Ducali Pizzeria & Bar
Tuesday, May 15, 2012 at 02:25 PM | Posted by caroloc
289 Causeway Street
Boston, MA 02113 (North End)
By Rebeccah Marsters
Atmosphere
After a long day of work, I seldom crave white-clothed tables and a hushed atmosphere, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. If your go-to neighborhood joint involves candlelight and obsequious servers wielding corkscrews and crumbers, then read no further. If, on the other hand, you’re a sucker for a rowdy crowd, friendly, unpretentious service, and food to match, Ducali’s your place. Ask anyone what Boston’s North End needs, and another pizza joint wouldn’t make the list. Personally, I’d start with more parking and then move on to instating a strictly enforced tourist limit, but Philip Frattoroli saw things differently. After growing up in the restaurant industry, with various family members behind the helms of institutions like Filippo Ristorante and Artú, few have experienced the abundance of Italian eats in the North End more intimately than Frattoroli. Even so, he saw a niche that hadn’t been filled. There are plenty of family restaurants, trattorias, and upscale eateries, and no lack of options for sampling carbonara, puttanesca, and lasagna. But when it comes to simply hanging out in the area, you’re limited to sipping espresso at a sidewalk cafe amongst wannabe extras for the Goodfellas sequel, or rubbing elbows with sneaker-clad tourists downing cannolis. Ducali Pizzeria & Bar fills the void.
After nearly running down a gaggle of the aforementioned tourists to secure the one and only available parking space for miles, a quick walk up Washington Street brought us to Ducali’s unassuming façade nestled across from the Charlestown Bridge. Dinner was in full swing at nearly seven on a Monday night, and diners crowded simple wooden tables and bar stools, sipping beers and plucking slice after slice of pizza from worn metal pans. 
Artfully lettered signs painted on the walls in yellow and blue (the colors of Parma’s soccer team) brighten the wood-and-brick interior, while a wall full of windows lets in ample sunlight—as well as a less than scenic street vista. Claiming our own little table (one of the last empty) cued the approach of our bubbly waitress, and I couldn’t help but notice that staff and clientele alike were comprised of the decidedly young and attractive. But at that moment, the only attraction I felt was to a cold beer—my cue to pick up the menu and start the meal.
Appetizers
In a creative spin on a bar snack, not to mention an irreverent nod to the fusion trend, Ducali serves nachos Italiano ($8): instead of chips, cheese is melted over planks of pizza crust and served with tomato sauce for dipping. Fried bocconcini are equally unique—like a grown-up version of mozzarella sticks. But being unique doesn’t mean rejecting convention, as evidenced by classics like a Roman-style artichoke ($8) and grilled vegetable antipasto ($8). Never one to turn down cured meat, I chose the antipasto misto ($11), 
a wooden board full of meaty salami, delicate slices of prosciutto, shards of parmesan, and provolone, which, while inoffensive, was better suited to a deli sandwich—there’s no competing with the king of cheeses. Another classic, fried calamari arrabiata, boasted squid rings and nests of tentacles (my favorite part) fried to a crispy golden brown. The “spicy” sauce didn’t pack much heat, but fried hot pepper slices mixed in with the calamari more than satisfied my need for spice.
Entrees
In keeping with Ducali’s casual motif, salads, sandwiches, and pizzas fill out the rest of the menu. The salads stray from the Italian theme, but combinations like a portobello-topped Caesar ($9) and steak and Gorgonzola over greens ($13) defy classification (and Caesar was Roman, after all). We chose the “pastore” ($10), which was tasty, but the peppery arugula couldn’t stand up to pear slices, candied walnuts, and an heavy-handed dose of sweet dressing. 
The dollop of ricotta that crowned the salad was rich, milky, and smooth—I only wished there was more of it. Sandwiches range from the traditional (steak with peppers, onions, and provolone for $13), to the modern (chicken and pesto for $10, prosciutto, apple, and brie for $11), to the shameless indulgence of a simple grilled cheese ($8). All good options, no doubt, but I was there for pizza.
While studying in Parma, Frattoroli became enamored of Neapolitan-style pizza, and this is what he serves at Ducali. The thinner, lighter-crusted pie is a distant kin of clunky, deep-dish American-style pizzas, sodden with sauce and sagging under the weight of myriad toppings. Again, Ducali’s menu pays homage to the usual suspects, like Margherita, four cheese, and tre porcellini, which means three little pigs, and is their version of a meat-lovers special. Less expected but equally appealing is a potato and rosemary-topped pie. And as dubious as I am of tortellini on a pizza, they get kudos for challenging culinary rubric. All the pies come in large and small, and despite the menu’s claim that the latter serves one, I think sharing is a far better plan—plus, you can try even more that way. Our first choice was the melanzane e zucchini (small, $10). 
Even at first glance these pizzas announce their divergence from the norm: the thin crusts are free-form, with rambling borders forming a rough circle, and minimally embellished with pared-down toppings, often conspicuously devoid of red sauce. The paper-thin ribbons of zucchini, rounds of eggplant, and slices of mushrooms provided earthy contrast to sweet mozzarella and tangy goat cheese. Overall, the pie wanted for a bit more moisture—juicier vegetables, a drizzle of balsamic, perhaps—but was thoroughly satisfying. Next, the rugola: a mozzarella-topped crust is mounded with fresh baby arugula, shaved parmesan, and a drizzle of heady truffle oil. 
The feathery arugula studded with dense bites of cheese was the perfect match for the crust’s light, crisp texture with just a touch of chew, and patches of crackery char on the bottom. If ever a pizza could be described as refreshing, this is the candidate.
