Triple Beam Pizza
Can you get more LA than this?
Oh, Triple Beam. Where do we even begin.
Let’s start with the name. What in the hell does “triple beam” mean? Is it a gymnastics reference? Is it because they sell their pizza in rectangles? Or it it because they used to weigh it on a scale (sometimes known as a triple beam balance)?
Thankfully they’ve stopped doing that, possibly because of Covid-19 (an unverified theory from someone on Instagram). But that doesn’t mean I’m letting them off the hook.
The first time I tried Triple Beam (the one on Sunset in Echo Park) was sometime in 2019, and I’ll never forget the feeling of shock and horror as I witnessed them slice that square pizza with a pair of scissors like monsters, then slap it on the scale like a piece of meat, then calculate a completely inane price that would be different every single time.
The way you ordered was by going “Lemme get about this much,” holding your hands in front of you like a referee. It’s a comically stupid way of ordering that - in retrospect - is very Italian in its utter impracticality and overreliance on the use of hand gestures.
And this is where I eat my words.
Turns out, this practice is authentically Italian. Known as “Al Taglio,” which translates to “by the slice,” this style was invented in Rome and is commonly found all across Italy. Shows what I know.
In any case, they’ve since switched to a more simple, if less unique pricing scheme. But that doesn’t mean I’m done complaining.
First of all, you only get three choices: 3 slices (quarter pie), 6 slices (half pie), or 12 slices (whole pie). This is frustrating because sometimes you just want 1 slice, or maybe 2. Who is Triple Beam to dictate my hunger levels?
You also can’t mix and match (like an American). You have to commit to one flavor (like an Italian).
Speaking of flavor, let’s check out that menu.
It’s an ambitious menu that strives for contemporary California fancy pizza vibes. Acorn squash with honey!? Mexican street corn on pizza!? What do you think this is, the James Beard Awards!?
Actually, it might be. The restaurant is a collaboration between Nancy Silverton, owner of the highly acclaimed Italian joint Osteria Mozza in Silverlake, and her ace chef Matt Molina. Not only have they each won James Beard Awards, but they earned a prestigious Michelin star for Osteria Mozza two years in a row. They even wrote a cookbook together. Mario Batali wrote the intro (before he got cancelled).
Suffice it to say, these two are the definition of California foodies with the accolades to prove it. And that’s where they lose me. Too much striving, too much innovation, too much fuss.
Look, I’ve seen The Bear, it’s highly entertaining television. But those people are insufferable! And they’re all miserable.
Speaking of misery, if there’s one surefire way to piss off Italians, it’s by putting sacred prosciutto next to pineapple and jalapeño. Only in California could you get away with such a crime.
I miss the old days, when pizza was just pizza. Today, everyone needs a schtick. I do concede that owning a restaurant has never been harder. And it’s probably true that innovation is the only way to stay afloat. For Triple Beam, that meant bringing Roman style pizza sold by weight to Los Angeles, then ditching the weight scheme entirely to sell predetermined amounts of pizza for probably too much money. And then you have assholes like me, panning them no matter what they do.
I may stretching for things to complain about here, but one thing Triple Beam is not is simple, and this critic longs for the simple, tasty, decently priced pizza slices of my homeland. Big Mario’s in Seattle shows that it can certainly be done here on the West Coast.
Fussiness aside, how is the pizza?
It’s okay. I ordered the roasted sausage with fennel and goat cheese ($10.50).
There was way too much fennel for my taste. This slice also needed salt. You should never have to salt your pizza. I didn’t realize this was white pizza, which is not my preference. Referring back to the menu, it comes with Fontina, which is a famously delicate cheese that is just too mild for this Jersey Boy. There’s nothing terribly wrong with this slice, but I would be lying if I said I was impressed. it looks better than it tastes. For this many ingredients, it honestly tastes kind of bland. Should’ve ordered the pepperoni.
Seeking out parmesan, I find another problem area. Those despicable paper packets of cheese and pepper flakes. Have you never heard of a shaker?
This problem is not specific to Triple Beam. It’s an issue all across California. The only place where I’ve found actual shakers of cheese and red pepper (not to mention garlic powder and oregano, which are always missing) is Tarantino’s in Pasadena.
I rip open a packet of parmesan cheese and sprinkle it across my slice, creating extra trash along the way. This cheese is absolutely dry and lifeless, like sawdust. The only thing it’s good for is providing much needed salt to the meal.
Then I go for the pepper flakes, but accidentally douse the entire packet on one slice, kind of ruining it. This is why shakers were invented, dude.
The main area where Triple Beam shines is the crust. It’s crispy on the bottom and chewy in the middle with a deep and tasty flavor. This is Roman style pizza, so not quite thin crust, but certainly not thick either… it’s somewhere in between.
I wash it all down with complimentary soda water on tap, the kind of luxury you only find in LA.
I finish my three small slices, but I’m only 75% full. If you add them together, this portion is basically the size of one large New York style slice. But it costs over $10 and you’re not allowed to order more unless you go for another 3 slices.
You know what, I take back what I said about the pizza by weight thing being utterly impractical. It’s starting to make sense - you can order the perfect amount for your hunger levels.
But that system is gone, and there ain’t no way I’m spending $20 on pizza for just one person. I’d rather go home and round out the meal by eating Cheez-Its until I get a bellyache.
FINAL THOUGHTS
I see the ambition. I see what they’re going for. The aspiration to bring authentic Roman pizza to LA is kind of cool. But in practice, this place annoys the crap out of me. That’s not to say the pizza is bad. It’s not. It won’t knock your socks off, but it’s probably better than most pizza in Los Angeles (what can we say, the bar is low). Still, something about it rubs me the wrong way. There’s an ego to it all that screams California at the top of its lungs. The fussiness factor is off the charts. All things considered, I give it the following score.
WEST COAST: 7
EAST COAST: 5
