Pizza Pedantic

I’ve much personal angst when it comes to the gourmet pizza joint. Maybe it’s because of the cruel tutelage of an uncle who dedicated the second half of his life to making some of the city’s best pizza, and who constantly fixed mine; maybe it’s because of the painful memories of lifting a paddle up into an oven that was taller than myself- burning my knuckles, bruising my ego. Or maybe it was the standards of almost all places, which made me forge health inspector letters in desperate attempts to fix the complacent sanitation problems that my employers refused to acknowledge. Whatever the case, my experiences with the pizza place, even the most cosmopolitan one, serve as some of my first disjointed experiences with the food industry, and make me feel, even today, a little leery of every spot. However, today I felt I owed it to my readership to face the Neapolitan demons that keep my own gastronomic identity in constant flux.

Mon Ami: Pizza and Restaurant is another culinary symptom of charmed cosmopolitanism. Declaring itself to be the best, a motto appropriated by an ironically large number of pizza places in this city, Mon Ami situates itself in the urbane tech location of Kitchener’s Tannery Building, visited by the most technologically intelligent and gastronomically inclined (presumably).

Its space may be as tactful as its rhetorically pandering menu. Bamboo place-mats rest atop thick wooden tables, and even heavier wooden chairs with faux log appendages wait patiently for customers who look to leisurely fill them in and make the malapropos chateau that is the restaurant’s dining room. I can only recall spaces like these in popular history in the coldest forests of Eastern Europe, or, more surprisingly, in the isolated teashops of kung fu movies- the Chinese invented pizza anyway, right? Add to that plastic stone veneers and a stone oven, and you stand to come a little more nostalgically close to the assumed pizzerias of the culinary world’s authentic past. Then again, design choices like wall lamps and paintings of England’s flag turn the dining space into something riddled with so much unfocussed romantic cathartic that it’s hard to take any gormandism seriously. And unfortunately, the menu does the same to bolster this pedantic gastronomic dynamic, which is an obvious tactic for charging customers a little extra. That’s right dear diners, at Mon Ami Pizza, an inappropriately French name for a fare that is obviously Italian, you are allowed the choice of gourmet toppings (for a little more money), or classic toppings- a pizza pie paradox if I do say so myself. And if a pizza from 9.99 to 24.99 isn’t, for whatever reason, what you want in a pizza shop, don’t fret, because there are the unavoidable menu options that seem more obligatory than essential, like chicken wings, lasagna, salads, and sandwiches. Now, it’d be unfair to judge these things, because I tried nary a one, but with the many premade pizza options, I wondered, why bother?

A small 9” pizza was what I limited myself to for lunch. That, and a quick espresso. It always intrigues me why coffee exists in pizza shops like these, and also makes me a little hopeful; hopeful that these pizza connoisseurs will go the extra mile and care for coffee as much as they supposedly do for pizza. Alas, that wasn’t the case today. It was a dull and stoney brew, watered down, and a little bitter, with grit at the bottom. Absolute sacrilege.

The prosciutto pizza was my choice meal. Something I’m familiar with, and one of the pizzas I’ve learned to prepare with fearful and artisanal accuracy. Topped with ricotta cheese, spinach, mushrooms, herbs, and of course, that cured temperamental meat: prosciutto, I was willing to risk any future relationship with Mon Ami.

I was quick to respond to the thicker than usual pieces of prosciutto topped with cheese that were yellowed and dried out in the oven. I dug around for mushrooms, cooked unevenly, and was disappointed by the flavor drowning mozzarella. On top of that, there was the usual sprinkling of oregano I see on too many gourmet pizzas.

The prosciutto itself had an overpowering salty quality more reminiscent of fried bacon than that cured, almost fermented flavor of a fresh slice of the meat. In my pizza heyday, prosciutto was put on at the very end when the pie came out of the oven so as to avoid any saltiness. This time, that wasn’t the case. The potential for any unevenly baked mushrooms was also avoided by making sure the things were the last toppings put on the pie. Instead, here they were mixed throughout without a chance to lose all water. With an unwelcomed amount of cheese, they were either moist or still raw- but at least fresh enough that they weren’t too off putting. Surprisingly, and against all of my own prejudice, the spinach –which I thought would do absolutely nothing for the dish- contributed a beautiful grassy flavor that calmed any unbearable saltiness. And the other saving grace? When the crust wasn’t saturated and wet from sauce, it had a nice light texture, almost like cake. Unfortunately, this was few and far between. It was more flaccid and wet when I picked it up by hand, the ingredients sliding off in clumps.

By the end, I found myself forcibly adding fuel to the fire that was in my belly. I can’t say the pizza was absolutely bad, but I can say I expected better. Maybe it was the space, it seemed too new, too professional, albeit culturally mismatched. I’ll be bold and say this much: Mon Ami makes expensive pizza, and if you pay for it, you’ll get a slice of pie that isn’t half-assed like the boilerplate pizzeria pizza slices we happily pay low prices for when we’re just plain hungry. So you won’t get half-assed pizza. That’s all. Pizza that’s not half-assed. NOT half-assed. That’s all, Mon Amis.

	I'd like to blame the picture on the pizza itself.

Mon Ami Pizza & Restaurant
519-570-9992
151 Charles St. W.
Kitchener

Mon-Wed: 11:00am - 9:00pm
Thu-Sat: 11:00am - 9:30pm
Sun: 12:00pm - 8:30pm

Any payment

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