A Toss Up

Many of my friends love pizza so much that they’d happily eat it three or five times a week. These same friends are also passionately devoted to a particular pizzeria — typically Waldo Pizza or d’Bronx — and wouldn’t dream of being disloyal by eating in any other pizza joint.

I am not one of those people. True, I like pizza enough to have eaten plenty of it over the years in every possible incarnation: from the greasy, gloppy mess served in my high school cafeteria to the more glamorous, crispy affair served at the new Vinino restaurant in the Power & Light District and to everything in between.

However, I can go for long periods without desiring the ubiquitous food first made popular by American soldiers returning from duty in World War II-era Italy; they’d developed a fondness for that sexy “pie” of baked flatbread topped with tomatoes (or marinara) and cheese. Blame those hungry GIs for creating an incredible U.S. industry: More than 3 billion pizzas are sold in the United States every year, according to the Kansas Wheat Commission, which makes a lot of the flour that goes into the crusts tossed by the big chains as well as the little neighborhood joints.

The idea of a cozy little neighborhood pizzeria — with a wood-burning oven, hand-tossed dough, a decent glass of Chianti and a laid-back ambience — was the inspiration for chef Rob Dalzell’s Pizza Bella.

Best known for the sophisticated bistro 1924 Main and for Souperman, a casual Crossroads soup shop, Dalzell decided to go into the upscale-pizza business after downtown developer Brad Nicholson showed him a vacant space at 1810 Baltimore — an unassuming one-story brick building with big plate-glass windows. The El Dorado architectural firm helped Dalzell transform the inside into a surprisingly chic 50-seat dining room with a painted concrete floor, slatted wooden walls, groovy lipstick-red plastic chairs and a tiny bar.

I heard raves about the place and was eager to see what all the fuss was about. But before we even took a seat at one of the plain wooden tables, I confessed to my friends Bob, Lillis and Ned that even though I was fond of pizza, it fell into the category of dishes I crave only a couple of times a year — like waffles, hot dogs and prime rib. When I do crave hot dogs, waffles and pizza, I absolutely have to have them right away. But for most of the year, I never even think about them.

Bob and Ned, however, fall into the fanatic camp. They have distinct pizza preferences, which they made abundantly clear as they looked over Pizza Bella’s menu. Ned went into a near rapture about some new deep-dish Pizza Hut creation, and Bob insisted that the best pizza in town was at Papa Keno’s, even if the servers at its midtown location seem to be perpetually stoned.

“The pizza is still delicious,” Bob said. “And they have the best salads.”

I kept out of that argument. I’m just not passionate about a dish that another friend of mine, a personal trainer, dismisses as “baked fat.”

The weather that night was snowy and cold, and the dining room wasn’t very busy — which turned out to be a good thing because the only waitress, wearing a man’s jacket several sizes too small for her body, wasn’t exactly a model server. She was sweet as sugar, but Ned (a veteran waiter) was ready to scream when he noted that the martini he ordered sat at the bar for what felt like ages. When the waitress finally brought it over, he scolded her: “Honey, I think the vodka evaporated a half-hour ago.”

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Before tackling a couple of pies, we sampled a few small-plate items, all served in dainty square bowls. Shellfish-loving Bob and Lillis didn’t care for the black mussels and fennel sausage in a punchy crushed tomato sauce, but Ned loved them. I only dipped a fragile crostini into the sauce because I was much more interested in the next mini-dish: a mound of sliced, roasted fingerling potatoes tossed with oyster mushrooms and leeks. The tiny portion wasn’t easy to share, but we all got enough of a taste to agree that it was probably the best item on the antipasto list. None of us were crazy about the pâté-like potted pork, which was surprisingly bland, but we admired the artful presentation: It was served with splinters of tart green apple and celery root.

The most interesting debate began when our two pizzas arrived, puffy and hot from one of two 700-degree, oak-burning, Italian-made ovens. Dalzell’s rustic creations are visually beautiful: The flatbreadlike crust is curvy and thick on the ends, thin and delicate at the center. Like most of the pizzas here, the margherita pie and chorizo pie we ordered were modestly topped with the featured ingredients — gooey, cheesy pizzas, they ain’t.

That didn’t bother me, but Bob and Lillis thought they were too artistic. “It’s like a round flatbread with a little goo-goo on it,” Ned complained. “I mean, this isn’t pizza — it’s some reflection of the chef’s neurosis.”

I couldn’t get all Freudian about a very simple and satisfying pie of wood-baked dough topped with tomato, fat cloves of garlic, a smattering of fresh mozzarella and a bit of fresh basil — or, on the other pie, a splash of bright-green pesto with spicy slices of chorizo. I liked the contrasting texures of chewy, crispy, soft and doughy. I mean, it’s pizza.

“It’s a darling place,” Lillis said, putting on her heavy fur coat, “but this isn’t Spago.”

I returned a few days later with younger friends Louise and Justin, who had already eaten a takeout Pizza Bella pie and had their own opinions of Dalzell’s creations. “It’s good pizza,” Justin informed me as we sat down, “but you have to eat it right away, straight out of the oven. It isn’t so good if it sits for a while.”

Dalzell later told me that his crust, unlike the commercial chain versions, has artistic integrity. It should be eaten in one sitting.

That’s easy enough to do because these pizzas aren’t big. And the menu is pretty limited right now: 10 small plates under the heading “antipasto” and just as many pizza choices. Dalzell says he plans to expand the menu soon to add a “build your own pizza” option that lets customers select from three sauces, nine cheeses and 10 meats.

We didn’t have that option yet, so Justin, Louise and I shared the excellent fennel sausage version and the meatless Biancoverde, lightly topped with mozzarella, ricotta and pecorino romano and a jumble of arugula.

“And ‘evo,'” Louise noted, having studied the menu closely. “All the pizzas have evo on them.” She turned to me for an answer: “What’s evo?”

We asked the server, who looked at us as if we had just gotten off the train from Squaresville.

“It’s extra-virgin olive oil,” she said before turning and walking away.

Wouldn’t that be evoo?

I don’t pretend to be an expert on evo, arugula or pizza. And though I think Dalzell is a brilliant young chef and Pizza Bella is a stylish, sexy little place, I’m much more excited about his next project: a burger joint in the Power & Light District. Now that’s food I can get passionate about.