Violet is the newest restaurant by the couple behind Pizza Loves Emily, so, of course, I’m saying, Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooooo before they even open. At Emily, they do round pizzas and a burger; at Emmy Squared, they’ve got Detroit-style square pizzas; and, at Violet, they do grilled pizzas and house-made pasta — so I say, Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooooo, and you say, Yeah, sure, of course, I’m down.
We get two pizzas — the special for the night with house-made chorizo and the one with broccoli and pistachio pestos — and we get the baked pasta with radiatore and vodka sauce. The pasta reminds of mac and cheese, even though it’s not necessarily cheesy, and we also get an appetizer with chicken liver mousse because we both like chicken liver mousse, love how smooth and creamy and nutty it is. When our pizzas come out, there isn’t enough room on our table for all our food and our plates and our beers, and we aren’t sure how we’re supposed to cut the pizza, which is thin, kind of like a springy flatbread, awkwardly but enthusiastically tearing at it until the couple next to us very nicely lean over to tell us, Hi, uhm, you’re supposed to use the scissors.
Oh! we say. We didn’t even know there were scissors, laughing as we ask each other if we saw the server bring over the scissors, were they always there, when did they get to our table?
It is, of course, much easier to cut the pizza with the scissors, and I use my knife to spread the clumps of broccoli and pistachio pesto evenly on the crust, folding it up before biting into it. It’s got that satisfying saltiness from the cheese, the nuttiness from the pistachio, and I’m glad I can’t really taste the broccoli because broccoli is on that list of vegetables I’m not the fondest of, though I’ll eat if I must — and, even then, I’ll eat the stalks, leave the heads with their weird pebbly texture.
We end up with leftovers, so we take them home and reheat them the next day. You give me the weirdest looks when I’m arranging the pieces on a baking sheet, saying, What the fuck, when do you reheat pizza?!? I thought it was your rule to eat pizza cold to see how good it really is.
Yeah, but I feel like this should be reheated? I don’t know why; I just feel like it? I say, and it turns out I’m right — I mean, I don’t have the cold pizza version to compare to, so I don’t know how this pizza rates, but it’s great reheated, the crust chewy and springy. I almost want to say it’s better reheated, which, as far as I’m concerned, justifies our tendency to order too much food when we go out.
All the cooks in this kitchen are men.