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Pizzeria Libretto

221 Ossington Ave., Toronto. 416-532-8000. Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip, $100.

The carrots at Pizzeria Libretto confound me. These carrots are in a salad called organic beet and carrot salad with flaked spigola (European sea bass) - a moniker that creates the impression of epicurean sophistication. When it arrives, it includes whole unpeeled carrots. But they are not ordinary carrots - some are yellow and some are orange. These are organic carrots, possibly heirloom. They are tossed with equally snazzy beets, both red and white, some arugula, and slightly overcooked spigola.

The confusing carrots are confusing because I don't know why they're not peeled. And this confusion is at the heart of Pizzeria Libretto's gestalt: Are the carrots unpeeled because somebody was too lazy to peel them? Or are they unpeeled because it's cool not to peel organic carrots? Everything about Pizzeria Libretto is like that - I am not fond of the scuzzy little brown spots on the carrot skin, but I think that makes me uncool. I grow organic carrots myself, and I always peel them because I find them more aesthetically appealing (and a tad sweeter) that way. Which likely makes me horribly old-fashioned.

I am even more so when it comes to lineups. Pizzeria Libretto doesn't take reservations, and the lineup starts before 6 every night. How long might your wait be? Don't bother asking, 'cause none of the personnel running by the front waiting area can or will give you any comfort or info. Until the line dissipates well after 8 p.m., you could wait half an hour for a table. But you can be cool while you wait, by writing on the big blackboard at the front. Let's face it, you can be cool just by being there, because Pizzeria Libretto is the place to be in Toronto this fall.

It's a sign of the times that a pizza parlour is getting more traction than a Susur Lee resto. When Wall Street deconstructs, Main Street Toronto tightens its belt. Which makes owners Max Rimaldi (ex Ferro) and Rocco Agostino (chef owner of The Silver Spoon) crazy like foxes. Their new pizzeria has the distinction of having imported Toronto's first real Neapolitan pizza oven, a 2,000-kilogram stone behemoth that burns wood and can reach heats of up to 900 degrees F, producing a slightly charred, blistered crust.

Is the emperor wearing any clothes? Schlepping to Ossington south of Dundas to stand in line for half an hour could be (barely) justified by kick-ass pizza. And the crust is thin and wondrously crisp, with bubbles of charred dough here and there.

But what's on top is not so happy. The toppings are pleasant, but they lack pizzazz. Is Pizzeria Libretto's tomato sauce better than anybody else's? Not even close. The sardine pizza is made with fresh sardines that the kitchen salts for a few days to cure them, and they have great flavour. But other things are much less interesting. The topping of house-made sausage with caramelized onions and high-end mozzarella is painfully bland. Same problem with quattro stagione and prosciutto/arugula pizza: These are by no means bad toppings; they simply aren't special enough to merit the attention the place is getting.

It's odd that the two best items I meet there aren't pizza: Buttermilk calamari are crisp, tender and lightly breaded, with a zingy remescu (red peppers puréed with almonds) sauce. The tastiest topping isn't on the pizza. Bruschetta is topped with chanterelle, shiitake and oyster mushrooms, which have been braised in barely there reggiano-spiked cream. Show me a chef who puts creamed exotic mushrooms on toast, and I will beat a path to his door.

Equally felicitous is the quivery lemon panna cotta. But the cannoli is about as leaden and blah as that found in any cheap pastry store on St. Clair West: A thick crepe has been deep-fried (not in the last 10 minutes) and wrapped round unexciting cream filling.

It's possible that Pizzeria Libretto's instant success is attributable in large part to its un-pizza parlour ambience. One wall is brick, one is acid-green, naked light bulbs dangle from white spaghetti strand wires. It feels very much part of the Ossington artsy metamorphosis. Which is great: If you can fool people that easily, it leaves more seats at the really good restos for the rest of us.

R.I.P. Imperia on Yorkville was a very good restaurant in the sense that it served delicious food, but it lacked the je ne sais quoi that makes a place catch on. You could see it from the moment of arrival: This place was never going to be cool or trendy or in. That cost it its life. Owner Franco Agostino has walked away and it has reopened under new owners as Blu. Meanwhile, Franco (who owns Banfi, Il Posto, and Cafe Doria) has opened Franco's at Yonge and St. Clair.