Some Very Satisfying Pizza: A Tribute

Eons ago, in something like the mid-to-late 1990s, there was a period where there was no official place to get a hot dinner out in our little coastal Marin town. The local cafe hadn’t opened yet, the bar offered microwaved hot dogs (yuck), the bakery served only in the mornings through midday, $10 underground pasta and wine dinners at a local house were only on Tuesday evenings, and that was about it. No matter that organic farming and cattle-raising had been pioneered here. This may have been the situation that prompted legendary San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen to quip that this was “not the world’s greatest place for food.” (“Ouch,” some said, but “Good!”, said others, fearing a foreign foodie invasion). It was kinda what is now called a “fine dining desert.”

But that sure wasn’t true if one knew about Amleto’s underground pizza oven.

I ate his pizza often, usually on the nearby beach. And was especially glad I’d been introduced to him and his cooking one fine day when I had a special guest visiting, a rather elegant and maybe somewhat snooty woman who was also a semi-professional foodie, aka a gourmand, aka a food snob. Scary but at least she surfed. This was a “work” meeting and I wanted to impress her, or at least not be too funky. She was dauntingly smart and beautiful and thus made me quite nervous. The prospect of me cooking dinner for us was not promising, and I wasn’t keen to drive miles and miles on winding roads all the damn way to another town - and back - either. I really didn’t want to drive anywhere. What to do?

It had been a classic long hot Fall beach day, with decent surf too. Trudging up the beach ramp, fried and salty and fatigued, I spied Amleto’s place. Bingo! Why hadn’t I thought of him? It was nearing 6pm, when he took pizza orders. I blurted to my guest “How about having the best pizza in the world for dinner?” She looked skeptical but nodded, Well, OK, if you say so. So we veered left up to his gate, walked into his yard and to the downstairs door. It was open so we walked in and I yelled up “Heyyy, Amleto, you here?” And his voice came back, “Sure, be right down!”

We stood waiting and she quietly surveyed the unpromising little kitchen and stove. Footsteps came down and there he was. “Hi, how are you, what would you like tonite?” We both just stood there staring but then I couldn’t help it and laughed. Amleto looked down. He was stark naked except for a big straw hat. Apparently he’d been up top enjoying the sun. No tan lines. He looked back up and just smiled “Oh - Oops!” My guest turned and walked out. Amleto and I laughed again. “Well, just give us whatever’s best today please” I said. And he smiled and said “Coming right up. It will be the best indeed!”

Those pizzas took awhile so we walked up to the one liquor store, got a nice bottle of cold white wine, and strolled back to the sea wall to start on it. When the time came I hopped back up to Amleto’s and got the hot pie. “Should I apologize to your friend?” He gallantly asked as he handed it over and I paid him, but I said of course not. Back at the beach I presented the pizza and when she opened the box the delicious smell wafted up. At first bite she said “Oh…umm...this is amazing.” It was full of his veggies, herbs and spices, some grown right there in his garden. Some locals suspected he added some sort of secret addictive substance, who knows. In any event, “Wow,” she soon also added. Then about three slices in - of course we devoured the whole pie - she said “this… this is the best pizza I’ve ever tasted. It’s a full-on TBO.” 

Huh? “A TBO? What that?”, I asked. She smiled sweetly and replied “A Taste Bud Orgasm - That’s what my girlfriends and I call the best food there is.” I just gulped and went for yet another slice.

The next time I saw Amleto he asked “How did your nice friend like the pizza?”

I grinned and said, “Well, um, she called it a taste bud orgasm.” He looked at me quizzically for a couple seconds and then asked “I guess that means she liked it?”

He kept baking for many more years, privately, and there was a local cult following of his singular cuisine. Fortunately it never spread onto Yelp or any other of the myriad online foodie rating sites. Even my dog partook, once stealing a hot slice and running off down the beach, mouth likely burning from the melted cheese but obviously feeling it was worth it. Bad dog, but nobody could blame him. It was indeed the best pizza many of us ever had.

In any event Amleto gradually slowed his open evenings and then stopped, and died this month. He’ll be missed, both as a chef and a man. There are fine dining options in town now but not like what he provided. Bon appetit, and thanks, Maestro.