Ah, Pizzarium. With all the outstanding places to eat we uncovered on our last trip to Rome, it is this tiny, crappily-named, ornery, expensive, literal hole-in-the-wall squeezed between the walls of Vatican City and the Trionfale neighborhood that we think of almost daily.
A casual glance at its' location might lead one to think that it is close to tourist ground central. It is decidedly not–in fact the only things Pizzarium is conveniently located to are the Cipro-Musei Vaticani metro stop and two other food destinations– La Tradizione, one of the best shops for cured meat and cheese in the city, and La Bonta' del Pane, a fine bakery with some of the best Roman butter cookies. So, actually, not so bad! Just bear in mind that if you're coming from the area of St. Peter's Square, you'll have to put up with not only the steady march of people towards the Vatican Museum entrance itself, but also their attendant annoying tour guide pitchpersons, who will repeatedly bother you if you don't look every inch the pissed-off local. Pizzarium is inbetween the Via Cipro and a flower stand along the Via Angelo Emo, just south of the Metro station. It's open during the siesta, as well, so if you happen to be roving the Metro line during off-hours, consider a trip up to Cipro.
Just don't go with any expectations–Pizzarium has been called the "best pizza al taglio in Rome," but you won't find the usual set of barely-reheated favorites familiar from other purveyors of rectangular Roman-style pizze. No no no. Instead, Pizzarium serves up... well... whatever it is they serve up. There's no set list of bonafide classics and no dead certs. One of the bakers stopped to take a picture of a pie before sliding it into the display case. Not because it looked so damn good (which it did), but because in all probability that pizza would not get made again.
So what makes Pizzarium special? First off it's the dough, which rises overnight. It's crusty, soft, pliable–somewhere between pizza crust and focaccia, but not that horrid chewy nonsense served up in supermarkets and at most restaurants. It has a significant crumb to it, but it's very easy to chew and to digest. There is no hard work involved in a bit of Pizzarium's crust, but you may feel the pleasures normally associated with the kind of artisan craft whatever breads that usually do require tooth work. Needless to say, it's absolutely nothing like the (fault-free) normal Roman pie, whether from a pizzaria or an al taglio joint. The second thing that makes this pizza otherworldly is the level of quality and care with regards to the toppings. To better illustrate this, I will mention the slices that we ate while standing outside this ridiculous place (the rest we took with us and ate at various points in the evening). Dough, fresh end-of-winter artichokes and olive oil. That's it. There are no pictures. We ate the slices too fast. Three ingredients and easily one of the best slices of pizza I have ever eaten. Well, engulfed, really.
On par with the artichoke slices were the beauties pictured above. Well-cooked beef lingua (tongue), green tomatoes, parsley and a hint of pecorino buried 'neath the tongue. Though it was obviously the same crust, there was far less olive oil on these slices, which made them seem crispier - entirely appropriate, given the toppings. The combination was nothing short of spectacular, with the tender, braised tongue a rich contrast to the citric tartness of the unripe tomatoes. The notes of sheep's cheese and fresh parsley were perfect, subtle additions. This was one of those combinations that might seem a little puzzling on paper, but really worked on dough.
Our final slices were the only offering that was less than mind-blowing. They were great nonetheless, featuring braised treviso radicchio and mushrooms absolutely smothered in melted provolone. Between the oil (no tomato sauce on any of these) and the abundant cheese, these were perhaps a little too greasy for our tastes. Although it must be said that these were eaten hours after they were cooked, and no doubt would have been a little less heavy when first served.
Finally, a word about arancine. These Sicilian rice-based croquettes have been an obsession of mine since I first ate them in Siracusa. No matter how they are made or what they are called (in Rome, they usually have sauce and cheese and are called suppli), I love these things. Pizzarium dished out one of the best I've ever had, and without a trace of meat or cheese. Rice, sauce, and artichokes. Perfect.
