Last time I was in PEI was during the summers of 1978 and 1979 when I was young, brave, and could withstand the rigors of the excruciating 25 hour train trip from Ottawa to Cape Tormentine NB, take the ferry to PEI and bike around the island for two weeks pitching my tent among the dunes, or on the bluff behind the now vanished Stanhope Inn, gorging myself on wild berries and life, and discovering, among other things, that the earth is not flat. Many unexpected adventures and unusual circumstances found me back then at a time when I was still a young swarthy curly haired sight to be seen on a bike, that even the mention of which here would be distracting to the subject at hand. While PEI was recognizable, much has changed over the past 35 years, most of all me. Over the years I have amused and intrigued Jackie with tales of the road, and seeing the PEI of myth and legend was mandatory for her on this trip, so here we are. Took few photos though. Didn't find much to see. The early autumn weather was mostly moist and overcast while my youthful memories all glow in a warm, radiant maritime sun, bathing the red clay roads and fields of clover flowing down to an awaiting sea that engulfed my still young soul. But all was not lost.
Jackie on the ferry from Nova Scotia to PEI beaming with anticipation.
As readers of this blog know I am a man in search of the perfect pizza, something that is becoming a more and more rare and elusive commodity. People don't know how to make real pizza anymore, and hardly anyone seems to know or care, so it is the perfect storm. As I have said many times, A GOOD PIZZA IS MORE THAT JUST THE SUM OF ITS PARTS. It requires a visceral understanding of the dynamics of the thing. You can't just bring your cousin Habibi over from the middle east, provide him with a store front, ready made balls of dough, a can of sauce, and a lump of mozzarella like material and expect him to produce anything more that a round, undercooked cheese covered object that vaguely resembles a pizza. You can count on one hand the number of pizza places in NYC still run by an Italian who knows what he is doing.
So imagine my surprise to find one of the finest pies I have ever eaten in Charlottetown, PEI. Piatto authentic wood fired pizza, right there on Queen Street.
I ordered the Margherita pizza, the true test of things, pure and unadorned, with no place to hide. The crust was thin and crisp, the sauce was generous, mildly herbed and very tasty and the cheese was light, fresh, and applied sparingly to produce a crisp delicious pizza with a zero glop factor. If it looks a little too well done, I like it that way and the pizza chef was quite accommodating in allowing me to supervise the cooking time to meet my tastes.
It tastes as good as it looks, a work of art. Would return to Charlottetown for this alone.
If your tastes run toward thick, gloppy, undercooked pizza topped with bbq chicken, too much rubbery cheese, and a swirl of ranch dressing to top it off, this place is not for you.
Pablo
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