Already, this was the year that I became an American cliché: I got a little hung up on something I ate in Italy, then got excited when I found it being served back home and told everybody all about it. I even wrote a story about it, barely three months ago. Yet already my travel fascination is back, with an unexpected twist.
The first time, it led me downtown, to a little sandwich stall that had just opened outside an office building. I made that bee line to Lucca Italian Sandwich Shop, not because I make a habit of writing about what officeworkers eat, nor even because it specializes in the very standard Italian concept of paninis served on focaccia. I went because one of its sandwiches has nuts on it.
Yes, another food writer might have taken interest in whether the Etruscans or Greeks first baked focaccia, which the internet tells me was named for the Latin, panis focacius, or "hearth bread." But this one only cared that, in parts of Tuscany at least, pistachios show up with mortadella and soft cheese as a sandwich topping.
This time, I found myself checking out a new pizza shop in La Mesa, because it's where pistachios show up with mortadella and soft cheese as a pizza topping.
Pizza by Aromi recently opened next door to Aromi Italian Cuisine, just off the 8 freeway near Lake Murray. Both restaurants the work of a pair of cousins from Sicily, Aromi launched a year and a half ago, with tasteful decor and a menu of traditional Italian dishes viewed through a contemporary lens. You may find salmon ravioli, gnocchi with pesto and prawns, and pastas tossed in a parmigiano or pecorino cheese wheel. Aromi's new pizza shop expansion, as I mentioned, puts nuts on pizza.
Okay, most of its pies are nut-free. Its 20 specialty pizzas include plenty of "normal" topping combinations. There's of course a margherita, a sausage and mushroom, and even that love-it-or-hate-it California Pizza Kitchen invention, a BBQ chicken pizza with red onions. But even if you don't condone nutty pizza toppings, it's tough not to appreciate a few of Aromi's outside the box efforts: an eggplant parm pie, a sausage and roasted potato pie, and a tiramisu dessert pizza, topped with ladyfingers.
Prices range from $15 to $25 for these somewhat Neapolitan style pizzas. They told me at the shop these are cooked to be crispier than pies from Naples, less crispy than the thin crusts cooked in Rome. They're baked in a golden, domed Forno Clasico pizza oven (the product of another Sicilian expat), which can cook with wood, gas, or both. Aromi's cooking with gas, at least until it can work proper venting to add wood.
It turns out, I had a choice of nut-topped pizzas. The Porcellina ($21) features smoked mozarella, pancetta, arugula, and toasted almonds. The Dolciastra ($22) includes speck, gorgonzola, honey, and walnuts. But I was determined to stick with the Mortadella ($23), because of mortadella, pistachios, and soft cheese offer something those others don't: a winsome pink, green, and white color combination.
It also features a big ball of burrata, right in the center. While the crust and mozzarella bubble away in that domed oven, the remaining ingredients are added afterwards. Cold slices of mortadella and the refreshingly cool burrata are finished with a chunky pistachio pesto. I found a knife handy to spread the burrata on each slice, chewing happily as I counted the Sofia Loren photos posted around the place. I've never eaten a pizza like this, but it still reminds me of that trip to Italy.
Already, this was the year that I became an American cliché: I got a little hung up on something I ate in Italy, then got excited when I found it being served back home and told everybody all about it. I even wrote a story about it, barely three months ago. Yet already my travel fascination is back, with an unexpected twist.
The first time, it led me downtown, to a little sandwich stall that had just opened outside an office building. I made that bee line to Lucca Italian Sandwich Shop, not because I make a habit of writing about what officeworkers eat, nor even because it specializes in the very standard Italian concept of paninis served on focaccia. I went because one of its sandwiches has nuts on it.
Yes, another food writer might have taken interest in whether the Etruscans or Greeks first baked focaccia, which the internet tells me was named for the Latin, panis focacius, or "hearth bread." But this one only cared that, in parts of Tuscany at least, pistachios show up with mortadella and soft cheese as a sandwich topping.
This time, I found myself checking out a new pizza shop in La Mesa, because it's where pistachios show up with mortadella and soft cheese as a pizza topping.
Pizza by Aromi recently opened next door to Aromi Italian Cuisine, just off the 8 freeway near Lake Murray. Both restaurants the work of a pair of cousins from Sicily, Aromi launched a year and a half ago, with tasteful decor and a menu of traditional Italian dishes viewed through a contemporary lens. You may find salmon ravioli, gnocchi with pesto and prawns, and pastas tossed in a parmigiano or pecorino cheese wheel. Aromi's new pizza shop expansion, as I mentioned, puts nuts on pizza.
Okay, most of its pies are nut-free. Its 20 specialty pizzas include plenty of "normal" topping combinations. There's of course a margherita, a sausage and mushroom, and even that love-it-or-hate-it California Pizza Kitchen invention, a BBQ chicken pizza with red onions. But even if you don't condone nutty pizza toppings, it's tough not to appreciate a few of Aromi's outside the box efforts: an eggplant parm pie, a sausage and roasted potato pie, and a tiramisu dessert pizza, topped with ladyfingers.
Prices range from $15 to $25 for these somewhat Neapolitan style pizzas. They told me at the shop these are cooked to be crispier than pies from Naples, less crispy than the thin crusts cooked in Rome. They're baked in a golden, domed Forno Clasico pizza oven (the product of another Sicilian expat), which can cook with wood, gas, or both. Aromi's cooking with gas, at least until it can work proper venting to add wood.
It turns out, I had a choice of nut-topped pizzas. The Porcellina ($21) features smoked mozarella, pancetta, arugula, and toasted almonds. The Dolciastra ($22) includes speck, gorgonzola, honey, and walnuts. But I was determined to stick with the Mortadella ($23), because of mortadella, pistachios, and soft cheese offer something those others don't: a winsome pink, green, and white color combination.
It also features a big ball of burrata, right in the center. While the crust and mozzarella bubble away in that domed oven, the remaining ingredients are added afterwards. Cold slices of mortadella and the refreshingly cool burrata are finished with a chunky pistachio pesto. I found a knife handy to spread the burrata on each slice, chewing happily as I counted the Sofia Loren photos posted around the place. I've never eaten a pizza like this, but it still reminds me of that trip to Italy.