Dough Nuts

An ominous noise awoke me the morning after our meal at Fire & Stone. The distant rumbling roused me from my stupor and worst case scenarios flashed through my mind. Was I ill? Had I been poisoned? Should I get help?

But as another deafening growl erupted, I remembered the night before and realised that actually I was just viciously hungry, and with that knowledge came the wincing memory of our meal.

There is an ongoing joke in the office about me and pizzas. I love them you see, more than life itself. So any chance to review a pizza restaurant and I’m there before you’ve even tied your shoelaces. And yet Fire & Stone on George Street has been open for a year now, and I haven’t even ventured near. Why? Because I’m a pizza purist. I think the thousands of years spent perfecting pizzas should count for something. I think we should revere the simplicity of what a pizza represents, rather than bastardise it.

After the Americans got hold of it this of course was no longer possible. Deep-pan bases stuffed with cheese, Hawaiian toppings and delivery mopeds transformed the pizza landscape like Banksy let loose on the roof of the Sistine Chapel.

But Fire & Stone has taken this to a whole new level. Instead of adding a few extra toppings, they have compiled an A-Z of global food, poured it on a pizza base and shoved it in the oven. Thai curry on a pizza anyone? Chinese crispy duck? Tandoori chicken with a yoghurt base? There is even a kebab version with mint yoghurt sauce, cumin, spiced ground lamb, and raisins. Sick bag anyone?

But it was the turkey dinner on a pizza straw that broke the camel’s back. Christmas pizza, below, topped with roasted Norfolk bronze turkey, crispy roast potatoes, chestnut, sage and onion stuffing, pork and apricot sausagemeat, creamy brie, cranberry sauce and a tasty gravy base. I mean come on. Gravy on a pizza? Perlease! Does it come with reindeer food and a woolly stocking as well?

But I also realised, despite my waves of indignation, that, if for some reason Fire & Stone managed to pull it off I needed to find out for myself, so disgruntedly I trundled down to offer myself as a sacrifice to the pizza Gods.

And to my great delight, all my worst-case scenarios came true, because not only were the food combinations quite repellent, but the quality and tastes were vile too.

We ventured in on a Monday night, post theatre, so it was late and quiet. So quiet in fact that we were the only people in there. Occupying the former Old Orleans site, its a big old place, but as you know Spartan doesn’t bother me.

The girls looked at the menu, squealed in horror and promptly ordered salads, leaving poor old Muggins here to try out the dreaded pizzas. I opted for the Byron Bay, an insult to Australians if I’ve ever seen one, which consisted of pesto, mozzarella, field mushrooms, cumin roasted sweet potato, cherry tomatoes, green olives and crushed macadamia nuts. Yes you did read that right – crushed macadamia nuts on a pizza!

We were already disillusioned by the time the mains arrived, having sampled the starters. Eight pale, limp, mini mozzarella balls that tasted of warm fat, and bore no resemblance to the crisp fried breaded baby mozzarellas (£5.45) I’d ordered. Accompanied by a sour tomato chutney dip, rather than a fresh salsa, it wasn’t worth the calories.

The crisp fried chilli and coriander button mushrooms (£4.95) were marginally better, but again a reworking of an 80s kickback, and the Aegean board of grilled pitta bread served with feta and red pepper dip, tzatziki and black olive tapenade (£5.45) was a healthier bet, but as my friend pointed out, it was hard to go wrong there.

Then followed a classic Niçoise salad (£8.95), a grilled goat’s cheese salad (£9.45) and the Byron Bay pizza (£8.65). The Nicoise was fine, except it had a dribble of balsamic rather than a rich garlicky vinaigrette, so was rather dry and uninspiring. The goat’s cheese salad was basically cheese on toast which had gone soggy, resting on salad.

But it was the Byron Bay that took the biscuit and sank the Fire & Stone dream to the bottom of the deep blue sea, because it was quite revolting. The toppings were such a ridiculous mish-mash of flavours that I fully expected the chef to come running out saying ‘only joking’. It was like eating trill budgie food, but on a pizza base. And the base was as overwhelmed as me, sagging sadly in the middle.

Even convicts would have turned their noses up at this. But at least they have one thing in common with Fire & Stone - this is just daylight robbery under a different guise.

* Fire & Stone is at 26-28 George Street, Oxford, OX1 2BJ. 0844 3712552