Settebello: Vera Pizza Napoletana a la Suburbia Nevadiensa

"Semplice": Las Vegas Entry #1

Gastronomic authenticity has always been a popular point of departure for discussion among the fooderati. Preparation of any dish that is particular to a certain country, group, or region will always warrant comparison with the original - how it has been altered (to suit the tastes and/or ingredients of the place in which it is being cooked) or, even, (perish the thought!) improved upon. In a large American city with a significant number of people of the same ethnic group, one may readily find any number of "authentic" restaurants which cater primarily to expatriates who, for whatever reason, have found themselves in America craving tastes of home. From Devon Avenue and La Villita in Chicago, Little Havana and Haiti in Miami, to any number of enclaves in and around NYC, insular sub-communities abound across the USA in which a curious and intrepid visitor may find the closest approximations of the tastes and smells of Bombay, Guangdong, or San Juan.

Of course, food is only one part of the equation. An expertly prepared Pho Tai Nam on Argyle Street in Chicago or Avenue U in Brooklyn may taste and smell the same as the bowl served up on a Saigon street corner. Any illusion is shattered, though, once one walks out into that sub-zero night instead of down a scooter-choked, sub-tropical side street. Context, in other words; "aura" as Walter Benjamin might have put it.

Apparently fed up with the number of mutations, alterations, and regional stylizations already applied to their city's most famous dish, a group of Naples pizza purists, led by one Antonio Pace, organized and threw down the gauntlet in 1984, forming the VPN or (Associazione) Vera Pizza Napoletana. Despite the somewhat draconian guidelines of the VPN (a wood burning, bell-shaped oven; only "00" Caputo flour, San Marzano tomatoes and fior di latte or bufala mozzerella; a dough formed only by hand and made only of flour, yeast, water, and salt and no larger than 12 inches are the basic requirements to meet VPN standards) a significant number of pizzerie around the world, from Hungary to Japan to the USA, serve pizza certified as authentic by the VPN. Just as it has become possible to have Edo style sushi in a shopping mall in Tampa, one may have a pizza marinara before shopping in the Roppongi. Marshall McCluhan meets the Galloping Gourmet.

It's possible that no place in America has less "aura" than Henderson, Nevada. A fabricated suburb of an already fabricated agglomeration of neon, cheap booze, and broken dreams, Henderson is artificiality itself, a foothill desert plain transformed into a catalog-friendly, safe, All-American wonderland of McMansions, wide, clean roads, and shopping, shopping, shopping. It is impossibly, incongruently green (and will be until the water runs out, of course) and shaded in the muted, J Crew colors of a Marketing Psychology seminar. It is wish fulfillment, American style, at its finest. It can only be attributable, then, to the influence of the Food Network and the yuppified "discovery" of indigenous cooking traditions, that Henderson is the newest locus of exciting and invigorating dining in the Las Vegas Valley. Gourmet and organic food shops abound, a new ethnic eaterie seems to open every week (a Peruvian-Chinese cafe is the latest addition), and more people, tourists included, are finding themselves drawn away from the buffet troughs or pathetic, mafia-themed red sauce joints of the Strip or downtown and towards the true, exciting, and unique tastes on offer in Henderson.

Settebello, a five-month old pizzeria in a nondescript strip mall in Henderson, offers at least a brief respite from the overwhelming sameness on display. It is absolutely impossible to mistake a parking lot in Henderson for the Spacca Napoli, and even the decor, though pleasant and non-threatening enough (earth toned walls, small wooden tables and chairs, placards advertising Italian products of all stripes) seems contrived. But once the VPN-certified pizza hits the table, engaging all 5 senses in the best tradition of the Mediterranean, the brain is momentarily fooled. From the still-sizzling olive oil, the vibrant colors of the San Marzano tomato and charred, caramelized, puffy cornicione, the pliant, forgiving manner of the first cut into the crust, to the way the true, defined, clean flavours burst out upon the first taste, Settebello's pizza announces itself as a serious dish.

