Pizzeria Cornaro: Fire exstinquisher please!

“My mouth is on fire!” I shrieked through a mouth full of half-chewed pizza. “I don’t know if I am going to be able to finish this.”

I now know what makes a good pizza. The temperature has to be just right in the oven, a scorching 750 degrees Fahrenheits, the bottom of the pizza can’t be burnt, and the dough should be a day old and made with fluffy white and rich multi-grain flour. I also now know what doesn’t make a good pizza – spicy peppers!

As you enter Pizzeria Cornaro in Asolo, Italy, the town of a hundred horizons, you are greeted by the sweet floury smell of yeast and by the owner Saverio, an Italian man, shorter than my average height of 5’6”, who can only be described as a master pizza chef. Dressed in a slightly wrinkled white polo, white linen pants, a white cloth apron, and hair dusted white from age like his brown shoes from the settling baking flour from a hard day’s work, Saverio fulfilled my image of an Italian pizza maker.

The small restaurant is instantly welcoming by the grin that is spread across Saverio’s face, like an excited elementary school kid waiting to share what is on his mind. Inside, the bar counter takes up half of the already cramped room and in the back up three stairs is the pizza preparation counter and oven, flaming hot and ready. Scattered on the walls are posters and photographs, decorating in a ragged yet perfect way. The groupings of photos, collages almost, of past customers and famous pizzas and not to forget Motocross and NASCAR memorabilia. Altogether mixed and matched with eclectic flare, the restaurant even had a potted lemon bush on the counter’s corner.

As the sixteen of us squeezed in, huddled shoulder to shoulder, we resembled an anxious group of metro riders ready to jump off at the next stop. Around the counter with a tray of two types of dough and flour for demonstration, Saverio burst into rapid Italian – language rolling off his tongue, which even though I couldn’t understand, was full and rich in tone, making even a description of dough ingredients sound like a wild and romantic adventure story through the Amazon, described by the greatest of authors.

“Before you eat it…. you need to look beneath it, if it is dark, if it is black it is not good – it’s burnt, they didn’t pay attention,” repeated our translator pausing to fill in the description as Saverio continued in Italian. The passion that Saverio shared, his wide eyes, big hand gestures, varied vocal intonation, and body language, quickly spread to the group, who showed their interest with curious eyes, wide smiles and excited laughter.

Pausing in mid sentence, Saverio puts us all on the spot and pries for answers – asking, how long to flatten a pizza?

Cinque minuti, I hesitantly guess in broken Italian when he points to me first for an answer, cautiously rounding up to five minutes in fear of being completely wrong.

Ten to twelve seconds he later replies after everyone has guessed. We all laugh from our naivety and exuberant estimations, with only one person guessing even under a minute.

Finally after some more information on pizza preparation is given and all the other students have made their pizzas, two of my friends and I step up to try our hands at pizza making.

Standing closest to the open oven, the heat warmed my left side and blushed my face as Saverio plopped down a pile of dough in front of me. The dough warm from deep within was oddly sticky yet smooth to the touch from the just right mixture of water and flour.

Saverio, seeing that I was struggling to stretch the dough larger than a tea plate, came up behind me and hung the dough half off of the counter and quickly spun the pizza out into a large pizza, almost 18 inches across.

Scoping out the toppings, I stood on my tip toes to reach the spicy salami, green grilled zucchini, and chunky mozzarella cheese from the top shelf of metal bins that lined the wall behind the counter. In small handfuls I spread my choice toppings onto the soft dough. Only once finishing my pizza did Saverio offer the spicy peppers and in excitement for some hot food I gathered up a few pinches and sprinkled them generously over the entire pizza.

Waiting, hungry and thrilled to try a new pizza, I stood around the counter for my pizza to emerge. After only a few minutes, Saverio with his six foot long pizza scooper made out of wood and metal reached into the flaming oven and pulled out my pizza.

I could instantly smell the melted cheese, peppers and warm vegetables. Sliding my pizza onto a warm plate that was sitting next to the oven, to my surprise I had found that Saverio had formed my crust into the shape of a heart.

Biting into the pizza, my mouth discovered crunchy corners, smooth browned cheese and vegetables cooked just right to the point that they were warm but not soggy. Looking around at everyone devouring their pizzas, I was proud of my pizza. After the first bite I thought to myself even, I make a damn good pizza, this was a great experience – then my mouth began to water, my nose started to run, and my eyes to tear up in the corners when the spices hit the back of my throat. My mouth was on FIRE and I quickly extinguished my dreams of becoming a pizza master.