We arrive at Strada 241 on time, but our table is not ready. Not a good start... This leaves the Italian looking at the open kitchen with a critical eye. He points out to me that the oven is electric, not wood burning... I'm in for an interesting evening.
It is a beautiful spot. I'm not sure what the building was before it was turned into a restaurant, but the ceilings are post and beam, soaring above us. They must be 20 feet high, with huge wooden pillars holding them up. The lighting fixtures fit the industrial feel--they look like 1940's fixtures with Edison bulbs. I wonder if I can get one under my coat and take it home?
The Italian points out the spelling mistakes on the menu. Secondo piatties? Primi? He's annoyed and we haven't even ordered.
Our friend orders the Chianti, which, unlike some other places we have been to, is actually a fair sized portion of wine. He gets his own little decanter. Unfortunately, like most pizza places we have been to, the assumption is that they should serve Italian beer. This is wrong--Italians do many things well, but not beer.
We order three pizzas, the Gianpaolo, the Alessandro and the Pasquale. Mine is supposed to have wild boar on it, but we think it might actually be bacon. The mozzarella is definitely KRAFT for god's sake, and there is no flavor to the sauce. I'm about to commit the cardinal sin of asking for salt.
I really can't say enough BAD things about this place. I was so disgusted by the pizza, I can't even write about Strada 241 anymore. Avoid. Just avoid.
Out of 10? 0.
