Walking around the tiny building that's home to Pia's Trattoria, reveling in the ozone-fresh breeze from a typical summer thunderstorm blowing away the wet blanket of summer humidity, it's easy to buy into the charm of the place. The restaurant's thatched-roof outdoor dining room is stocked with colorfully-clothed picnic tables topped by a slew of mismatched lanterns, and surrounded by fragrant Florida foliage that crowds the scene without getting in the way.
In truth, the "random" décor is dangerously close to purposeful eclecticism — no table shares the same pattern of fabric or lantern style — but it works, especially when the checked tablecloths are topped by Pia's wonderfully straightforward Italian fare.
Portions are large, service is casual and Pia herself — a petite, dark-haired woman — has been known to cruise the dining room. She and husband Tom Goff (a Sarasota native) met in Germany while she was running a biergarten. They returned to the States to raise their four kids and opened the Gulfport restaurant to feature Pia's family recipes. She still picks the beer selections.
This night, she comes to our table to explain that some of the dishes are going to be delayed, due to a blown breaker from a lightning-fueled power surge. No problem, really. We'll just have more Prosecco.
When the food arrives — much quicker than we expect — it hits the table with a splash of rustic touches. No spring mix here at Pia's; her eponymous salad ($6) is a blend of spicy arugula and crisp romaine chopped by hand, along with creamy gorgonzola, fresh mozzarella and a lively vinaigrette. Her caprese ($8) forgoes the usual layered slices of mozz and tomato in favor of a big bowl of the same, mixed with red onion, strips of bright green basil and a lively balsamic vinaigrette.
Mussels ($12.50) bathe in steamy broth redolent of garlic and tomato paste. We dredge each morsel of plump shellfish — as well as leftover hunks of crusty bread — through the sauce before consumption. Pia's pressed "spezial panini" ($8.50), cut into fourths, also makes for a hefty starter — the crisp and herbed foccacia is rich with fruity olive oil and loaded with bacon, fresh mozzarella and balsamic-marinated mushrooms.
While noshing through our first course, the pastoral patio begins to fill up with a typical Gulfport dining crowd: here a few tourists on a restaurant crawl, there a mom and daughters in for a quick tiramisu fix; and scattered around are couples of all ages and sexual orientations. That fabled Gulfport intimacy is also present, the servers greeting some by name and treating others as if they'll soon be able to do the same with them.
Pasta forms the core of Pia's menu, but it falls a little short of the other dishes. Sauces are simple and noodles are barely dressed, an appropriately Italian touch, but flavors feel muted. The bright dried tomatoes in Pesto rosso ($10.50) make only an occasional appearance, leaving a tangle of angel hair doused largely in bland olive oil. Arrabiata ($10.50) is darkly spicy and much more assertive, but at the core is a hint of over-charred peppers.
I might quibble with preparation here and there, but there is a single, incredibly potent culinary touch that would elevate Pia's from a quaint neighborhood pasta house to a trattoria to be truly reckoned with: fresh pasta. According to chef and manager Jonathan Summers, they occasionally make sheet pasta for manicotti and such, but the rest of the offerings come out of packages.
Even the most pedestrian of Pia's simple sauces could become significantly better if the restaurant subbed in a couple of fresh noodles for the long list of dried shapes. Extra work, but it would make a big difference, and it suits the style of the place.
There are no problems with Pia's nightly lasagna ($15). The huge layered hunk has been cut from a large pan and heated in the oven with a puddle of red sauce, the top a bubbly, blistered expanse of crisped pasta and cheese. The interior is a melting mass of tender pasta, luscious béchamel and a meaty red sauce, which provides a significant hit of herbacious acidity that enlivens the splendid block of fat and carb.
Besides the décor, focus is the reason why Pia's is so popular and why the place has garnered a passel of admiring reviews (and you can add this one to the list). Salads. Pasta. Sandwiches. Pia's doesn't try to meet the need of every fan of pseudo-Italian cuisine stalking Pinellas restaurants. No scallopine, no chops, no wood-fired pizza oven.
It's just a neighborhood trattoria — Florence via Beach Boulevard — with Pia doing what she does, well and simply, in a surrounding that manages to distill Gulfport's relaxed neighborhood aura.
This article appears in Sep 12-18, 2007.