Restaurants

By Charmaine Mok. Photography David Axelbank

We have a confession to make: after our excellent meal at Franco Manca, the staff (jokingly) made us swear to keep the place to ourselves. It has the feel of a secret rendezvous, the sort of place you'd walk past while ogling at the exotic Afro-Caribbean goodies on show in the surrounding stores (tropical fish, bootleg reggae tapes and stacks of yams line this part of the market). It has a nondescript exterior and, at the time of writing, doesn't even have a sign yet - you'd have to pace up and down the covered market (in one of the lanes between Electric Avenue and Coldharbour Lane) looking for happy diners sitting in the alleyway with half-demolished sourdough pizzas.

Indeed, for someone not in the know, Franco Manca perhaps would have only warranted a cursory glance. But as the locals will recall nostalgically, this site already has a legacy of excellent pizzerias (Eco, known before that as Pizzeria Franco) that have come and gone. This latest incarnation has big shoes to fill and so goes back to the basics - well-sourced, quality ingredients (many organic), top-notch equipment and good, chummy service. Good bases are key and here the sourdough, made with organic Italian flour and naturally leavened with wild yeast, is left to rise for a minimum of 20 hours before being baked.

A lot of work has gone into the refurb and reopening of this tiny, very modest restaurant. They flew in a cheesemaker from Sorrento to train their supplier (Alham Wood Cheeses in Somerset) in the art of mozzarella making. The formidable, almost monstrous-looking wood-burning brick oven looming from behind the counter is an authentic Forno Napoletano shipped here by the new owners from an artisan producer in Naples. As US-based food writer Jeffrey Steingarten found in his quest for the perfect pizza, it's the high temperatures of this type of Neapolitan brick oven (around 500C/930F in Franco Manca's) that create that perfectly cooked pizza base. The pizza is baked in under two minutes, the heat sealing in all the flavours of the toppings and locking in the moisture of the crust (the 'cornicione', which, to the puzzlement of the Neapolitans, is often discarded by pizza dilettantes) - lower temperature ovens dry out the dough before it gets a chance to crisp, and also don't allow the toppings to cook through properly.

The attention to these details is important because the menu lists only six simple sourdough pizza options. We chose No 3, a wild mushroom, garlic and anchovy version, and No 5, cured organic chorizo (from Brindisa), with mozzarella and buffalo ricotta. The properly thin yet elastic bases came with generous amounts of topping, very fresh-tasting tomato sauce and puffed-up, soft and slightly charred golden cornicione, which we gobbled up as well.

A slight heavy-handedness with the anchovies had us guzzling our drinks after the first few bites. Not to worry, as filtered tap water flows freely in this place. If we hadn't been so stuffed, a smooth espresso (a roast from Monmouth Coffee Company) would have gone down a treat, as it did for the family sitting next to us.

Staff puttered around the tiny space with unrelenting energy, never forgetting to make sure that their customers were well-catered for. They cheerfully spun pizza dough, joked with customers and are clearly proud of the fruits of their labour. Brixton Market has got a real gem of a pizzeria in its midst. Again.

Time Out Issue 1965: April 17-23