Nonnos Pizza
Good food, bored Italians
Pizza? It’s a rhetorical question. And so it was again in Crouch End over the weekend, when I met a friend for late lunch without much thought about where we’d actually eat. However, on the bus up, I had noticed a clean, green, classic-looking pizzeria and after reflecting when I last had it, and whether I really did want it, I grew certain that this was a day for pizza. Given my friend was nursing a hangover and ripe for a stodgy meal, it was lock, stock and two smoking pizzas.
We entered an almost empty restaurant which, given it was 15.00, wasn’t the biggest surprise. But a vibe of relaxed indifference permeated throughout the room. A chilled out waitress leant against the till, a chef listened to music on his headphones, and a massive television screen at the back displayed exclusively kitsch AI landscapes whilst playing offensively loud and incoherent classical music.
After deciding on the Pizza Nudja, and making increasingly overt signs we were ready to order, from the subtly-British closing of menus to long sighs to trying to catch an eye in a desperate plea for sustenance, the waitress took down our choices, the chef hopped-to, and pizzas arrived within minutes.
The pizza oven itself was reassuringly sturdy and clean and, given our table was adjacent, we had the perfect view to watch our food and see the time-honoured process of dough-toppings-oven produce two enormous, sizzling pizzas.
They were ultra-thin, with dough, tomato and cheese neatly layered together. Nudja, or Italian sausage and chilli paste, was dolloped across the pizza and gave an incredible heat to the dish. My light touch OCD prompted me to do a tidy up and make it more aesthetic by spreading it across the top of each slice like butter. Each bite was a delicious and light slice of Italian flavour - cheese, tomato, sausage, chilli. Perfect.
As more bored Italian waitresses took our dishes away, I spied several bottles of Limoncello on a book case, glanced outside at the Spring light, reflected internally, and then ordered a shot.
The sugary ethanol flavour took me back to the pandemic, when my father convinced the family to try a bottle he bought in Italy at least ten years previous. Out came a clouded bottle camouflaging a grey liquid which was poured rhythmically in each glass, then into each mouth, after which we all proceeded to draw back with the overwhelmingly putrid taste of pure ethanol.
The experience was enjoyable, and Nonnos [Grandfather] Pizza in Crouch End does remind you of a relaxed, chilled out Italian family that aren’t particularly fussed about service, but by god will serve you good food.