Pizzaland, Coldharbour Road: 'Sounds like the sequel to Sausage Party' - restaurant review

Chef Pash Peters joins me in the hunt for a Neapolitan speciality

Pizzaland is not a new restaurant. It is not a restaurant with a big following, a marketing budget or a knack for interior design. It is simple, humble and loved for its quirks by anyone who’s eaten there. I’m really proud to shine a light on these kind of restaurants, as well as those newer, shinier openings. The Bristol Sauce is creating a map of restaurant intel all over Bristol; from Michelin Guide fodder to places like Pizzaland - so that you may discover all of the best places to eat. If you can, please support our work with a small contribution.

It was a joy to be joined by Chef Pash Peters on this most recent jaunt; one of the loveliest chefs around and whose cooking at the Clifton Lido is well worth seeking out.

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Please note the high production value of the Halloween decorations

Pizzaland sounds like the sequel to Sausage Party; a film that nobody asked for.

Or Pizzaland could be a theme park, where one can ride a giant crust wheel or try a new variation of the Big Dipper.  

It could be a dripping-with-grease takeaway joint, open to the early hours, serving slices to people too drunk to know the difference. 

It does not sound like it should be the name of a rather good pizza restaurant. And yet that is exactly what you’ll come across should you find yourself wandering (lost, probably) on Coldharbour Road.

I sacrificed my legs cycling up to Redland to meet Pash Peters, head chef of Bristol Lido, who I’d befriended earlier in the year over a shared love of pizza fritta. 

He’d been to Naples and tried it, I’d been to Naples and tried it, we both wanted someone to talk to who understood how misunderstood fried pizza is in the UK. 

And then we heard of a mystical place in Redland that served it: Pizzaland. Sounds awful, but is actually a lovely little spot run by bonafide Neapolitans. It only took us 6 months to make it up there to try it. 

What we found looked like a takeaway joint but is in fact a cute restaurant with a handful of tables inside, which gradually filled up over the course of the evening. In one corner, a cavernous bronze pizza oven squats next to a Coca-Cola branded fridge, in every other corner are signs enthusiastically promoting an offer of two pizzas and a bottle of prosecco for £39. And for some reason, despite the inhospitable November weather and darkness, four teenagers had chosen to sit outside and dine al-fresco, eating instantly-chilly pizza out of boxes in their matching North Face puffer jackets.

Inside were more teenagers, who, despite the fact that they’re still wearing braces and were probably at school a few hours ago, were refreshingly competent and warm in their service.

We ordered and discussed Pash’s recent trip to Greece, the merits of reading vs ignoring TripAdvisor/Google reviews, where’s opening and closing ,and why. Chefs always have the best gossip. We were midway through speculation over the causes of a recent closure when the pizza fritta arrived, its half-moon heft spanning a large plate.

How to improve calzone? Fry it.

Okay, we’re not in Naples anymore, but it was pretty good. Slightly blonde and wanting another 90 seconds in the fryer, but stuffed with an intoxicating combination of pistachio cream, mortadella and mozzarella (£13.50). With a little more time for the dough to cook and get properly crisp, this would be well worth cycling up a hill for.

We thought we’d also better try a non-fried pizza, for comparison’s sake. After a near-miss with a Hawaiian, which I’m blaming entirely on Pash, we chose a salsiccia friarielli (£1250 according to the menu - can confirm we weren’t actually charged this much). Fennel sausage, broccoli, mozzarella and ‘smoked cheese’ on a white base.

As good as any salsiccia friarielli I’ve had

Consider the mass of a pizza. It is generally, particularly with a Neapolitan pizza, at least 60 per cent dough. Thus, regardless of the toppings, a pizza is only ever as good as its dough. Dough is a floury glass ceiling for bad pizza, if you will. Fortunately, at Pizzaland, the dough is very good; chewy, blistered in all the right places and with just the right amount of flop. Topped with crumbly fennel sausage, umami broccoli leaves and a hell of a lot of cheese, it makes for a memorable pizza. Not quite Bertha’s, but comfortably among the finer pizzas in town.

Back briefly to Naples - it’s impossible to walk through the old town without buying either some freshly fried seafood, a slice of pizza or an orbulous arancino from one of the hundreds of vendors that line the narrow cobbled streets. You just can’t, and nor should you. The arancino (£5) that lands on our table at Pizzaland sure looks like those in Naples - the size of a fist and Santa-hat shaped - but does neither mine nor Pash’s memories of its street food counterpart justice. The beef ragu centre is more carrot and onion than anything else, and the risotto too dry.

Thus begins my petition to get orbulous added to the dictionary

Come to Pizzaland for the pizzas, but don’t bother staying for dessert. The ratios of cream to dry, under-soaked fingers in the tiramisu (£6.50) are all off and it’s far too sober for my liking. We won’t go into the presentation; one of the teenagers is clearly practising a school art project.

Abstract

It’s all washed down with several perfectly decent glasses of the only still white wine (£6.50) on offer. On reflection, the £39 pizza and prosecco deal would have probably been a good idea.

Satiated with dough, wine and gossip, Pash and I come to the unanimous conclusion that Pizzaland is great. If it were a film, we would watch it. If it were a theme park, we would buy a season ticket. And as long as it is a restaurant on Coldharbour Road, we will happily cycle up a hill to eat in it.

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

Pizzaland, 34 Coldharbour Rd, BS6 7NA

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