Good pizza requires an expert hand, and pizzaiolo Carmine D'Amato, a charming, handsome young man from the seaside village of Castellammare di Stabia (near Sorrento, approx. 20 miles southeast of Naples), carries with him a substantial and enviable amount of passion, knowledge, and respect for the authentic pizza tradition. Carmine started as an accountant, but soon found he had more passion for making pizza with friends in backyard wood-burning ovens and scouring the temples of pizza in and around Naples for tips, tricks, and techniques. He and owner Brad Otton (yes, the same Brad Otton who was quarterback at USC in the mid-nineties) found each other in Naples, and started Settebello with the intention of reproducing, as faithfully as possible, the real pizza of Naples, the city of the dish's perfection. Settebello is one of only 13 VPN-approved pizzerie in the USA, and the product is truly marvelous. A few salads and a modest selection of wine and beer fill out the menu, but the focus lies squarely (and rightfully so) on the pizze. A whole range of toppings is available (this week's special is Pizza Carbonara, echoing the tastes of the namesake pasta dish) but I decided to go with the classics, ordering a small green salad (spring greens, radicchio, and shaved parmigiano reggiano tossed in oil and vinegar - perfect and refreshing) and one margherita and one marinara pizza. From the perfefctly balanced, sweet, rich San Marzanos, the nutty olive oil, the soft, puffy, tender, charred and delicious crust, to the judiciously applied fior di latte mozzerella, I could not do one thing to make these pizze better. I actually found the marinara, much to my surprise, even better than the margherita - with just tomato, oil, garlic, and oregano, this was the essence of simplicity and purity itself, a perfect example how a few prime ingredients can transform into something magical when treated with care and skill. Certainly, upon finally exiting Settebello after a couple of hours (and meeting Carmine's lovely wife and daughter, who threw their own recommendations at me should I ever find myself in Sorrento), the illusion was shattered: no strolling musicians singing "O Sole Mio", no clothes hanging out to dry over a rickety, fish and vegetable market crowded back alley, no Vespas expertly negotiating bands of street urchins; just my car and a long ride back to Vegas with the gas stations and shuttered nail salons as my sentries. Was I happy, though, to have the illusion for a short time, to have my senses fooled and delighted by this primal food, this "bread with stuff on it?" Indeed - and I will be again, when I return tomorrow night.





Settebello
1776 Horizon Ridge Parkway
Henderson, NV
(702) 222 3556
www.settebello.net

hungryrabbi wrote:"Semplice": Las Vegas Entry #1
Apparently fed up with the number of mutations, alterations, and regional stylizations already applied to their city's most famous dish, a group of Naples pizza purists, led by one Antonio Pace, organized and threw down the gauntlet in 1984, forming the VPN or (Associazione) Vera Pizza Napoletana. Despite the somewhat draconian guidelines of the VPN (a wood burning, bell-shaped oven; only "00" Caputo flour, San Marzano tomatoes and fior di latte or bufala mozzerella; a dough formed only by hand and made only of flour, yeast, water, and salt and no larger than 12 inches are the basic requirements to meet VPN standards)

Great post! I have heard great things about Settebello. Definitely on my list of must-try places next time I make it to Las Vegas.

A little clarification if you don't mind. The VPN standard does not require "Caputo" flour, simply "00" flour which is produced by a number of mills (including Caputo) especially for Neapolitan dough. Also, machine-kneading is allowed and is commonly used in pizzerias in Naples, although most employ a fork mixer rather than the Hobart C-hook mixer common in this country. However, once kneaded, the dough must be shaped by hand.

Bill/SFNM

Ciao, Rebbucc',

Nice post, indeed... Viva la vera pizza napoletana!

Now I might consider going to Las Vegas.

Antonius

Edk and I, along with my sister and her family, ate at Settebello last week. It was probably the best pizza I have ever eaten. The outer edge of the crust was slightly pillowy, the interior perfectly cooked, proportionate amounts of cheese, sauce, toppings, etc. No pooling of liquidy cheese and sauce in the middle, something I dislike (although I recall this being a point of contention elsewhere on the board).

I had the Settebello, topped with pancetta, artichokes, and "wood roasted fennel sausage." I am a big fan of fennel, and this sausage met all my expectations. One of my dining companions ordered the pizza Diavola, which had a lovely peppery burn to it. Settebello also offers a terrific kids' special, where you get a smaller pizza followed by chocolate gelato. Our toddler nearly lost his mind.

They have another location in Salt Lake City, and I believe the waitress said something about opening a pizzeria in Summerlin, on Las Vegas's western border.

I have not been to Bianco, but I'd put SetteBello right up there with Una Pizza Napoletena and 2 Amys as some of the best pizza of this style. Superior to Spacca without question. The crust--and its ensuing char--is just fantastic.

If you're staying on the Strip, it's worth the 10 minute cab ride; it may be the single most important 'local' Vegas restaurant you must hit, even before Lotus or Raku or Rosemary's.