Otto Wood Fired Pizza
I SAY A LITTLE PRAYER
These are magical times to be a pizza lover in Birmingham and we need it put in writing that it all started on 14th October 2016, when Otto opened with their wood-fired pizzas. For me—a fully confirmed wood-fired believer—this is comparable to the birth of Jesus; in the Birmingham pizza calendar it’s now 4 A.D. (or 4 A.O. if we’re all agreed on Anno Otto). It deserves a public holiday spent feasting on pizza; a movement I’d be prepared to put a lot of time and energy behind.
It’s easily been in my top 5 Birmingham restaurants since my first visit—although over the last six or seven months, since the opening of Rudy’s, Franco Manca and Poli, it’s now got some serious competition for our attention. But Georgie’s mock A-Levels are over and it’s her choice, so Otto gets the nod tonight.
On opening the door there’s a great blast of warm air, like stepping off the plane on an Italian summer holiday. It’s pretty much full too—so, thank Otto I booked. We’re attended to immediately and we get straight down to it. There are a handful of starters and a couple of sharing boards but none of us wants any delay on the pizzas. There are eight on the main menu and two specials. It’s a menu that pulls in ingredients from Italy, complemented by locally sourced products too. There’s nothing we recognise from the last time we’re here, so we’ll all be trying something new, as well as the seasonal salad.
I’m not going to bang on about dry January—oh, I already have—but it’s a non-alcoholic ginger beer for me (there I go again), an elderflower lemonade for Georgie and Katrina opts for glass of verdejo. And then we wait…
… And we wait some more. Fortunately the room has a great vibe from a decent acoustic indie soundtrack and it’s full of an eclectic mix of customers, all released from the first proper week back at work. It’s a great room—albeit basic, with an open kitchen and wood fired altar …. erm, sorry I meant oven, whitewashed brick walls and original Victorian arched crittall windows.
The pizzas arrive just in time, before we’ve got too spiky from hanger. They’re all as perfectly-puffed up, spotty dog crust-photogenic as a pizza can be—probably 10 inches rather than the 12 you tend to get elsewhere, although that’s plenty big enough, especially with desert in mind. The salad easily stands its ground too—verdant leaves, glistening in a smoked tomato oil dressing with marinated goats cheese and beautifully smoked, sweet-intensified semi-dried Isle of Wight tomatoes. It’s probably far too early to be calling it a contender for salad of the year, but there, I’ve said it.
Pizzas and salad
As for the pizzas, the bases are very crispy on the bottom—earlier, whilst willing ours to arrive, I’d witnessed one of the customers trying, with some significant sawing, to cut up each mouthful. At the time I’d wondered what health condition could induce such weak wrists, but there are similar struggles on our table. Katrina is impressed with her braised pork cheek, Wenlock Edge Farm sausage, red onion, house jalapenos, Pip's Del Diablo crème fraîche. I am too, after demolishing a kindly donated slice of it, with its quiet heat stoking the flavours. It’s not unusual for me to get food envy but I do seem to be on a particularly prolific run at present.
My garlic and chilli cavolo nero, romanesco and ricotta with added Wenlock Edge Farm sausage doesn’t deliver much on flavour; I’m expecting door slamming teenage attitude from the cavolo nero but there’s neither enough of it, nor any kind of promised garlicky-heat and with the ricotta playing it’s usual passive role, it’s left to the romanesco and sausage to do all the hard work. At least there’s chilli oil on the table.
Unfortunately it’s a similar story with Georgie’s white pizza off the specials board—fior di latte mozzarella, emmenthal, gorgonzola. D.O.P., crème fraîche, fresh basil and cherry tomatoes; with far too much work for the gorgonzola to do. At least we’ve ordered dips—garlic and a blue cheese one—so we at least leave three empty plates. I mustn’t grumble really; it’s just not at the god-sent level I’ve come to expect here.
Katrina—enjoying a wet January—opts for another glass of verdejo, whilst Georgie and I are going in for the tiramisù; based on previous experience, it’s not only the Birmingham high benchmark, it’s also in the all-time top 3 anywhere, ever, ever, ever. It’s huge, enough for two although and—as ever—it’s so heavenly I could easily eat at least two. It’s the perfect kind of lightly whipped; the perfect kind of soaked sponge; and has the perfect level of booze, with a heavy cocoa dusting. Then there’s the Quarter House coffee, working its magic too—I don’t care if it keeps me up all night.
The best tiramisù in Birmingham
The bill comes in at £58.50 and we head off, discussing where Otto now sits in amongst its peers. For me, it’s still absolutely right up there and has a special place in my heart. It may have slipped a notch based on today’s visit, but for everything else—atmosphere, service and tiramisù—I hope it’s not so long until we next return. At the very least, I’ve already marked October 14th in my diary for a pilgrimage to celebrate Birmingham’s first wood-fired pizza public holiday.
Praise the Otto!
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