Book Review: Words to Eat By

As with anything that people are passionate about, pizza generates a lot of debates. One of the perennial, and maybe silliest, debates, concerns what is, or is not, "pizza." This usually comes up in discussions of Chicago-style, deep dish pizza, but it also relates to any prepared food involving a bread-like base with one or more toppings (is a pita pizza, e.g., really pizza?).
There is, of course, no definitive answer to such questions. As much as we might like to think that words have black-and-white meanings, more often than not there's a gray area where reasonable people will disagree.
Still, words do matter, and that's particularly true of food. How many people who enjoy an occasional steak tartare would as willingly dig into "raw cow flesh"?
That connection between what we eat, and what we call it, is the underlying theme that drives Words to Eat By: Five Foods and the Culinary History of the English Language, by Ina Lipkowitz. Lipkowitz, a literature professor at MIT with a concentration in biblical studies, examines, in some depth, five food categories, from a linguistic perspective: fruit (apples in particular), leeks, milk and dairy, meat, and bread.
The basic theme of Lipkowtiz's book is that the English language betrays a split cultural personality, between the language and heritage of the ancient Celtic and Germanic peoples who originally populated Northern Europe, and those of the Romans (and indirectly, their Greek forebears), who came later. That divide was echoed, and reinforced, centuries later, with the Norman invasion of Britain in the eleventh century.
The gist of this divide, according to Lipkowitz, is that the ancient Britons and Northern Europeans were not overly concerned with "preparing" food - in other words, with cooking - and that they tended to call food exactly what it was. Angles and Saxons ate flæsc (flesh), Normans ate meat.
Those kinds of terms also reflect what Lipkowitz describes as an inferiority complex among English speakers. We tend to think of Southern European and Mediterranean food (particularly French food) as superior to English, and by extension American, food. So - her theory goes - we're much more apt to order a cup of soupe a l'oignon than of the Scottish cock-a-leekie. And while we happily order a tarte aux pommes at our favorite fine-dining restaurant, at home we eat apple pie.
It all makes for interesting, if not necessarily compelling, reading. I can't say I agreed with all of Lipkowitz's assertions, but there is some fundamental truth to the notion that culinarily, we tend to be more impressed by French-sounding dishes. It's not that you can't find beef stew at a restaurant; it's that you're apt to find it at a "home cooking" type place, while boeuf Bourguignon shows up only at pricier, if not necessarily better, establishments.
Toward the end of the book, Lipkowitz recognizes that the pendulum has swung, a bit, in the other direction, as a subset of foodies strive to get back to what is perceived as "real," unadulterated food. But much of her text tends to be a variation of the same basic themes concerning the cultural divide evident in our culinary vocabulary. The premise is stated in the introduction, repeated in the five succeeding chapters, and recapitulated in the epilogue, which centers on the demise of Gourmet magazine.
If I have a complaint about this book, it's that repetitiveness. Lipkowitz writes well, and I found the etymology of our food-related words interesting, but after a while I began to weary of the reassertion, and reexamination, of the same fundamental ideas. While Words to Eat By is written at a level accessible by the average, non-specialist reader, then, I think it will mostly appeal to those with a particular combination of interests in food, cultural history, and linguistics.

