Cincinnati

Cincinnati is an odd name for a restaurant. The name “Cincinnati” for a pizzería sounds a bit like “North African Sushi”, “Yucatan Steakhouse” or, perhaps, “Amsterdam Tacos”. When I hear the word Cincinnati, a baseball team comes to mind. Not pizza, nor Italians.

In the United States, pizza is typically associated with either New York, home of the thin-crust New York style pizza, a slight variant of traditional Neapolitan pizza, which can be folded for easy consumption, or Chicago, the city with a pizza-split-personality, home of both the dip-dish pizza and the crisp thin-crust (non-foldable) pizza. Both cities have more than their fair share of Italian heritage.

So, the question immediately arises, would the pizza and pasta served at Cincinnati, in Buenos Aires, be as bad as the name of the restaurant is confusing? Well, thankfully the answer is “no”. In fact, the pizza is astonishingly good at Cincinnati.

I often use the adjectives “sleek”, “sexy”, “minimalist”, “contemporary”, “quirky” or “industrial” when describing a restaurant’s décor. I even sometimes say that the place has an “antique tea cup” décor. None of those descriptive words apply to the design or décor of Cincinnati. It’s acceptable. It’s okay. It’s slightly better than the boring décor at most corner cafés in this city. But one thing is for sure, it’s not “sexy”. And I think it fair to say that the owners spent considerably less to design and decorate the restaurant than did the owners of Chila and Kansas.

The waiters are friendly. Not well-trained at the art of waiting tables. But like the décor, they’re better than what you’d find at most corner cafés in this city.

The menu has a few appetizers, a few pasta dishes and pizza. The number of pizzas is limited. Although the restaurant claims to serve Neapolitan pizza, it’s missing a key element, the dome-shaped wood burning oven, and some of the pizzas include ingredients that are prohibited on strictly authentic Neapolitan pizza.

That said, the pizza at Cincinnati was a pleasant surprise. After a few bites I turned to my dining companions and stated that I thought the prosciutto was imported. An inquiry confirmed that every ingredient except the fake Parmesan cheese, was, in fact, imported. The ingredients were what was making this pizza shine. The pomodoro sauce was sweet and fresh. The Italian sausage was, in fact, Italian. It was sweet and peppery and there were fresh herbs added as toppings. The dough had that loveable Neapolitan stretch to it.

All this adds up to Cincinnati serving up some of the best pizza in Buenos Aires. For the same reason we liked the pizza at Cosi mi Piaci, we like the pizza at Cincinnati. The ingredients make all the difference, and the result is one of the best pizzas in town.

Will the pasta be as good as the pizza? Stay tuned. Answer coming soon!