Pizzeria Badiali, Vodka Pie, spicy vodka rosé sauce, fior di latte, pecorino, padano, Sicilian
This has been a rough week in Red Sox Nation. Our favourite coach is gone. Five others followed. The losing, naturally, stayed right where it was, dependable as ever.
So I did what any loyal fan with questionable judgment would do and made a quick trip to Toronto to see my boys play. I am a Red Sox fan until death do us part, and likely well beyond, which means I willingly walked into a stadium full of Blue Jays fans knowing exactly how this story ends.
But first, a small act of self-preservation.
Before subjecting myself to nine innings of emotional erosion, we went to Pizzeria Badiali, the neighbourhood pizza shop that has been hyped into near legend as the best slice in Toronto. There is always a lineup, which usually means something between excellent and overblown. We preordered, because even hope needs structure.
We ordered the Vodka Pie, a 16 inch situation with spicy vodka rosé sauce, fior di latte, pecorino, padano, Sicilian oregano, plus a generous side of green garlic ranch dip. At this point, subtlety had already left the building.
And then the pizza arrived, and everything else, including the upcoming baseball game, briefly lost relevance.
The crust is the first thing that gets you. The bottom has that deep, golden crisp that crackles just slightly when you fold it, but the inside stays soft and airy, almost cloudlike without feeling underdone. It’s the kind of structure that makes you wonder how many mediocre slices you’ve tolerated in your life without protest.
The sauce does not sit quietly either. It’s bright, slightly tangy, with just enough heat to keep things interesting, and it tastes unmistakably fresh, like it hasn’t spent a second longer than necessary pretending to be anything else. The cheeses melt into it rather than on top of it, creating something cohesive instead of layered, rich without tipping into heavy.
And then there’s the ranch. Green garlic ranch should not work this well, and yet here we are. It adds a punchy, herby richness that turns each bite into something slightly excessive and completely necessary. You don’t need it, but once you start, you’re not going back.
This is the kind of pizza that slows you down, not because it’s heavy, but because it demands attention. You notice the balance, the texture, the way each element actually seems to have been thought through. It’s not just good. It’s intentional, which is rarer than it should be.
Because then I went to the game.
Lost in a sea of 40,000 plus Blue Jays fans, I watched the Red Sox lose 8 to 1 to a team that looked just as uncertain, only slightly luckier. There were no doubt other Sox fans in attendance, but they were few and far between.
I locked eyes with exactly one. He stayed quiet, head down, as if visibility alone might make things worse. Even when I glanced over after a rare Sox home run, hoping for a shared moment of defiance, he didn’t look up. Some fans cheer. Others survive.
But that pizza. I am still thinking about it.
Next time I am in Toronto, Badiali will not be the pregame. It will be the main event.
If only the Red Sox could deliver something half as satisfying, I might finally stop planning my trips around emotional recovery meals.
Pizzeria Badiali, 81 Dovercourt Rd, Toronto, ON M6J 3C6, Canada
