There's a school of pizza thought that believes there is no bad pizza, just that some pizza is better than others and a few are waaay better. Then there is the other, much larger school at the other end of the scale, those who believe there is no pizza but the True pizza, usually the one they were raised on; all others are worthy of little but scorn. Many people are amazingly loyal to their chosen favorite. It's one of the two foods I won't argue about. (The other is barbecue.)
That said, it's a pleasant surprise that the different styles of pizza now being offered here in Proveladelphia are managing to prosper reasonably well. Other than the so-called designer pizza (Wolfgang Puck has a lot to answer for), the first to really shake things up may have been the Neapolitan style from the sadly departed The Good Pie. Now, Scott Sandler, a second-career pizza guy, has turned a quiet corner in Soulard into Pizzeoli, a fine producer of first-rate Neapolitan pies.
Pizzeoli's lovely, deceptively simple interior, brick walls and pressed tin ceilings, doesn't pretend to be anywhere but in an old St. Louis neighborhood. There's a bar and a few tables along one wall of the first room, but taking pride of place is the half-dome of a wood-burning oven, its tile exterior announcing the restaurant's name. Sandler forms and tosses his pizze on a counter in front of the oven, right by the door that leads into the second dining area; if pizza-tossing isn't one of the magical arts to you, you're way more blase than I.
The single offering to ease your wait is a salad, a far cry from the bagged iceberg mix that is often found hanging around pizza purveyors. Fresh, leafy greens, a few grape tomatoes and pieces of parmesan wear the thinnest coat of a vinaigrette. The serving is generous, enough for two to nibble at while they wait.
Pizzas are 12 inches only. Studying the menu, it takes a while to realize that this is actually a meat-free house. Persist; there's enough flavor and texture here to satisfy all but the obstinate. (Vegan parmesan, pepperoni and sausage are available.) The crust , very thin, remains soft in Neapolitan style, the edges chewy-tender and intermittently charred from the high heat. And there are several white pizzas, as those without tomato sauce are referred to.
If it's Neapolitan-style pizza that we're talking about, it's logical to kick things off with a pie titled Napoli. Tomato sauce, both regular and smoked mozzarella, a nice hit of garlic, a drizzle of olive oil, some shaved parm and arugula, the whole thing given a light shower of black pepper, it was a charmer. The tomato sauce is both sweet and tangy, a nice balance, and that crust is almost seductive.
A funghi, or mushroom, white pizza was almost buttery in its flavors from the mozzarella and a little hit of bechamel sauce. Vegan sausage was very mild, not at all greasy, and the fresh thyme added a nice note, but it was mostly about those mushrooms, roasted beforehand to concentrate their flavors, I suspect. It's a fungophilic kitchen – all three sections of the pizza menu, including the vegan one, have mushroom options. The pomodorini pizza, also on the bianca section, started with mozzarella cheese and fresh basil, some halved grape tomatoes and a little garlic and olive oil, very simple, very good.
After one lunch, we asked about having a scoop of the Clementine's ice cream on the short dessert menu and a hit of the Sump Coffee over it. "Oh," said the bartender/waiter, "You want an affogato", which, of course, is the Italian name for this dessert. Just right, too, after this meal.
Pleasant, patient service, and pies that balance their flavors very well. Good stuff.
Pizzeoli
1928 South 12th St.
314-449-1111
Lunch & Dinner Tues.-Sun.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Pizzas: $11-$16