Rudy's Neapolitan Pizza
IT'S THE HOPE THAT KILLS YOU
There are seven of us heading up the Villa and it’s a must win; if we lose today we drop into the relegation zone. We usually meet for a bite to eat and a couple of pints before the game and we’ve got a first-timer with us too—young Elliott, up with his Dad from London, so it’s got pizza written all over it. I’m always keen to show off the best of Brum, so I suggest Otto as it’s getting on for a year since we last ate there.
Then I remember it preceded a 2-0 home defeat to local rivals West Brom, which changes things massively. I’m long past the idea of lucky underpants, but I have binned a few Villa scarves and badges over the years, after three losses on the trot. I don’t even particularly see myself as superstitious—I fully get it’s an irrational belief in supernatural influences—but we can’t possibly eat at Otto before a match, ever again.
It’s just as well we’re now finally blessed with a few decent pizza options in Birmingham and over the last six months that includes the city centre too; with Franco Manca and Rudy’s turning Bennett’s Hill into our de facto pizza epicentre. It’s a three o’clock kick-off, so whilst we’re eating fairly early, Rudy’s is the safer option as they take bookings.
Having launched in 2016, Birmingham is Rudy’s 4th branch—and 1st outside the North West—with two now in Manchester and one in Liverpool. Their obsession is with the dough… it’s made daily on site from ‘00’ Caputo flour, imported from Naples, and it take 24 hours to double ferment, creating a base that’s “soft, light and floppy.” They also serve pints of draught Poretti (£5.20), imported from Northern Italy. We order six; it slides down effortlessly and at 4.8% it knows instinctively how to deal with a hangover—it’s my new favourite Italian lager.
There are 12 pizzas on the main menu and another couple on the specials board. The others are quick to order; an Ancozzese (‘house’ white pizza), 2 x salame, a Calabrese, margherita con bufala, and a red pesto and courgette (from the specials board). Under a bit of pressure having spent too long chatting and not enough time studying the menu, I quickly decide on the carni (tomato, fior di latte, parmesan, salame Napoli, salame picante, wild boar salame, red and green chilli, chilli flakes, basil and extra virgin olive oil). It may surprise you that some of us order side salads too and, by the time the pizzas arrive, another round of Poretti—which may not.
It’s a big place—100-ish covers— and being glass fronted, it’s light and airy inside. But, you’d think they’d run out of money doing the refurbishment with walls of exposed wooden boards, plasterboard and bare brick and the ceiling, pockmarked with holes, also has exposed strips of metal mesh, piping and industrial vents. I’m not normally a fan of this style of decor, but I’d concede it’s playfully done and hanging plants, big lights and blackboards soften its manufactured decay. It’s also three quarters full and already buzzing by 1 o’clock, with the energy fanned by both the 70s soul and funk soundtrack and the out-of-their-way friendly and efficient staff; it’s clear that this is a prerequisite for working here.
When the pizzas land, I have to admit to a wave of food envy. The Calabrese with its spots of soft and spicy n’duja looks like God’s gift to hangovers, but it’s the Ancozzese (chilli flakes, smoked mozzarella, Tuscan sausage, friarielli and extra virgin olive oil) that taunts me the loudest about my poor decision-making. Not that there’s anything wrong at all with my pizza; the base has a light crust, delicately charred and is wonderfully chewy, thanks to its slow prove and the topping is everything as described, cheesy and sufficiently meaty with a scattering of fresh chilli to sharpen the mind.
Ancozzese Pizza
Carni Pizza
Red Pesto & Courgette Pizza
But, the real highlight for me is the bowl of orange and fennel salad with capers, radicchio, fennel seeds, black olives, orange and olive dressing and topped with grated parmesan. It’s a schizophrenic mix of fresh, sweet, salty, tart, bitter, softness and crunch and it just about makes up for the lack of crust dips. I admit to never having come across a crust dip until earlier this year (at Poli and Franco Manca) but now I have, I’m fully converted and with pizza crusts this big and this good, it’s a missed open goal.
Across the table there are seven empty plates—save for a few naked crusts— and our minds now turn to the football and with hope in our hearts, we call for the bill. In total we’ve managed 15 pints of Poretti and 2 diet cokes, which brings it all in at £150.80, rounded up to £25 each with a tip.
Full of excellent pizza, Elliott’s introduction to the Villa fold is off to the dream start, but to be a real football fan is to know torment, pain and misery. At least Villa don’t disappoint on that front, losing 2-0 (again).
That’s it, we’re never having pizza before a Villa match ever again.
RECOMMENDED (Rudy’s & Pizza, not the Villa)
