Old School Pizzeria serving slices of heaven

Owner Giovanni Mauro, shown at Old School Pizzeria, makes a dough that becomes an ultra-stretchy crust full of bubbles.

I should have known that something as ostensibly simple as garlic knots wouldn’t be so simple if it came out of Giovanni Mauro’s kitchen.

Mauro, if you tend to follow these things, was the owner of the late Nora’s Trattoria and Wine Bar in Summerlin, and is a scion of the family behind Nora’s Cuisine on Flamingo Road. After he closed the trattoria, he once told me in an interview, he decided to return to his roots, and Old School Pizzeria was born.

But like nearly everything else in the foodie world “old school” can mean a lot of things. If your idea of old-school pizza is a slice covered with cheese and mozzarella that can be folded over and leaves grease dripping down your arm, this is not your kind of place.

But back to the garlic knots ($2.99 for a half-order, which was pretty generous, or $4.99 for a full). Simple enough, right? Most pizzerias offer some variation of this staple made of pizza dough, which can vary widely according to interpretation. At Old School, they come in a paper-lined spiral-metal cone, browned more than most and with less oil than most (although still enough to make the paper transparent) and mixed with a handful of cloves of roasted garlic and a sprig of fresh rosemary. Because the garlic was roasted and therefore more mellow they had less of a garlic bite than the knots we tend to favor, but they were served with a housemade ranch dressing. Not only a nice break from the usual marinara it was an excellent rendition, heavy on the herbs and light on the mayo, and quite nice with the knots just the way they were.

But back to the pizza. Old School serves the usual offerings but quite a few more eclectic choices as well, such as the Vegas Meets Italy ($18, $25 and $38, depending on size). Because Mauro is a slow-food advocate it was no surprise that the dates on this one were advertised as being from China Ranch, the pistachios as being locally produced. But here was the thing: While there were plenty of pistachios — and roasting them on the pizza had given them a nice intense flavor and richer texture — there were no dates on my pizza. I almost didn’t notice at first because there was plenty of fresh arugula, prosciutto, cubes of triple-cream gorgonzola and scamorza, dabs of creamy ricotta, halves of red and yellow grape tomatoes and an understory of mozzarella. So there was a lot going on there, and it was a very good pizza, but if they were out of dates they should’ve told me, and if they just forgot them they shouldn’t have.

But the crust? One of the best I’ve had locally, ultra-stretchy and full of bubbles. Mauro says on one of his signboards that it’s made with natural yeast in an 18-hour process (which means they may sometimes run out, so “don’t hate”), and it shows. You’ll note that this pizza had no sauce, tomato or otherwise, but with a crust of this quality, not to mention all of those brightly flavored, fresh ingredients, one wasn’t needed.

We also had a roasted half-chicken ($8.49, or $15.99 for a whole), which was seasoned with thyme (a nice change from the more common rosemary) and garlic and served with potatoes, all of it roasted together in a copper pan. It was lovely, the meat moist, the skin just crispy enough, the potatoes lightly caramelized, the pan juices so good that we ended up dipping some of the knots in them as well.

A word about the decor: Don’t expect much. This is a strip-center counter-service spot with service that’s a level above most, with china plates and metal cutlery. There’s a TV, with a couch for those waiting for to-go orders. An effort has been made to gussy up the place, with one wall covered with a chalkboard marked with trivia games (and chalk for adding your own designs) and witty signboards on the other wall, but the place is tiny, with just a few tables covered with faded red-checked plastic cloths, and the lighting is on the bright side.

The kitchen is open, though, which means you can watch them make your pizza, the chef picking the basil leaves off a live plant.

Which is, I’d say, about as old school as it gets.

Las Vegas Review-Journal restaurant reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or email her at hrinella@
reviewjournal.com.