The first thing you notice about the pizza at Il Fico is that it makes noise…read more
A lot of noise.
The kind of crunch that makes you stop chewing, look at the slice in your hand, and wonder how something so crispy on the outside can be so impossibly tender and chewy on the inside.
The second thing you need to know is that it took Lauren and me three visits to actually get some of it.
Apparently, great pizza has a waiting period.
Nobody told us.
Giovanni and Jenny Marzano opened Il Fico on Atwood Avenue in Johnston this April. Jenny wanted to recreate the feeling of a café she knew in Rome, while Giovanni brought his passion for bread and Roman-style pizza, making the dough himself and giving it 24 hours to rise.
Opening an Italian place in Johnston is a little like opening a seafood restaurant in Galilee. You'd better know what you're doing. The locals have been eating the good stuff for generations, and they're not easily impressed.
The first time we went, they were closed. The second time, they were open but out of pizza.
That second one isn't carelessness. Giovanni makes only so much each day, and when it's gone, it's gone. The menu actually asks for your understanding.
We'd already been understanding twice.
I appreciate a man who knows that good dough doesn't care about your schedule.
Even when it's mine.
Tonight, the pizza was there. So were we.
And what a place to finally get it.
On the wall, a glowing sign reads:
"You may have the universe if I may have Italy."
After spending some time here, I can understand the argument.
Il Fico is modeled on the neighborhood markets of Italy, where getting something to eat doesn't necessarily mean sitting down for a full meal. Stop for an espresso. Pick up something for dinner. Have a glass of wine. Browse the imported treats. Stay awhile.
Or, for those of us whose priorities are arranged correctly, eat some tremendous pizza.
And this pizza deserves your attention.
It's Roman-style, rectangular, five dollars a slice. We ordered the tomato pie, the cheese, and the pepperoni. They arrived on a wooden board looking like they'd just survived a serious argument with a very hot oven.
Bright red sauce. Pools of melted mozzarella. Pepperoni curled into little cups. And char. Plenty of char.
Before taking a bite, turn a slice over.
The underside is gorgeous. Golden brown deepening into mahogany, with an even, beautifully toasted surface that looks almost too gorgeous to be hiding underneath everything.
Then bite.
CRUNCH.
Not a crackle. Not a polite suggestion of crispiness that some pizzas offer before surrendering immediately.
A serious, audible, glorious crunch.
And then the crust does something wonderful.
It gives you an astonishing amount of chew, just enough to remind you that you're eating real bread. But inside, it's extraordinarily soft and light, with big, irregular pockets of air separated by delicate strands of dough.
There's a remarkable amount of structure holding up something that feels almost weightless.
Crunchy. Chewy. Soft. Light.
All in the same bite.
That is not an easy trick.
The sauce is just as impressive. Rich tomato flavor, with oregano stepping forward and knowing exactly when to stop. The cheese melts beautifully into the sauce, the char adds a little depth, and every component seems to know its place.
Nobody's fighting for the spotlight.
The pepperoni was delicious, with those curled cups holding their own pools of orange oil. But here's the interesting part.
My favorites were the tomato pie and the cheese.
And I think that's about the highest compliment you can pay a pizzamaker.
Giovanni doesn't need anywhere to hide.
The simplest slices were the ones I kept coming back to. When the foundation is this, you don't need much else.
And, Il Fico is considerably more than pizza.
The rest of the menu deserves its own visit. Sandwiches come on house-baked bread, with combinations like mortadella, burrata, and pistachio pesto, or porchetta with smoked mozzarella and Calabrian chili. All twelve sandwiches are named for women.
I don't know who they are yet.
That's a question for next time.
I had a bottle of MoleCola, an Italian cola in a distinctive black glass bottle, because apparently even my soda wanted to be part of the bit.
The sign out front lists six things Il Fico does: pizza, deli, kitchen, café, bar, gelato.
Six good reasons to visit.
But the pizza is the one we drove back for.
Some pizzas make an impression before you taste them. This one makes noise.
And what follows is even better.
If you haven't been to Il Fico yet, put it on your list. There's a really wonderful little slice of Italy waiting for you on Atwood Avenue.