This Neapolitan pizza has a taken quite a geographical spin (yes, I must add that), emigrating from the Midwestern region of Kansas City–where I lavishly devoured those succulent BBQ meats in a gas station–to the region where oranges used to heavily settle.
A 2nd location of Spin Pizza happened to be built (from a former local pizza joint) for about a year in my neighborhood, Los Alamitos, next to a locally historic fire station now turned museum; then unveiling roughly a month ago, as I write this post.
The storefront was frankly confusing for me to interpret. This eatery can be easily spotted when you’re riding through its address, and has an entrance door to prove it. However, I have found 3 routes on how to bring your car, all by awkwardly crawling through practically perceivable alleyways to eventually park behind the edifice and the main street. There is indeed another entrance, but this one is the bigger and more accessible version, leading to where servers will assist you getting seated.
I will note the directions near the end of this post, but this is my forewarning especially to those who tend to hurry up and go by ravenously for some pizzas–or if you looked at their online menu already, their salads, paninis, beer and wine, and gelato.
But tummies do need to wait, simultaneously perusing through the menus while lining up before confidently ordering at the counter. How seating will take place is now in your own hands, after the cashier offers you both a receipt inside their practically hard-to-close booklet, which also carries their little Spin! Club form, and a lightweight but bulky wooden wedge blatantly revealing your order number for the server to scour through a vast fiery red and woodsy atmosphere that can easily fit a wedding reception for about 100 occupants.
A ticking yet meaningful minutes later I received this wonderful repast: a Mini Mia that involves a 1/2 portion salad (or a cup of soup or a handful of chips–pick your veggies as you please) and a 6-inch Neapolitan pizza.
For the mini pie, whether it’d be a 6-incher or 1 inch longer than the standard ruler, the regular crust comes out as relatively thin yet pleasantly chewy with the pleasurable crispness on the exterior, after enduring the requisite of stone oven baking for less than 2 minutes, grabbing them with their peel that’s crazily taller than my inborn height. The dough was quite remarkably fragrant and delicately toasty, bolstering the subtly tangy tomato sauce, zesty mozzarella cheese and the 3 pertinently plentiful meats: weighty yet succulent roasted meatballs, classically tasty pepperoni, and lightly seasoned, juicy Italian sausage.
Meanwhile, there’s something in that simple-sounding salad that unexpectedly evoked my gustation at such high impression. Rarely and frankly do I become wowed with something that can seriously be created with little effort at home, regardless of the cost of the ingredient; this salad, however, was oddly an exception.
Could it be that beautiful, harmonious medley of sweet glazed pecans, borderline pungent goat cheese, sliced crimini mushrooms, ripened grape tomatoes, delectable crumbles of the well-balanced salty Italian bacon tossed with the adorable pile of baby spinach? Or was it this subdued yet robust-invoking Chianti vinaigrette that nailed everything…
Whatever elusive factor it was, barely a week later I revisited for this particular 2nd dose. This time…
Regardless of the separation technique, no visual deception took place. My salad was still rhythmically delicious, and I certainly need a dining partner to either choose what I’ve been getting or pick a different for me to sample a different green.
And my fun-sized pizza rebels outside the Neapolitan box by going Bianca (i.e. no tomato base) and Gluten-Free.
What makes the lack of the crimson edible enhances the lusciousness of the mozzarella raised high like a good range in wifi strength. Even though the crusted ingredient cannot fall under true Neapolitan qualities, what understandably substituted with this wheat-whacked delight was its higher firmness, subtly sweet–guessing they incorporated honey–that went excellently with the garlic and olive oil slather all over the charred spinach and silky yet inconceivably succulent Italian cured meat atop the enriching roasted onion fig marmalade. My slight financial caveat is that opting for gluten-free will make your pizza priced higher.
Now when it comes to pizza picking, instead of ordering that aims for a party of one, you can gather your posse and savor for the 13″ versions. Aside from the type of crust, what I have chosen was based on predetermined toppings, under the categories Rossa, Bianca, and Classica–which uses wheat crust at no extra charge. Otherwise you can customize how you’d like your ingredients scattered at a heavier cost, so as for me, I have already found another pizza destination to take care of this minor setback.
Going retrospectively, I was darned curious about their colorful gelato assortments. After asking questions about their scooping policy, I was astonished yet intrigued that you don’t have to order just 1 flavor in your desirably sized cup. If you’d like 1/2 a scoop of their Blueberry Buttercookie and 1/2 a scoop of Dark Chocolate Raspberry–or 1/2 Pumpkin Cheesecake, 1/4 Mint Chocolate, 1/4 Limoncello–they’re not stopping you, as long as they fit into either their petite or regular-sized cup.
Of the svelte flavors I had a chance to give one lick each, I fancied the delectably vibrant Limoncello sorbet, the sensual and naughty Pumpkin Cheesecake, and the happy-go-lucky Blueberry Buttercream.
I decided that my lengua would slick onto the last aforementioned flavor, priced at $2.95 for small.
Claiming to have less butterfat as opposed to the quintessential ice creams, the smoothness of this particular scoop did reveal a little compromise. In spite of its absolutely dense substance, the palatal feel of richness wasn’t easily discernible. Yet thankfully, random pockets of air were absent. I additionally loved the fact that this frozen confection didn’t melt easily, especially when my warm hand kept holding onto the paper cup while I sleekly scraped the top of the icy-ish dairy with that dainty pink gelato spoon. Finally for the most critical: I enjoyed nipping those teeny, crumbly pieces of the buttercookie randomly embedded alongside remnants of this tart berry piquancy for a more animated texture.
Spin Pizza has already revolutionized my perspective on neighborhood pizza, drastically lessening my automobile miles for grabbing a pie of sorted sizes, with certain exceptions of birthday gatherings or friendly foodie adventures. The easier and less cramped approach to drive to Spin is to enter Green Avenue and make an immediate right on the alleyway–don’t worry, it’s open-spaced–where you’ll shortly end up at the backside, as shown on the 1st picture.
But if this pizzeria still doesn’t plug into your personal mileage vocabulary, there’s a Spin established in the city of Orange, or you can anticipate the 3rd location somewhere in Huntington Beach.
SPIN! Neapolitan Pizza
11122 Los Alamitos Blvd.
Los Alamitos, CA 90720