A local bakery makes the dough and
delivers it everyday in bulk, so don't bother bribing the kitchen staff.
Darryl did let on that his perfected, classified dough contains
little fat and a lot of water, but I've tasted many forgettable pizza shells
made in endless combinations of oil and water. Few became the one. So many
other factors come into play. Fresh yeast, aged flour, ample rising times, a
warm, damp environment, hand-tossing to order, and deep tradition, for example,
separate the dull crusts from the sublime pies. A brick-floored oven often aids
in baking an evenly golden-browned crust around the edges and underneath.
Reginelli's conveyor-belt gas oven fooled me.
While the crust makes it or breaks it, a responsible pizzeria must
also account for sauces and toppings. It is here that Reginelli's could step it
up a notch. On both the Tony's Play (Italian cold cuts with veggies and capers)
and a plain cheese pizza, the tomato sauce was a thin film of orange. After
requesting extra on the side, we were shocked to find an exceptional sauce with
a tangy foreground of crushed tomatoes followed by a loud herbal and hot pepper
kick. A garlic herb sauce on the Irish Feast (chicken, potatoes, tomatoes and
green onions) and Medi- terranean pizzas (roasted garlic, sun-dried
tomatoes, roasted peppers, olives and spinach) also hinted at greatness but was
difficult to discern. True, most of Italy does sauce lightly, but in general
their crusts are much thinner. A substantial crust like Reginelli's needn't be
shy about accessorizing.
The toppings at the Lakeview pizzeria (all three locations offer
identical menus) run the fresh, inspired gourmet gamut of sun-dried tomatoes,
calamata olives, roasted red peppers, pancetta, roasted garlic, eggplant, goat
and gorgonzola cheeses, and a mozzarella that holds its own in real, milky
flavor. A few, however, could benefit from some adulterating, like the dry,
lifeless chicken, rigid Roma tomatoes, and unseasoned new potatoes.
The young wait staff on the evenings of my two visits needed
refinement, too. Attitude was the problem, not efficiency, from the moment we
were greeted with scowls at the door until the raised-brow question, "You don't
believe me?" when we spotted a mistake on the bill. A party of six in an
otherwise empty dining room usually assures at least a smile.
The starch element of the focaccia sandwiches, calzone and
breadsticks is the same one of patented dough. Stick to that flawless
ingredient. When I strayed, ordering the baked polenta appetizer with spicy
shrimp and pancetta cream, the sauce was a pool of broken cream and oil, the
bacon burnt, and the polenta three bland slabs. In fairness, on my second trip
the sauce had come together beautifully, but the pancetta and polenta had not.
So if you are another pilgrim seeking the truth in crust, be lost
no more (just ask for extra sauce). If instead you are a believer in another
one, I bid you to test your faith once (that's all it should take). And to
anyone considering this counsel, I advise one more thing: when on Harrison
Avenue, order take-out.
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