We first came across it one night a couple of weeks ago on our way to The Field Irish pub right off the side of the road. Out the car window, the place looked like a Norman Rockwell interpretation of the picture-perfect American pizza parlor. We knew in an instant this was a place we had to try. I asked mom if she wanted to take part in a pizza tasting experiment, and she was good to go.
Walking in, the place oozed pizza house charm. All decked out with Christmas lights and ornaments, and wreath with bows outlining the serving window. Because we're in the middle of lent, mom had already determined that she wanted half of the pie with mushrooms - It doesn't bear explaining why the other half had to be smothered in pepperoni. When I asked the server whether the mushrooms were fresh or canned, she replied with understated sarcasm, "fresh.... OF COURSE!" The of course sealed the deal for me.
After she took our order, she collected our untouched menus and sprinted away with a "your garlic rolls will be out shortly." Whether we had ordered garlic rolls or not was completely irrelevant, they were coming and that's the way it was gonna be. I asked no questions because it seemed unnecessary. These folks know what they're doing.
Six golden garlic rolls (not garlic knots) came to the table in a round aluminum tray swimming in a seasoned garlic bath. The roll tops were a golden brown hue unavailable in Adobe Photoshop. They crunched to the naked eye. I tried picking one up, but it was piping hot. So I ceremoniously forked one onto my plate and carved it with one of their uber shiny knives. The inside was light, fluffy, and airy. I dipped a piece in the garlic brine and.... merry freaking Christmas! Santa himself could not have delivered this kind of holiday miracle. Had we not been served a pizza, I would not have begrudged this experience. My mind flashed back to the decadent garlic rolls that Mario the Baker in North Miami used to serve in the 80s and 90s. Better or not, I'll leave that for you to decide.
It was around this time that I took note of an accolade on their wall stating that they had been Sun Sentinel's pick for best pizza in Broward County in 2024. Sure enough, our pizza arrived with heaping portions of pepperoni and fresh mushrooms on their respective halves. We served mom her mushroom slice, which was too hot to hold so she succumbed to the fork and knife methodology. She took the first bite and despite the steam rolling out of her mouth, didn't blink and continued cutting that slice as best as her arthritic hands could without taking a breath. I jumped in.
Before I could overanalyze the aesthetics of my pepperoni wedge, I shook some parm, crushed pepper, and sprinkled a little oregano and I just went for it. Oh damn!!! Crusty bottom, a little thicker than I would normally prefer, but very light dough. And on top... a blast of tangy tomato sauce, relatively mild mozzarella and salty (in the good way) pepperoni with palpable depth of flavor and seasoned personality. This is when I recognized the jam of "Clap Your Hands" by Chic playing over the PA to overload my already heightened senses. Our server and Antonio's Pizza ambassador, Maya, had suggested dipping the pizza in the garlic brine. Normally, I would've thought this was a no-brainer but the pizza was so overcharged with flavor that this seemed like overkill. Never too shy to try anything once, I gave it a go. Yes, this was a winning combination. However, I don't like to mix my peas and mashed potatoes. And I figured both elements reigned over their respective kingdoms. So, I saved the garlic elixir for my pizza crust edge. I think this was a smart move. You may think I'm an idiot. And you may be right. After all, I skipped the first Keane tour because they didn't have a live bass player. Joke's on me. That said, this was everything I hoped it would be and then some. But, I couldn't put an end to this pizza excursion without trying a piece of fresh mushroom off my mom's half. That was another smart call.
Just as we were getting ready to conclude our pizza experience, Maya asked if we were ready for dessert, and I almost denied her the gesture before mom gave me the evil eye. "Our tiramisu is homemade - I highly recommend it." Come on, what am I gonna say? Besides, mom was already sold on the idea. Holy Shangri-La! This slice that came right from dietary hell, or perhaps that's just indicative of where I'm going, was light and creamy, but packed a nicely balanced coffee/coca punch... or maybe it was more like an endearing snuggle.
This post has gone way too long already. But if you're off your diet, and you don't mind a triple overdose of carbs in their varying forms set to some funky Stevie Wonder tunes in an out-of-season winter wonderland, this might be a place worth checking out. I personally pledge to come back before 4th of July. read more