PUMPKIN PIZZA?
Flip-flops were snapping on Allen Street in the Lower East Side last Saturday in observance of the season's first warm day. But more remarkable than an early spring for pedicurists is the fact that this largely desolate eastern edge of the neighborhood finally has a smiling culinary attraction-a nouveau pizza house with 12 creative pies, and the type of honey-thick espresso that propels one happy and antic into the world.
In other words, while the similarities between Palà and the other 400 pizzerias in Manhattan include the basics of delivery, take-out and the required possession of a baking oven the size of a Volkswagen, the differences in dough, toppings and sophisticated atmosphere catapult the genre to a whole new level.
Instead of bleached white flour and quick acting yeast, owners Gigio and Edena Palazzo (also of Café Terramarre on the Upper East Side) use a secret, organic blend including soy, wheat and rye, and less-active leavening agents that take days to ferment. The result, they say, is a light, digestible crust and the freedom to indulge their generous pizza-by-the-foot menu without slipping into a food coma.
I tested this promise by pairing my meal with a Grolsch Lager, while my friend quaffed a carafe filled by Sicily's best-selling grape, Nero D'Avola. Normally a soporific combination, the thin and airy pie left us fit to dance or operate heavy machinery.
Then again, "light" does not also mean low-calorie. A single foot is more than filling, and still reasonable at $8 to $14 a portion. That includes about eight inches of width for an overall meal the shape of, say, Kansas at 1/1,000,000th scale. The only downside is it takes at least 30 minutes to prep such model dough-long enough to have the hungry gourmand second-guess their sophisticated palate and steal glances at the lonely Domino's across the street.
All the usual topping combinations are available, but significantly enriched, and in some cases reinvented altogether. These include the Zucca, a proud house specialty where the neutral flavor of sautéed pumpkin is pitted against an acerbic pancetta and smoked scamorza cheese. This type of face-off is typical of the pizza menu overall.
A spicy flavor reminiscent of the old "Red Hot" hard candies complicates and lifts the classica, a basic tomato and mozzarella pie, and the mediolanum includes a civil war between an outspoken sprinkle of gorgonzola cheese and rows of polite asparagus.
Meanwhile, olive-oil aficionados will be drawn to a choice of four pies, each matched with a shimmering gold-green layer of oil culled from a different region of Italy.
In particular, the house-cured salmon with pink peppercorns and shaved fennel is a meal in itself. And while it's not advertised, you can dodge the by-the-foot rules and accent your salad with a single slice of pie, if you're willing to take it pre-prepared. It might not be as fresh, but I didn't notice the difference. As for deserts, the crema pasticciera, a light custard cream and sponge cake stands alone, but is best approached alongside a velvety cappuccino.
Strictly speaking, Palà's is a pizza place, but in its first six weeks of existence, it's proved to be more. The décor leans on the traditional exposed brick and unfinished ceiling you'd expect in a trendy downtown spot, but the feeling inside is softer than it seems at first. By day, when the weather is nice, the garage-door façade opens up and noisy, happy tables spill on to drab Allen, giving Gray Line tour buses something to look at other than subsidized housing and people carrying laundry bags. But by night, a serenity sets in.
After a certain amount of wine, looking at fellow diners enjoying themselves at long rows of tables in Palà's shallow interior is like being underwater, watching seaweed bend and sway and quietly rustle.