Venturi Pizza: pizza is the glue that temporarily holds a broken heart together…

Some people love Valentine’s Day. They yearn all year long for the annual return of February 14th–bringing with it a storm of cheap chocolates and polyester rose petals. But when the corporate-constructed pink and red haze sets in on my city, something inside me screams to get out of dodge. So, I listen to that persistent voice in my head, I hop in my car, and I drive–but, to where? This animalistic urge to flee in the face of a romantic-storm, like wildlife instinctively scattering in the fragile moments before a tsunami reaps destruction, begs the question, “How far have you run to try to escape a broken heart?” Which, unfortunately, can only raise the followup question, “When did you learn that you can’t ever run away from yourself?” Everywhere you go–there you are. You’re the wildlife and the tsunami.

Surely, we’ve all suffered our own small heartbreaks; it’s part of the human condition. But, the big heartbreaks–the real whoppers–the massive shatters, well, I don’t think all of us have suffered that misfortune. For the unlucky few who have genuinely had their heart mishandled, repeatedly drop-kicked, and stomped with big black combat boots: I’m sorry. I don’t think those truly significant breaks ever really repair–or cease. It doesn’t really get better; you just learn to live with it. Your heart is like a midwest highway constantly under construction. Demolished, then repaired to somebody’s definition of the word but not necessarily your own–only for it to begin again, with no ‘completion’ date for the unending project in sight. But just as spirits make themselves known in this mortal coil the closer we inch to October 31st, I think the scariest part of this holiday is how the eternal crumbling of a permanently broken heart grows louder and louder the closer we inch to February 14th. The sound of something fragile inside you, still going to pieces after all these years, will echo as you lie awake in bed at night–haunting you. Those of us afflicted, so stoic and strong 364 days out of the year, fall to bits when faced with Prix Fixe romantic dinners for two hosted at all of our favorite usual haunts. While we can’t outrun the sorrow or the echo of the everlasting obliteration of our fragile tickers, we can escape our status quo and run towards something necessary–though perhaps counterintuitive. At times like this, all we can do is run towards the closest thing we still have to that dirty four-lettered thing that fucked us over in the first place–love. 

Don’t get it twisted, dear reader: I don’t mean that you should run back into the arms of your ex. (Darling, if there’s any day to let the battery on your phone die and go completely off grid, February 14th is it.) They say love comes in all types. These days, the only love I know is often round, though not always, and while I prefer it broken down into triangles–I won’t turn my nose up at it in any shape. Yes, pizza: “more reliable than any lover I have ever known.” Trusted, tried, and true–the only thing I want to spend my Valentine’s Day with. Pizza won’t ever break my heart.

On February 14th, I found myself more than an hour away from my house. My urge to run away had driven me to Goshen, Indiana but my destination was much more specific than that. I was headed to Venturi: Indiana’s first certified Neapolitan Pizzeria. Venturi has been certified by the Vera Pizza Napoletana since 2011. For the uninitiated, the VPN is effectively an international non-profit organization whose sole purpose is recognizing the artisanship of true Neapolitan pizza, founded by a gang of Neapolitan pizzaiolis (or, pizza makers, for those who don’t enjoy doling out dope titles). In 1984, shortly after the non-profit was formed, it was deemed a “denomination of control,” or DOC, by the Italian government. In short, that means the Italian government recognized the organization’s authority on all things related to defining Neapolitan pizza. Venturi, in Goshen, holds the high regard of meeting these strict standards. Furthermore, it’s been named one of Esquire’s Top 15 most life-changing pizzas in the US. All I could think as I approached Venturi was, “I could really use a life-changing pizza right now.” 

The atmosphere of Venturi is clean, bright, and transportative. Enter their doorway, and it’s suddenly debatable whether or not you’re still in Indiana. They offer respite from the doldrums of everyday life–the DOC qualifying pizza is just the cherry on top! But, before jumping into pizza, my ride-or-die adventure buddy and I each ordered a glass of wine. They opted for the Aglianico; a full bodied, fruit forward red wine sure to pair well with most pies on the menu. As for me, my heart was set on a glass–or two–of the Gragnano. In my mind, this wine is one of the most quintessential pizza sippers. If it’s not in your current rotation, seek out a bottle for your next pizza night! This red wine was just off-dry with effervescence that created a really gorgeous pink-hued mousse that briefly floated atop the wine only to soon ethereally vanish. 

Our first bite? The Fougasse: because you don’t see this on every menu! Venturi serves these pull-apart style breadsticks with imported Italian tomatoes, Extra Virgin Olive Oil, and oregano. Upon first bite, my initial reaction was, “Mmmmmm,” but my second reaction was, “This texture is everything I dreamed it would be and nothing like what I expected it to be.” I’m accustomed to being let down. I’m accustomed to having reality fall short of my hopes and dreams. Life often doesn’t live up to my expectations. But the Fougasse was perfection. You tear into it and the dough rips apart like clouds in the hands of angels. Yet, it retains the chew and relative density that you would expect from a really masterfully crafted dough. This is one of those foods where the past and the future simply melted away while I ate. There was only the present moment: me and the Fougasse. Flawless–I have no other words for this. It’s simply flawless. 

