Tampiz Pizzeria Bar, Tampa
What comes to mind when I say “French pizza”? Frozen halves of bread topped with hard splinters of icy cheese embedded in an arctic sheet of red? My misgivings weren’t so grim. When I’m feeling particularly dogmatic, I think of the pizza as one of those things you don’t mess with beyond the original: A Neapolitan yeast dough topped with simple seasoned tomato sauce, buffalo mozzarella, and fresh basil and olive oil, baked in a searingly hot oven. “French pizza” invoked a froufrou version of simple perfection that was wholly unnecessary.
But I’m no Francophobe. And I should know better, being trained in the French culinary method—French cuisine exemplifies superfluous as much as American cuisine exemplifies barbarian. Tampiz pizza could be bad or good on its own merits irrespective of the culinary roots. How would I know if I didn’t try it?
Initially, when scanning the internet for a spot to eat near the Robert B. Plant Museum, my thoughts were toward something fine and mid-range in price. The day was beautiful. Perhaps a sidewalk table and white cloths. But our budget didn’t necessarily share my enthusiasm.
After a look over TripAdvisor, I put a few options in my pocket for Christa to consider later. After our tour of the museum, when our tums showed rumblesign, I brought up the map to see what was where. Tampiz was the closest. “Where is that?” she asked. “One half block…somewhere,” I pointed in several directions—the map app kept changing our orientation. She opted for proximity before hearing the rest of the choices.
After shaking some sense into the disoriented iPhone map compass, we realized Tampiz was in within sight from our car and walked over.
French pizza. Sure, it could be done, and probably with some great results, but why? I’m a purist when it comes to pizza. I like a vera pizza Napolitana, a Margherita on fresh dough baked in a super hot oven till the crust is bubbly and charred and the mozzarella is reduced to marble islands in a red sea of ground tomatoes. Drizzle some olive oil and toss on some torn basil leaves and I will be in food heaven. What could complicated French methods and ingredients add to simple rustic Italian perfection?
Boy, nationalist much?
Yes, I’ll eat some Dominoes when the pickings are slim, a slice of utility from a hack shop when starving, or even a take-and-bake from Aldi when budget conscious. But, when I spend good money on a nice meal of pizza I want the ideal. I’ve yet to find it in Tampa, but the search is young. Still, this place gets nice reviews, it was a few steps away, and there was plenty else besides pizza on the menu.
Tampiz
113 S Hyde Park Ave
Tampa, FL 33606
Phone: (813)352-3420
Hours:
Tuesday – 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.
Wednesday – 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
Thursday – 11:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m.
Friday – 11:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m.
Saturday – 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
Sunday & Monday – Closed
www.tampiz-restaurant.com/
We were welcomed by Tommy (who I would later learn is the pastry chef and co-owner, along with his brother, Kevin) and asked to sit anywhere. I faced the specials board at a two-top and Christa had a view of the bar and pastry case. Oh, the pastry case—I saw eclairs on my way in and a big glass jar of what looked at first like burnt peanuts. Leave room for dessert. Leave room for dessert.
We looked over the menu and the specials. I decided to stick to the menu for our first visit and looked over the sandwich options. Croque monsieurs stood out from the list and there was the choice of cheese. Mon Dieu, they had raclette.
If you’re not familiar with raclette, it’s a Swiss alpine cheese similar in texture to gruyere. The traditional method of serving is to mount a block into a brazier that melts the cheese from one side. When the cheese begins to melt they draw a knife across the raclette to scrape the creamy curd onto thick toasted bread. Voila–Alpine grilled cheese sandwich. It is the food of the mountain gods, and probably not how they do it here, but so what. There was no pretense, simply raclette as an option in a croque monsieur and I was ordering it.
That sandwich was really tempting my tummy, but also, for all my bluster about French pizza, I really wanted to try it. But mainly, so did Christa. “Of course I’m ordering pizza, ” she said matter-of-factly. So, we agreed to get one pizza and one sandwich and split them.
We ordered an Eiffel tower Tampiz’za, their version of a Margherita, described as fresh mozzarella and basil. Tampiz pizzas only come in one size–13” thin crust. That was more than enough for us, especially with the sandwich.
The pizza and sandwich arrived at the same time and after only ten minutes. Both looked mouth-wateringly delicious. The bread was buttery and crisp and each side of each slice was toasted before the cheese and meat were added, then melted. What a concept. The black forest ham was thinly sliced and the bechamel sauce was applied in the perfect amount to provide a creamy layer to contrast the crisp toast and salty ham. But the star was the raclette cheese.
If one were to investigate the etymology of the phrase “ooey-gooey’, I suspect you’d find its roots in the very region that spawned raclette. The melty layer stayed soft long after a standard Swiss cheese would cool to the texture of a hot melt glue stick. The nutty taste was enhanced by the buttery toast and complimented the ham well. But you really had to parse each bite to work this out.
