The Picasso Of Pizza Returns

I offer this laudation without trepidation. The gospel must be spread. Say hallelujah. Can I get a witness?

Several years back, a colleague asked what I thought was Louisville’s finest restaurant? Also, where was my favorite place to eat in town?

In total seriousness, the answer to both was the same. It was a quick response. Impellizzeri’s Pizza on Bardstown Road.

A few years back, Benny’s first place, the one I placed at the top of the local food chain, closed. Not with a bang but a whimper. The details of the meltdown aren’t pretty and not especially relevant. It wasn’t good for Louisville’s Hall of Fame pizza paisan. It wasn’t good for the regulars who consider a slice of Benny’s pie as gourmet a meal as Kathy Cary ever served to the epicures at the James Beard House.

Waiting for Benny Impellizzeri’s triumphant return, for him to reopen a new pizza palace, gave many a case of gastronomic blue balls. That’s how my pal Dough put it. His description of our condition was right on point.

Who needs free-range cobra tail, organic fois gras, French truffles and coulis — whatever that is — when you can savor a slice of Benny’s finest with sausage, green peppers, mushrooms and onions? Ohh mama, taste the fennel.

In the interim — between that sad demise and the triumphant recent retrenchment next to Swanson Reed Gallery near Mid City Mall — there was an ill-fated, short-lived stop off near LaGrange Road. It never fired. It closed in a wink. So we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Just for a hint of the real deal, but forewarned it wouldn’t be the same, a few went for a pie at the Impellizzeri’s out on Shelbyville Road. Don’t be confused. That is not the real deal. Same family. Perhaps a similar recipe. Operative words: perhaps, similar. But it’s like comparing Larry Bird with Big Bird. One’s a baller. One’s not. Capeche?

So we waited some more.

Then came the murmurs, the stories in the paper and magazines. Coming soon, they promised. Signs appeared on the door of the new establishment. More buzz in the pizza underground. Furtive trips to other venues where the pie is good, somewhat satisfying, but not . . . but not . . . well . . . transcendent.

(Which is not to denigrate other pizza joints in town. Luigi’s on Main Street fashions a super slim old school pie — good thin crust, a smidge of tomato sauce, a dusting of cheese, the right spices. It’s a swell lunch repast. There are others too. Everybody’s got a favorite.) But none take it to the next level, to a higher state of consciousness, like Benny.

Then it came to pass several Monday nights back. Like the fabled Phoenix rising from its own ashes, Benny Impellizzeri was back. Original Impellizzeri’s indeed.

Of course, the tale is fraught with some pitfalls. My crew was able to wait to go. Until the second night. Benny’s a perfectionist. His new assistants didn’t have their chops down. The system at the cheery restaurant was a work in progress. We ordered. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Benny’s an artist, a master at his craft. He will serve no pie before its time. Given that, the time lag was still unnerving. Wes Phelps, Benny’s partner, assured us things would smooth out after the shake down period. (In fact, that is exactly the case. The shake down period is over. You might have to wait for a table, because the place is sometimes busy. But once seated, dinner is now served in a reasonable time, considering its gourmet status. The truth: It’s all worth it.)

Back to that first trip and that wait. Thanks to the good heart of the chaperone of the group of sub-teen girls at the next booth, we savored some of Benny’s sublime butter laden garlic bread. God bless you, man, whoever and wherever you are.

Then we waited some more. If we’d been anywhere else we’d have split. But we’re talking the Pavarotti of Pizza here. Let the guy work his magic.

Then the pies came. One bite, that’s all it took.

How good was it? True story. That guy who helped us hold off our hunger with that garlic bread — the guy who is a saint and to whom we shall forever and always be grateful — that guy pulled out a twenty and offered it to my pal Bill for one slice of his sausage pie. No dice. The guy understood. (Besides, his pie was on the way at that very moment.)

The bottom line is this, kiddos. It was worth the wait. It was worth the wait since Benny was forced to close his other places. It was worth the long wait that night.

If the Taj Mahal is the world’s most perfect building, Benny’s is the world’s most perfect pie. If Michael Jordan was the greatest hoopster of all time, Benny Impellizzeri is the greatest pizza man extant.

He is the Picasso of Pizza.

First, there’s the crust. Hand made. Benny’s old fashioned ovens turn it golden, chewy on the inside with just enough fresh baked taste, slightly crunchy on the outside. The bottom is firm, doesn’t sag under the weight of the hefty helping of toppings. Those toppings are fresh. No canned veggies here. And Benny lets them cook in the oven just the right amount of time, until they merge with his slightly zesty tomato sauce and perfectly portioned generous helping of cheese. The sausage, well, the sausage is indescribable, a veritable coup de grâce.

His creations are the Parthenon of Pies.

There are folks who have actually eaten other items from Benny’s menu. So I’m told. His spaghetti and meatballs are said to be boffo. I wouldn’t know. I just get the pie. Some have sung the praises of his hoagies. I wouldn’t know. I just get the pie.

Sausage, green peppers, mushrooms and onions. On occasion, the tomato and garlic pie, but only on occasion. His garlic bread is to die for. (Literally, advises my cardiologist who, for precautionary purposes, is on speed dial every time I go to Benny’s.) But, to reiterate, I only order the pie. As good as that baked dough in garlic butter is, it only takes up room, that I’d rather fill with . . . oh, you know what.

Benny Impellizzeri comes by his legerdemain honestly. He apprenticed at Louisville’s premier pizza joint of all-time, Fun City Pizza. (Their pizza wasn’t as fine as Benny’s, but, oh my, was it a wacky wonderland back in the day. But Fun City is another dialog for another time.)

He sang with The Vanguards, a local band of some note. There are those who say his version of “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” at a Bar Mitzvah party was better than Vanilla Fudge. Maybe so, maybe not.

What I can say for sure, without any fear of meaningful contradiction, is that he makes pizza better than anybody ever in these parts.

Benny Impellizzeri, welcome back to where you always belonged.

Benny Impellizzeri is home, makin’ pies in the ‘hood. It’s a good thing. A real good thing.

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