As for pizzas, if you’re truly a smart cookie, you’ve probably pieced together that for the VPN to consider a pizza made in America a truly authentic, DOC qualifying, Neapolitan pizza–it must meet very strict standards. These standards are so stringent that most pizzas on the menu at Venturi don’t actually qualify. A true Neapolitan pizza doesn’t have a lot of extra toppings. If you want to throw on olives, mushrooms, or even pepperoni–you’re SOL, because your pizza is no longer going to meet DOC requirements. Venturi has three qualifying pizzas on the menu: for an American pizzeria, that’s honestly a lot and we should all be eternally grateful and ecstatic that we have access to those three DOC qualifying pizzas. If you go to Venturi solely to try a super authentic pizza with the DOC certification, your options are: Marinara, Margherita, or Margherita Extra. The Marinara has no cheese; just tomatoes, oregano, basil, and garlic. The Margherita should require no explanation, but in case your brain is still in bed, it’s just imported Italian tomatoes, Mozzarella, and basil. Basic stuff. Simple. Pure. Perfection. The Margherita Extra is essentially the same, but they give you a little extra of the house-made Mozzarella cheese on it–making this pie feel like the closest existing thing to a peace treaty between Midwest America and Naples, Italy. I got one DOC Certified pizza and one that wasn’t certified but was still properly delicious! Obviously, for my DOC pizza, I went for the Margherita. Your girl likes to keep things classy and classic. I have zero regrets about my pizza choice; which is more than I can say about most of the people I’ve dated.  

So, given that Venturi prides themselves on keeping their pizzas pretty gosh darn authentic, you should anticipate that when your pizza arrives at your table it will not be cut into slices. That’s your job. Make like you’re in Naples, grab your fork and knife, and get to work. (They have a “Plan B” in back if there’s a problem–but we’re not going to have any problems with cutting our pizza. Are we, fam?) My Margherita pizza was gorgeous: a thin layer of bright red tomatoes, a generous yet limited distribution of melty house-made Mozzarella, and pops of green basil leaves bedecked a perfectly leopard-spotted round of dough. But that’s another thing about Venturi; these aren’t pizzas manufactured to corporate specifications and formed into a perfect circle every single time without fail. These are very much hand-crafted, artisan pizzas: size and shape may vary slightly. I think that’s one of the most beautiful things about these pizzas. Here I am going on and on about how it looked–when, really, how it tasted was the most impressive part of it. I have only three words to describe the flavor of the Margherita pizza: elegant, transcendent, pure. I offer no further explanation–you won’t understand unless you’ve tried it for yourself and, even then, maybe you won’t “get it.” But, for those of us who “get it,” there is no denying–this pizza is beyond measure. 

I had a genuinely difficult time settling on a second pizza to try; as literally every menu item was appealing and there were at least six that sounded right up my alley. Ultimately, it was the Spicy Sopressa that caught my eye. (And maybe I ordered one of their current specials, a Black Garlic pizza, for the road–but that’s my damn business.) The Spicy Sopressa doesn’t qualify for the DOC Certification because it’s too extra. Topped with sopressa, Ricotta, and Kalamata olives, this pizza packs a punch. My dining companion immediately upon first bite said, “Heads up, she spicy.” I got a little scared, as my buddy is not one to complain about spice levels and can typically handle much more heat than I can. I was pleasantly surprised to find the spice level was enjoyable and more than tolerable for me. If you can handle something along the lines of Calabrian chili paste, this pizza will be well within your spice-tolerance-threshold. The ultra-creamy Ricotta and the bright, briny olives offer gripping contrast to the spicy sopressa. I don’t care what the VPN says, this pizza is officially awarded the Plonk & Pleasure seal of approval. I maybe don’t have as much clout as the entire country of Italy; but I’m cute and a smartass, which I’m pleasantly surprised to find is usually more than enough to get me by. 

I wasn’t going to write about it–I was just going to gobble it down as if I were feral and call it my ‘secret’ pizza–but the Black Garlic pizza was too good not to write about! Admittedly, I traveled over an hour with it and then had to re-warm it in my shitty oven on my okay-ish pizza stone. Despite my cruel treatment, this pizza still slapped. (Pizza really is more reliable than any lover I have ever known.) Topped with their house made Mozzarella, black garlic, pancetta, red onion, and basil this pie managed to be both pretty and full of substance. Like, sheeeeeeeeesh! Did any of us really care about black garlic before Bob Belcher bet it all on black garlic? Arguably, no. I think everyone’s favorite dad and grill chef started a genuine movement in American cuisine. And now, thanks to the heavy lifting done by a cartoon character, I get to enjoy pizzas like this. Thanks, Bob–but, maybe more importantly, thanks Venturi for breathing this pizza into reality. This pizza is ulta creamy, ultra cheesy, and the subtle funky-sweetness of the black garlic is, frankly, unmatchable. And I can’t believe I’ve gotten to my penultimate paragraph and only now am I finding the right time to tell you–I will always eat the crust of a Venturi pizza. They’re that good. If this is reading like a rave review, it’s because it is.

Pizza is the glue that temporarily holds a broken heart together. And while everyday cardiac wear-and-tear can always be treated by the love doctors at your local pizzeria, some matters of the heart require a specialist. If you need a life-changing pizza to keep the shards of your shattered ticker together another day, look no further than Venturi.