Southern Tier Tour, Part I: Giovanni's, Hornell

After my recent visit to Billy's in Belmont, I knew I had to get to Giovanni's in Hornell, which is owned by Bill Giovanniello, who came to the Southern Tier from Long Island, and trained Joe Staffieri, the owner of Joe's Brooklyn Pizza, and the brother of Jim Staffieri, the owner of The Pizza Stop. Which is a long-winded way of saying that this guy is practically the grandfather of New York style pizza in Rochester.
So I took advantage of a recent drive south to meet up with Bill. He was hard at work making pizzas, but he did take a few minutes to chat with me.
Bill was born in Avellino, Italy, a town just northeast of Naples, which is the ancestral home of American pizza in general, and New York style pizza in particular. As a child, he often ate pizza prepared by his mamma at home, which at that time is where most Italians got their pizza - from a home kitchen. Only later would the pizza craze hit the U.S., then cross back to Italy via American tourists, who gave rise to the pizzerias you'll find all over Italy today.
When Bill was in his early teens, his family immigrated to the U.S., initially making a home for themselves in Brooklyn. Bill later moved a bit further out on Long Island. During much of his adult life downstate, Bill owned or worked in one pizzeria or another.
Eventually, Bill's older brother migrated upstate, to Wellsville, where he opened a pizzeria, Pizza King. Three years later, Bill followed suit, and decided to settle in Hornell. The verdant hills and open fields of New York's Southern Tier, which are apparently reminiscent of the countryside around Naples (hence its namesake village here), were much of the attraction for both of them.
Bill opened his own pizza place in Hornell, also named Pizza King. He later sold it to a former employee, and moved into a bigger space about a half mile away, which he named Giovanni's.
The extra room makes Giovanni's something of a hybrid between a pizza joint and a restaurant. In addition to pizza, they serve the usual pizza partners like wings, subs, and quesadillas, as well as pasta, chicken, eggplant and veal parm, and eat-in customers can avail themselves of the salad bar.
But my focus was, of course, the pizza. Giovanni's does thin (Neapolitan), thick (Sicilian) and stuffed pizzas, plus calzones and stromboli. The thin is quite thin, with a crust that's maybe an eighth of an inch thick. It's broadly in the New York style, but, despite its thinness, perhaps a little breadier than a typical New York slice. My slices, fresh out of the oven, were more brown than charred underneath, but dry and medium-crisp, firm but not crunchy.
These were also on the cheesy side, with a cheese layer that's about as thick as the crust. The sauce was moderately applied and had a middle-of-the-road, tomatoey flavor.
Now on a prior occasion (Bill wasn't around at the time), I did stop in and grab a Sicilian slice as well. The crust on this one measured just under an inch thick, and unlike some pan-baked pizza, it had a dry, not oily underside. The interior was airy yet substantial, with some heft to it. The overall flavor was about the same as the thin slices, the biggest difference being the thicker, more breadlike crust, which had a pleasant crunchiness along the edge.
During my talk with Bill, I was able to watch some of the process involved in making their pies. I particularly noticed one Sicilian pie in the oven, covered with sauce, but no cheese. I asked Bill about that, thinking that perhaps it was a "tomato pie" in the Utica style, but he told me that no, it was simply a Sicilian pizza. As he explained it, and I quote, they "prebake" their Sicilian pizzas with just sauce, to give them a chance to firm up a little bit and lose some moisture before adding the cheese. Smart idea, and reminiscent of an episode of Tyler's Ultimate that I saw a couple of years ago in which he watched a southern Italian woman prepare pizza in her home kitchen, in which she did the same thing, applying the cheese about halfway through the baking process.
I've made it a practice not to grade pizzas outside the Rochester metro area, and I won't assign these a letter grade, but this was very good pizza. It was well worth stopping for in its own right, but also because of its broader significance. I don't want to overstate things, but it seems to me that without Bill (and let's not forget his brother), you've got no Joe's Brooklyn Pizza in Henrietta, and no Pizza Stop downtown. And the ripple effect goes beyond that. Those establishments have led to others around town, either directly (such as Empire Pizza in Penfield, which started as an offshoot of The Pizza Stop), or indirectly, by helping popularize thin-crust, New York style pizza in this area.
If you're a Rochester pizza aficionado, then, well ... I'm not suggesting that you need to hop in your car right away and drive the 70 or so miles south to Hornell, but Giovanni's should be on your mental list of pizza pilgrimages to make someday (what, you don't have a mental to-do list of pizza pilgrimages? Shame on you). Chances are, Bill will be there, along with his daughter Cindy and veteran employees, and if you can avoid the lunchtime rush, he'll be more than happy to talk to you.
Giovanni's Pizza Restaurant, 119 Seneca Rd., Hornell NY 14843
Tel.: (607) 324-6000
Hours: Sun. noon - 11 p.m., Mon. - Thu. 11 a.m. - 11 p.m., Fri. & Sat. 11 a.m. - midnight

Back to Nino's

I had guests over recently, and we wanted pizza and wings, so I took the opportunity to head back to Nino's on Culver Road, which I hadn't been to in several months.
I felt the need to apologize to Nino for ordering a simple cheese-and-pepperoni pizza. If this had been for me only, or if my dining companions and I all saw eye-to-eye where pizza's concerned, I probably would have asked for basil, garlic, maybe some tomatoes or artichokes, perhaps olives, and Locatelli Romano cheese. Or just tell him to use his own judgment, which I trust. But sometimes you gotta give the people what they want. And Americans want processed Mozzarella and pepperoni.
Well, that's OK. You could still do a lot worse than to get a pepperoni pizza from Nino's. 
Nino's does pizza with thin or thick crust, and I wouldn't steer anybody away from either one, but the thick crust is their signature, default style, so I didn't specify, just ordered a pizza.
One of the things I love about Nino's is that it is distinctive. Now there's good distinctive and bad distinctive. But this is good distinctive. It's not only good, it's not quite like any other pizza you'll find around Rochester. And that, to me, is how pizza ought to be. 
This pizza was on the thick side, then, although not extremely so. I didn't measure the thickness of the crust, but I'd call it medium to thick. The underside was browned, with occasional bubbled areas indicating a slow rise on a pan.
The pizza was well balanced, with enough sauce and cheese to stand up to the relatively thick crust. The sauce was Nino's distinctive - there's that word again - slightly sweet, herbal, well-cooked sauce, with the flavor of a sauce that's been bubbling away on your grandmother's stove all afternoon.  Is that the best way to make pizza sauce? No. There is no best way to make pizza sauce. Some people may prefer, and some pizzas may be better with, a quicker-cooking, minimally seasoned sauce, or even just crushed tomatoes. But Nino's sauce is right for Nino's pizza. This is not a flash-baked, cracker-thin, 2-minute pizza from a 900 degree oven, but a slower-cooking pizza, for which a slow-cooked sauce seems more appropriate.
The cheese was well-melted mozzarella, obviously good stuff, as it melted together well, pooling a bit around the bubbly mounds of the crust. Cheaper cheese tends to sit in place, with the individual shreds simply drying out and sticking to each other more than truly melting.
Nino puts his pepperoni on before spreading the cheese, which keeps it meatier and chewier. If you prefer your pepperoni bacon-crisp, better ask. For me, it's a tough call - there's something to be said for both.
Oh, and the wings were good, too. Meaty, with a homemade sauce that was a bit hotter than I expected from the mild sauce that I'd ordered (no complaints from me, but those with a low tolerance for heat might find them overly hot), and fairly crisp.
Nino's pizza menu is pretty extensive, and well worth exploring. But even something as simple as a pepperoni pizza is a thing of beauty here. It's an overworked term, but this is comfort-food pizza.
Nino's Pizzeria and Focacceria, 1330 Culver Rd. 14609
Phone:  482-2264
Hours: Sun. 4 - 10 p.m., Mon. - Sat. 4 p.m. - 11 p.m.