Christa, my pizza partner, and I walked down to the Strip the other day with one objective: eat at Enrico Biscotti’s. In the midst of the bustling strip is an alley that transports you into an Italian cafe. I’ve never actually been to an Italian cafe, but Christa has and she totally vouched for this place.
It’s a tight fit in Enrico’s, but worth the lack of elbow room. It’s a simple structure that doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not. They sit you at a table covered in paper and set an old wine bottle on your table filled with water. The cooks in the kitchen routinely walk into the dining area to grab cooking tools off the walls that would be solely decoration in an Olive Garden. The menu is equally sparse, there’s pizza, greens and beans, salad, and a sangaweech (basically a pizza sandwich).
On this venture I made the foolish mistake of ordering the sangaweech. Well, not foolish, but irresponsible as a pizza journalist. It was delicious, but not pizza. The bread of the sandwich is made from pizza dough, so it’s thick, soft, and delicious. I’ve had the sangaweech before and biting into it awakens some sort of lust that can’t be filled anywhere else. The combination of artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, arugula and mozzarella inside that doughy crust isn’t something readily available to me. As I type this I’m replaying that first bite into the tender sangaweech over and over.
Christa ordered the pizza, which, as you can see, is perfectly traditional. I didn’t have a bite, but she was excited to be alive in a time where Enrico’s exists. Just look at her! I’ve never seen anyone so help in their life.
When your meal is done and you’re ready to depart Italy, don’t forget to go into the biscotti section of Enrico Biscotti’s to collect a pastry as a memento of your journey.