My own propane-fired portable oven is allegedly capable of up to 900 degrees, but I don’t think I’ve coaxed it up to more than 700. And, to be honest once again, there have been some hits and some misses. In other words, when it comes to pizza, technique trumps temperature.
The ovens at Fathead Pizza, a new operation occupying downtown San Antonio’s former Kimura space, are of the stacked, gas-fired variety — fire brick-lined and with a pizza stone floor.
The ovens are capable of up to 650 degrees, and my first pie was baked at 560 degrees according to the restaurant’s chatty pizzaiolo. To be honest one more time, it lacked the volcanic, visual drama of the quasi-charred Neapolitan style. But it didn’t lack for taste.
Fathead’s crust is of the thin persuasion — they reference New York in their marketing materials — and it has good, developed flavor on its own. Though not mentioned on the menu, the kitchen will do two toppings on the same 14-inch pie — a reviewer’s dream and a diner’s boon. At the chef’s recommendation, I chose one half of mine to be Fathead’s Spicy Pie and the other half its Wild Mushroom option.
Let’s pause for a brief rant about “wild” mushrooms.
The term conjures up feral fungi plucked from mossy forest floors by maidens bearing wicker baskets. Nope. The shiitake, oyster and baby bellos listed on the menu, while less common than the prosaic button variety, are usually commercially raised. A better term to use than wild might be “expensive,” as San Antonio fine-dining bastion Biga cheekily does in its menus.
Which does bring up the question of cost: Fathead’s pizzas, ranging in price from $21.50 for a ”New York Classics” pepperoni and mushroom to a princely $25.50 for the Meat Lover’s model, aren’t cheap. They also aren’t as wildly inventive as those of, say, Il Forno. But their relative restraint has its own virtues.
The Spicy, for example, is composed of soppressata, shredded mozzarella, tomato sauce and Calabrian pepper sauce. Soppressata, being leaner than many Italian sausages, doesn’t leave the angry, orange oil slick of pepperoni, and its slicing into large discs makes for a visually appealing presentation. These guys are serious when they say “spicy,” though. The tender-tongued might suggest they leave off a few shakes of the chili flakes that adorn the top. Otherwise, perfetto.
I also liked the mushroom model with its well-calibrated balance of sauce, cheese and fungus. But for a modest sagging at the center — an issue with many pizzas — the almost-crisp crust was a perfect foil for its toppings. There’s a perky pesto you add yourself. You could even throw some pepper flakes onto this one — in moderation.
Studiously ignoring the subs and salads to concentrate on the main event, I returned for another split pie — this time a classic Margherita and a seasonal special featuring coarse, uncured sausage, goat cheese, shredded mozzarella and a unique, roasted tomato sauce.
La Margherita is the only pie to feature the house-made mozzarella — you can add it in the compose-your-own category — and the soft cheese melts into impressively creamy puddles. A light skim of simple-but-savory tomato sauce, a few ribbons of fresh basil and ecco la, as the Italians might say — or not.
Please pay attention to the roasted tomato sauce on the special. It’s chunky and more of an equal partner than a background foundation for the dabs of fresh cheese, sausage and company.
Returning to the question of price, please indulge me while I parse this further. Just for the hell of it, I decided to compare the per-square-inch cost of Fathead’s pizzas to those of Dough and Il Forno, both of which feature 12-inch pies as opposed to Fathead’s 14.
Taking the most expensive option in each case, here’s the result: Fathead runs 17 cents per square inch to Dough’s 23 cents and Il Forno’s 15. Just for grins, the 14-inch ExtravaganZZa at Domino’s weighs in at 13 cents. Make of that what you will.
For dessert, why not tiramisu? Fathead’s is from a recipe the chef says he’s been perfecting for 19 years. Layered with mascarpone rum cream, it covers all the bases from coffee to cocoa, managing to be blissfully airy along the way. Cheesecake and house-stuffed cannolis are the other, post-pie options.
By the way, Fathead’s pizza is almost even better the next day re-warmed in a blazing hot cast-iron skillet. Just F.Y.I.
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This article appears in Dec 11-17, 2024.