This sandwich was at its heart a grilled cheese and you don’t roll a bite of grilled cheese around your mouth trying to see how the cheese compliments the bread. You just eat it and smile. So, I bit, and chewed, and hummed, between forks full of baby greens in an outstanding house ranch that paired well with the cheese and the rich bechamel. Because fat pairs well with fat and more fat. This is why we got the salad.
The pizza really looked the part. If I hadn’t seen the deck ovens behind the front counter, I’d swear it was from a wood or coal oven. The crust was dusted with flour and cracked and blistered where a high heat swelled the yeasty dough from a thin base for the tomatoes and cheese to a pillowy dike of crust to keep it all in.
The sauce, though tomato, was orange and looked less like pizza sauce and more like creamed tomato soup. A swipe and lick of a finger said it was. Crème de tomates or no, the thin layer of sauce was tasty and was dotted with slices of mozzarella melted flat and topped with basil, dried from the hot bake.
I eased a slice onto my plate not wanting the hot sauce to drip off. Margherita pizzas don’t benefit from a mat of melted cheese to glue everything together. They have to cool a bit to maintain cohesion. I knife and forked the tip and it was delicious. The creamy tomato sauce was rich and fruity with a garden fresh taste. The mozzarella was authentic and had a modest stretch and clean bite. As it cooled it firmed a bit, but this is to be expected.
I lifted the slice and went at it American style. The combination of flavors made for a complex and tasty experience with the acrid taste and bready aroma of the scorched yeast crust to the acidic tomatoes cut with the cream and light flavor of the fresh mozzarella with the faint licorice scent of basil. No, it did not replace my love of traditional Margherita in the Neapolitan tradition, but it was a damned good tribute and a tasty meal. I’d even get it again.
We ate our fill and I dusted off my hands, leaving one or two pieces for the doggy bag. We needed to leave room for dessert. Tommy returned with amusement that we had nearly mopped up every bite of our feast and was even more delighted that we were still in for pastries. He accompanied us to the case and explained each one.
The red crunchy things in the big jar on the pastry case were a Lyonnais confection known as Les Pralines Roses or pink pralines, though I believe he used a different term that I have since forgotten. They could be eaten by themselves (Tommy gave us a few to try; they were very good and, yes, similar to burnt peanuts) or crushed and baked into various pastries, such as the tarte aux pralines in the case.
We settled on two hazelnut eclairs, two butter cookies, and a praline tart to go. It turned out, we had little room after all, but we’d have more by the time we got home. Of course, once in the car, we attacked one of the eclairs. We just couldn’t wait. At home, we nibbled frequently from the box over the course of the night.
The eclair was really good. Christa is not a fan of the Boston cream style of pudding common to American eclairs and so was skeptical. She was soon won over—this perfectly baked choux pastry was puffed, light, golden brown, just crisp on the outside, bit cleanly, slightly chewy on the inside and filled with a rich crème pâtissière, hazelnuts and iced with a chocolate glaze. I never chewed an eclair more slowly. Every bite involved steady breathing to taste every bit of pastry, crѐme, hazelnuts, and chocolate.
The praline tart was sugary sweet in a buttery pastry crust that fractured into delicious crumbs when cut which I pecked at like a starving hen. Using fingertips, of course. It’s hard to describe the thin filling other than that it reminded me of a shoefly or pecan pie filling topped with praline that got stuck in my teeth. I found a recipe online and if it is the same as Tommy’s method, it’s nothing but crushed pralines and heavy cream, so…yum. Sugar, almonds, and heavy cream. It tasted as great as that sounds. And my teeth were screaming for a fluoride treatment.
The butter cookies were buttery, mildly sweet, like a Scotch shortbread, and delicious. They snapped cleanly and were a perfect pair with coffee.
Tampiz was a fantastic surprise and a delicious treat to end our day in Tampa. We will definitely return and I heartily recommend them for quenching the fire for pizza when in the area. It may not be authentic, but it tastes fantastic and that’s what matters. They’ve got fantastic specials and lunch meal deals and the skillfully made pastries make the perfect end to a delicious meal.
Can the French top Italians when it comes to pizza? That’s subjective and for the beholder to decide. I’m somewhat of a purist, but not without my concessions. The French culinary tradition has much to offer any cuisine and I’m open to being the guinea pig any time. It was a damned tasty pie and I’d easily try one of their other designs or make-your-own options. I’ve just imagined a topping of raclette, bechamel, roasted garlic and mushrooms. Or prosciutto, brie, and honey. “Come back, brain.” Now I can’t even think how to close this paragraph.
Thanks for reading!