Pizzeria Bianco- Phoenix, AZ
Before you ask, yes, I drove five hours for pizza, even though there is a location in Los Angeles, half the time from San Diego. I don’t mind driving. In fact, I drove in complete silence—alone, no music, no podcasts, nothing. The holidays were over, the year was ending, and I needed to finish the year right by getting away from the noise— all of it. I felt the road, plus the pizza (considering its reputation), was the solitude I needed to silence it all
When I first heard of Chris Bianco, I was reading Jim Harrison's A Really Big Lunch: The Roving Gourmand on Food and Life, where he was mentioned with glowing praise for the quality of his food. Chris Bianco was the first pizzaiolo to receive the James Beard Award for Best Chef in 2003 and was the focus of the first episode of Netflix's Chef’s Table: Pizza in 2022, which was the same year he also won the James Beard Award for Outstanding Restaurateur. Not to mention, he’s been named by many as having the best pizza in the United States. After watching the Netflix episode, witnessing his story, and understanding his passion, I knew I had to make it a destination—and it had to be Phoenix. Why Phoenix? It was the source of his dough, the soul of his pizza. Mr. Bianco uses regionally sourced ingredients from Arizona for his dough, so why would I go to Los Angeles?
I set out early on a Saturday morning. I was determined not to eat to ensure a decent consumption of pizza (that matched the budget my wallet and I agreed to), as well as not spoiling my meal and journey. I rode east noticing the changing terrain through the hills of Alpine, to the rocky ledges of Jacumba, on through the farmlands of El Centro, where you'll see billboards advertising jail time for burning hay. In the next town over, the punishment is sodomy for tractor molestation! The landscape quickly shifts from farmlands to rolling sand dunes, a popular spot for off-road and escape. Finally leaving California and passing through the Arizona border city of Yuma, you're confronted with almost two hours straight of the underrated beauty of the desert, as far as the eye can see. The long silence, combined with the beauty of the landscape, provided the peace of mind necessary to truly reflect—a task nearly impossible to attempt nowadays due to the variety of issues we face and distractions we indulge in daily. The serenity of the desert and the long road mirrored my state of mind. In that quiet, the noise of the world seemed far away, and I could finally hear myself think. I made a quick stop for gas in Gila Bend, a popular stop for fuel, fast food and a few local eateries if you’re hungry. After another hour or so of driving, I was in downtown Phoenix, which was eerily quiet, reminiscent of those old western movies right before a duel would take place. The restaurant was within walking distance of my hotel, so I made the trek. It was either that or ride in one of those creepy driverless cars. I don’t know about you, but I don’t trust the robots yet, so a 15-minute stroll suits me fine.
As I approached, it was clear to see the place was packed. The wait was close to an hour, but considering the accolades of the establishment, not to mention the timeframe of it being dinner and holiday vacation, I would’ve expected longer. The wait was of no issue; right next door was a brick-laid building named Bar Bianco, where you could sit, relax, and have a drink or two while waiting for your time to dine. If the hunger was too much to stand, they offer snacks like marinated olives, soppressata, or a bread plate with olive oil. Not focusing on the food, I tackled the more difficult decision regarding the source of tonight’s inebriation: cocktail or wine? They do offer beer, but that was of no interest, and despite the Negroni being a cocktail go-to, I instead opted for a Dos Cabezas red blend wine out of Arizona. I waited my time outside on the wooden-planked deck out front and enjoyed the light breeze while a mellow tempo’d French jazz song played. The ambiance, paired with wine, made my wait smooth, so when the text came that my table was ready, it felt like time barely passed at all.
I grabbed my glass and was seated inside a cozy, wooden-floored room lit with the evening sun. You have the option of being seated at a table outside, indoors at the bar, or at a table that shares space with the brick wood-burning oven that should be mandatory in any pizza establishment. The energy inside was lively and needed no improvement, but I felt disconnected. Imagine yourself sitting alone in a room closely packed with strangers, spending time with friends, family, or a loved one. Some might enjoy it, but I felt at that moment that my time there should have been shared. Reflection again set in, posing questions: Why the isolation, and was I really escaping noise? Or was it an excuse I told myself to cope with something deeper? I brushed off my thoughts with the glass in front of me, shelving the mirror for a more appropriate less public time. Looking back, I’m now realizing that night, my outfit looked too similar to the clothes worn by Anton Ego, the food critic in Ratatouille. If I noticed it, the children did. And I’ll be damned if I am the butt of their joke!
I started off with the classic fresh-baked bread and olive oil, which I don’t remember being complementary, but if I paid, I wouldn’t have been mad at it considering the bread was made in house. I first ordered the wood-fired Spiedini, which was skewered fontina and rosemary wrapped in prosciutto, given a nice crisp from the fire, and laid on top of arugula and olive oil. The first thing that hits you when the Spiedini arrives is the salty aroma of fire-kissed ham, backed by the subtle scent of warmed fontina, rosemary, and pepper from the olive oil. Once you break the shell of prosciutto, the cheese oozes out. You get the point. It was delicious. The remaining house bread was perfect for sopping up the leftover olive oil, flavored by the grease and oils that seeped out of the Spiedini, making it feel like a free bonus appetizer. More wine was poured, and my pizzas were ordered. I went with the Biancoverde, which has fresh mozzarella, Parmigiano Reggiano, ricotta, and arugula. I also ordered the Rosa, which is flavored by red onion, Arizona pistachios, Parmigiano Reggiano, and rosemary.
When the pizza arrived, the first thing I went for was the crust. The combination of the quality and freshness of the wheat used, the length of fermentation of the dough, and the wood-fired oven made it the obvious first target. After a short time, the pizzas arrived, and you could smell the oven coming off the crust. It was crunchy on the outer layer but still soft from the air pockets created on the inside. It had great chew and flavor that can only be achieved by the combination previously mentioned, while working in sync with the pizzaiolo, who needs to know how to handle the dough along with the mastery of the wood-fired oven. I couldn’t say I have had anything else like it. The pizzas I chose had classic toppings but were elevated due to a lot of the products being local or made in-house. The ingredients that don’t need time to develop flavor are close by and not losing flavor and freshness by sitting around due to travel. It makes the pizza authentic to its region, and it gives it the edge over any other pizzeria—or any eating establishment—that doesn’t follow their practice. The Biancoverde and Rosa pies are both white pizzas (no tomato sauce), where the cheese typically plays the starring role. In the case of the Rosa, it was about the Arizona pistachios—an unconventional topping—but the sharpness of the Parmigiano was cut perfectly by the fattiness and texture of the roasted pistachios, which was balanced by the earthy undertones the rosemary and red onion provided.
As the meal wound down, I boxed up the survivors, and with a full stomach, shuffled my way back to the hotel. As I poured myself a glass of scotch, I realized that I hadn’t escaped the noise at all. In fact, it grew louder. It wasn’t about finding silence in the world around me—it was about quieting the noise within. I didn’t need to escape; I needed to listen. I didn’t need isolation; I needed connection. Just as Mr. Bianco established relationships within his region and community to source ingredients for his memorable pizza, the relationships we build with individuals help create a more meaningful life. Taking time for yourself is key to understanding who you are, but not to the point where you’re the only one who does. So go outside, invite a friend or loved one, stay off your phones and enjoy each other while you still can.