Mario’s is a pizzeria, a good one; but oh, what a Cuban sandwich it makes! Components are the expected roster, and yet a first bite tells eaters they are tucking into something different.
Constructed not on an airy pan Cubano, but in a dense ciabatta roll that gets the panini treatment, it is press-cooked until the bread becomes a hard shell.
Beyond the roll’s crunch, the sandwich is full of surprises. Briny dill pickle spears snap when teeth cut into them. Dressing—is it mayo or mustard or mayo and mustard?—is eye-opening sharp. Sliced pork, which so often is just a supporting player in the Cuban sandwich cast, is stunningly flavorful, like an expertly seasoned Sunday roast. Ham is sweet and soft. Cheese is creamy up to the bread’s outer edges, where it stiffens and turns brittle. What is remarkable about this sandwich is that each of its elements thrives. Nothing lurks in the background or dominates its mates.
Cuban sandwich
I have yet to eat anything perfunctory at Mario’s. The Cuban comes with potato chips, which probably are perfunctory—a fact I wouldn’t know because I pay $2 extra to get French fries instead. It would be a shame to eat at Mario’s and ignore French fries. Peek into the kitchen, and you see the machine used to cut potatoes, which then are brined and fried twice to become crisp and creamy skin-ons with potato flavor forthright enough to match the mightiest sandwich.
French fries
The French fries are so perfect that merely salting them seems presumptuous; and yet, it’s hard not to recommend a dish called Kickin Chicken Fries. That’s melted cheese, pieces of roast chicken, spicy Buffalo sauce, ranch dressing, and jalapeno peppers heaped upon a stack of fries. The potatoes’ subjugation is sad; but they do make a grand epicurean cushion.
Like the sandwiches, Mario’s sturdy-crusted pizzas conjoin disparate ingredients without muffling any one. Expect each item on a pie to have a forward personality.
It is possible to design your own, choosing from a normal inventory of vegetables and meats; but Mario’s predetermined specialty pies can lure an appetite in search of something different. These include a taco-meat Mexican pizza served with salsa, a pulled pork pizza with barbecue sauce, and a creation named Itza Pizza that is topped with garlicky olive oil, sliced tomatoes, and pepperoni. Sesame seeds spangle its chewy crust, which is reminiscent of a Philadelphia hot pretzel.
Sweet Mother Clucker and Anthony Pesto pizzas
One with the cringeworthy name Sweet Mother Clucker features a chili base that virtually glows. It is scattered with chicken that, like the Cuban sandwich’s pork, delivers significant flavor that could be that of a dinner’s main course. Pickled banana pepper rings and slivers of purple onion share space with the chicken in melted mozzarella and a veil of hot honey.
Before you bite into the pie called Anthony Pesto, its aroma tells tastebuds to come to attention. A nose-tingling balsamic glaze complements the distinctive smells of pesto and pepperoni in such a way that simply inhaling as it arrives at the table is a sensuous pleasure.
Need I suggest that Mario’s will not bring joy to an authenticity stickler? If pizza is a sacrosanct Neapolitan recipe that ought not suffer alteration, Mario’s kitchen is guilty of blasphemy. On the other hand, if it is a blank flatbread canvas on which pizzaioli are free to express their creativity, Mario’s offers tons of fun. It is entirely possible to come for something close to a proper margherita pie of which even a pizza pedant might approve; but it can be a mischievous thrill to throw propriety to the wind and sail into a Maui Wowie pizza that combines pineapple, jalapenos, ham, bacon, and hot honey.
If not immaculately Italian, neither do any of the pizzas served at this 3-year-old Main Street storefront purport to reflect a particular American regional style. There’s no Chicago deep dish, no Quad Cities strips, no ultra-thin St. Louis cuts, and no by-the-slice New York-style street food. And of course, there is no uniquely local variation because neither Edgefield County nor the South in general has one.
Right: Dining room
The point is that Mario’s pizzas are impossible to pigeonhole. They’re exuberant, kitschy, and, by orthodox culinary standards, ersatz. That’s OK by me! Exploring the eclectic and eccentric menu at Mario’s—named to honor Mario Colarossi, proprietor Nino Colarossi’s late father—is a mouthwatering adventure.
Mario’s Pizzeria: 209 Main St., Edgefield, South Carolina, 803-384-5006.
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