When it opened, I remember thinking Tim Love’s long-defunct tapas joint Duce was going to change the way people dined in this town. The atmosphere was chic and the food refined, and the place just oozed big-city sophistication. One of my enduring (and final) memories of the Camp Bowie eatery was getting into an argument with the manager over a flat bottle of champagne that he claimed wasn’t supposed to be effervescent. I left in a huff and divested myself of the hope I once held. I returned only once, and that was for an office Christmas party – back when the Weekly and Love had a more amicable relationship.
I sat pondering Bubblegate during a recent lunch at Olivella’s Neapolitan Pizza (6333 Camp Bowie Blvd., 817-439-7676), the Dallas-based upscale pizzeria that now occupies Duce’s old storefront. I wasn’t questioning the credibility of my argument – who in the world thinks it’s OK to serve flat champagne?, but rather that I, a professional eater of restaurant cuisine, had never been to Olivella’s until this week. So why is that remarkable?
Back during the Bubble War, Duce was one of only a handful of places that served decent champagne. Now, even the most pedestrian of wine lists has at least two styles of bubbly beverages on offer. Had Olivella’s been open in, say, 2007-ish, it’s likely I would have been there every week. I take for granted the kind of restrained elegance of the exposed bricks, tiled walls, comfy banquets, flickering fireplace, and covered patio. All of that now comes standard at newer upscale restaurants. A cozy environ will get you only so far in this new foodie landscape. The food has to stand out.
When locals talk about the best pizza in town, we usually get starry-eyed about Fireside or 13 Pies or whatever its name is this week, Cane Rosso, Cork & Pig, and, heck, people are already including Marcus Paslay’s Piattello Kitchen in the mix, and the Waterside-area Italian café has been open only a week. But you never hear about Olivella’s, and I’m starting to think we food snobs overlooked the eastern import.
The Soppressata & Sausage ($17 for a “normal” size) was a complex and compelling duet of spicy sausage and salty soppressata (Italian salami), with a fresh-tasting sweet tomato sauce and creamy housemade mozzarella sitting atop a bubbly crust with patches of char on the bottom. The crust is sturdy but not brittle or tough. It crackles upon meeting your teeth, but its interior is delicate, filled with small air pockets.
The rest of the pizza menu was a mix of classics like the Margherita ($14) and more adventurous pies such as the White Clam ($17), with pecorino cheese, olive oil, clams, and garlic, and the Black Truffle ($18), topped with mozzarella, speck (Italian ham), mushrooms, truffle oil, and black pepper.
Don’t pass on the appetizers or the pasta. The visually arresting Bruschetta Prosciutto ($9) was a masterpiece of balance. The creamy Gorgonzola slathered on the oil-soaked, toasted housemade bread was the perfect dance partner for the salty, gossamer-thin Galloni ham and delicately sweet sun-dried tomatoes. The Cheese Ravioli ($12) tasted like the dough was rolled out by an Italian grandmother. Stuffed with ricotta, it was slathered in an aggressively spicy vodka sauce.
I couldn’t tell you why Olivella’s wasn’t on my radar until now. Maybe it’s because I just have a natural aversion to Dallas restaurants setting up shop here. I guess that’s kind of a spoiled reason, but that just goes to show you how far we’ve come as a foodie city. That alone is worth popping the cork on a bubbly bottle of champagne.
