Emilia’s suffers from one of the greatest fallacies in pizza along with a desperate hype-train in a quality-pizza-barren region. All the hallmarks of a social media-lauded Neapolitan style are present:
Under-cooked center, I.e a crispy crust with chewy core (this one was a little bit too...
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Emilia’s suffers from one of the greatest fallacies in pizza along with a desperate hype-train in a quality-pizza-barren region. All the hallmarks of a social media-lauded Neapolitan style are present:
Under-cooked center, I.e a crispy crust with chewy core (this one was a little bit too chewy, although I get it that some people love that), under-seasoned sauce, overpowering basil, and tasteless cheese.
Another disappointing element was the heavy handedness of the fennel in the sausage. If you like licorice pizza, this might be for you. But the fennel is supposed to be there to accentuate the meat, not cover it up. Heavy fennel like this makes me question the quality of the pork.
Overall the pizza was very fresh, but perhaps too fresh. Think garden salad fresh. That’s not how pizza is supposed to taste. Mozzarella, or other cheeses, are better left aged to develop rich oxidized flavors and aromas that cut through the sauce and crust. Oregano is needed to balance basil (especially when you’re using those Biano DiNapoli canned tomatoes that have been soaking in basil for months before they arrive stateside). Crust shouldn’t be doggy-chew texture inside, but rather croissant like.
It’s sad that this and cheeseboard (a far worse offender) are the best the East Bay thinks they have to offer. To top it off, the pie will run you about 25-30 bucks depending on how aggressive you are with toppings. While pizza enthusiasts might find this disappointing, Emilia’s offers instagram op fare for privileged trust-fund drunk kids, which fortunately is a sustainable market in Berkeley.