A slice of perfection that left me pining for more

Little Forest is not a pizza joint. Sure, it serves stupendously good pizza, but this little restaurant is about more than that. It is the creation of Sandy and John Wyer of Forest Avenue and Forest & Marcy fame, widely known for subtle, creative, innovative cooking and outstanding dishes that don’t go full tweezers. By which I mean it’s never fiddly or fecky. If you don’t know what I’m on about, no matter. You’re probably fortunate.

Little Forest’s gestation and birth were difficult. It turned out to be a building with some complex issues that took a long time to fix. Then, just as everything was ready, the pandemic struck.

They had already secured the services of Reggie White who headed the kitchen at Pi, the city centre restaurant that raised Neapolitan pizza – no pun intended – to new heights as it took Dublin by storm. He was accompanied on the journey south to Blackrock by his colleague Shane Windrum.

As a result, Little Forest became balm to the souls of south Dubliners during successive lockdowns, doing a roaring trade in takeaways. At the height of lockdown, getting a pickup slot was like winning the lotto.

Now, at last, Little Forest is what was intended all along: a restaurant that does possibly the best pizza in the city. And more. Whether or not you agree depends, to some extent, on how you like your pizza. This is the genuine Neapolitan article and I hear that dozens of sourdough starters were trialled before the current formula was hit upon.

Neapolitan pizza is blistered (at a very, very high temperature), the crust raised and slightly blackened, the body of the pizza still soft, even a bit floppy. Like all pizza, it’s designed to be eaten using your hands rather than with any implements. With this texture, you can fold it before sinking your teeth in.

If you’re thinking, no, pizza is meant to be thin and crisp, that’s a fundamentally different version, the Roman pizza. There are all sorts of other variations too, plus the – to my mind – quite hideous Chicago style which is, to be honest, a pie, and not a pizza.

Anyway, we were lucky to squeeze in on a bitterly cold and windy Thursday evening. I stress, you really do have to book.

There are breads, snacks, antipasti and pizza. Note, there’s no pasta. Pasta is a different area of expertise and Little Forest is a purist operation.

To kick off we had oysters with a brilliantly fruity, tart tomato vinaigrette (€9 for 3) and the arancini of Caciocavallo cheese, which is similar to Provolone (€7). These little spheres of moist, sticky, deeply savoury risotto encased in crisped breadcrumbs were, well, frankly divine. I think I could have eaten a couple of dozen but it’s just as well that I didn’t.

Because then there would have been no appetite for what the menu describes baldly as ‘savoury donut, caramelised onion, parmesan’ (€6). These (they come in pairs) were indeed doughnuts (as I spell it) with a

FEATHERLIGHT LITTLE SPHERES WITH THEIR SNOWDRIFT OF GRATED AGED PARMESAN

purée of thoroughly caramelised onion, its enhanced sweetness balanced out by just enough wine vinegar, sherry at a guess. Reading that sentence, I realise that it gives very little idea of how these featherlight little spheres with their snowdrift of grated aged Parmesan perform on the palate. They behaved as perfect appetisers. Not a word I like, but they really provoke the appetite without blunting it.

Onwards, then, unto pizza. We had the nduja, ricotta and honey one that came also with tallegio (€17). These two cheeses, one luxuriously creamy, the other almost buttery and highly savoury, were the backdrop to the chilli heat and porkiness of the nduja. And the honey, in a perfectly judged amount, pulled everything together with a touch – just a touch – of sweetness.

The other was the classic salsiccie picante and jalapeño (€17) with a concentrated tomato background and lots of mozzarella, a lovely exercise in chilli and cheese. Of course, the texture was perfect: Blistered, faintly blackened (which adds just enough bitterness for a proper grown-up taste) and impeccably floppy. Despite the searing heat at which they were cooked, they remained perfectly moist and juicy. I discreetly licked occasional drips off my wrist. At least, I hope it was discreetly.

There are just two desserts and I have to say the bread pudding with zabaglione with sultanas and a compôte of black fig was ideal for a cold night (€8). It was clever to add the zabaglione as a sauce because this combination of egg yolks and booze can be a bit much when served on its own, as it usually is.

Oh, and we had a brilliant green salad, with plenty of well-dressed organic bitter winter leaves, in the true Italian fashion, that came under lots of fluffy Parmesan (€7).

Little Forest may be small in scale, but it has a big heart. And the cooking is ace.