Pasadena

One of the things that I’ve come to recognize in adulthood is that, contrary to what the cynics often say, the integrity of people and institutions generally doesn’t buckle very easily, even when we might want it to. The neighborhood parking enforcement officer usually isn’t going to stop writing you that ticket when you explain that you were just running in real quickly to grab your dry cleaning. The Michelin-star chef isn’t going to modify the house recipe just because you can’t stand the texture of onions. The most popular girl in school isn’t going to suddenly decide she wants to date you because you made her laugh once in Spanish class. Contrary to popular belief, people and even things do have standards.

A glorious, notable exception to this rule has to do with pizza and ranch dressing. Even those of us who are the most effusive about the combination recognize that there are certain types of pizza that are meant for ranch, and others that deserve more respect than to be slathered in the sap of Hidden Valley. Pizza Hut? Absolutely. Pitfire Pizza? Sure, we’ll allow it. Pizzeria Mozza? Don’t you fucking dare, you filthy animal. But rules are sometimes meant to be broken, and there’s nothing better than a slice of pizza that knows it’s way too good for ranch opening its loving, pepperoni-accessorized arms and saying “dearest ranch, I will lower my standards and allow myself to be drizzled upon to give pleasure to He or She Who Eats Me.”

Which brings us to U Street Pizza, the much-ballyhooed, pie-slinging infant sibling to the upscale-ish Italian staple Union in Old Town Pasadena. When I opened the cardboard box housing this pie, its gorgeous crust-char immediately took my breath away. The ingredients – as with the Side Pie pizza I reviewed a few weeks ago, this one features Ezzo pepperonis and a sauce made from Bianco DiNapoli tomatoes – looked well-curated and well-cooked. This was a pizza to be admired, even before I took my first bite.

You see, normally I wouldn’t even think about putting ranch on such a pie, even as a big fan of the fusion. It would be like asking for the #1 Large Popcorn and Blue Raspberry Icee Combo at the opera. But having been oblivious to what a beautiful box of gluten craftsmanship awaited me and intrigued by its absurdly high price point upon ordering, I had tacked on a side of the house ranch to my order. At a whopping $4 for a tiny little cup, the ranch at U Street likely costs more, ounce-for-ounce, than another white substance I’ve heard you can buy underneath the 210 Freeway overpass a few blocks away.

First, I had the naked pepperoni pizza – no dipping in the $4 condiment allowed, so as to not cloud my initial judgment. It was every bit as good as it looked. The crispy, crunchy crust is perhaps the best I’ve had in Los Angeles, a textural symphony that is the defining achievement of a thoroughly fantastic pizza. If I have any complaint about it, it’s that the far edges of the crust could be just a little less blackened, to make the part without toppings just a tad chewier. But that’s a nitpick: both in terms of flavor and crack, this crust is heaven-sent. Whether it’s the Cairnspring Mills flour, the two-day fermentation of the dough, the lower-heat woodburning oven, or (more likely) the combination of all three, I don’t know, but I know it’s a revelation.

As for the toppings: you can taste the quality. I wish there was a little bit more of the Bianco DiNapoli-based sauce, and I’m not sure I really needed the finely-grated strands of Fiscalini cheddar that adorn the crust. When I first ate the pizza, I mistook this finishing cheese for standard parmesan, as it tastes very similar, though I had a feeling it was a little bit different because of the way it vaguely melted together before hardening. A quick Google search confirms it’s actually a special type of cheddar. No matter, the fresh mozzarella that coats the bulk of the pizza is terrific.

Then, the moment of truth came – time to dip this pizza in the ranch that I paid for, the tiny cup that cost me what was an hour’s worth of take-home pay from my first job sweeping popcorn off multiplex floors. First, I dipped the slightly-too-blackened section of the outer crust to see if it would offset the bitterness of the char. Not only did this do the trick, but in mere seconds, I was transported to a sort of ranch nirvana… This is the kind of nectar that might flow into the delta of Hidden Valley if it actually deserved to be hidden. This is a dressing that tastes alive, bursting with zingy, summery notes that you’d be more likely to find in a good Zinfandel. It’s the kind of ranch that I would relish dipping this pizza in while enjoying a warm September evening in the backyard of one of the late 19^th Century Spanish mansions that hide behind the wrought iron gates of Pasadena’s Annandale neighborhood. But then again, I’d relish doing a lot of things in such a setting, especially with a suitable, atypically comfortable wicker chair.

And yes, when I gained the courage to dip the tip of the triangle head-first into the ranch, it was absolutely as transcendent a moment as the first ranch-coated bite was. I’ve never tried the aforementioned stuff that you can get under the 210 overpass, but with U Street Pizza and ranch delivering this kind of body high, who needs it? Yes, this is a pizza much too good for ranch, but the fact that it embraces the tacky condiment anyway – integrity be damned – makes it even more irresistible.

91/100

U Street Pizza is open Tuesday through Sunday from 4 p.m. to 9 p.m. at 33 Union St. in Pasadena. Place an order by calling (626) 605-0340 or on the web at https://ustreetpizza.com/.

My First Bite Reaction (on YouTube):