The menu at this Hoxton pizzeria bears a disclaimer: you’re not allowed to ask for alterations. Because – it says – these will spoil the balance of flavours. It’s a rather puritanical ethos, where particular importance is placed on the regional provenance of ingredients and using ‘ancient grain’ stoneground flour for the bases.
The trouble is, all this earnestness doesn’t half crank up expectations. Which is not to say that the pizzas we picked weren’t good: the anchovies on our cheeseless rosse were delicious, and the gorgonzola on the white bianche worked in fabulous tandem with the honey. But, in a city fast filling with truly excellent pizza places, good is just that: no more, no less. And when there were misfires, like a starter of mortadella dusted far too sparsely in ground pistachios, it started to feel like all talk and no action.
That said, Radio Alice is stylishly decorated, cosily lit, and a lovely space to spend a couple of hours. It makes mean bitter spritzes too: Mediterranean sunshine in liquid form. The name, incidentally, comes from a 1970s Bologna pirate radio station whose remit was the radical and avant-garde. If only this place stopped trying so hard to follow suit. Come on, it’s pizza!