Molto is Bueno

I had lunch with Rachel Ray today.

Though it wasn't as cool as you might think. The Food Network personality wasn't sitting across from me, nor did I have to listen to her distinctly nettlesome voice. She was mutely projected on the whitewashed walls of Pizzeria Molto (1215 Post Road, Fairfield) chopping bananas and microwaving frozen peas.

Entertainment provided by the Food Network at lunch is metaphoric of the casual wait staff. Clad in white or black shirts and dark denim, your waiter may constantly dub you "buddy" or "man." It made me believe that perhaps in another life we were friends.

Casual as they seem, they are efficient, sometimes only asking how your meal is while hastily passing your table. Busboys are quick to refill depleted water glasses and carry away dirtied dishes as well.

As Molto never takes reservations, it can be quite a chore to get a table. It's always bustling with an array of clientele, from white-collared executives who just hopped off the Metro-North to local college students sneaking away from insipid cafeteria grub.

As Molto isn't the reservation-taking type, dining primetime in the winter is tough. Though still difficult, the supplemental terrace seating in the warmer months makes dining at 7 o'clock possible.

Eating on the faded brick patio, sitting in faux wicker chairs, hands rested on the marble tabletops while sipping wine from their extensive list sounds like a delight. The only downfall is the occasional, blatting motorcycle or big-rig bustling down the Post Road. Sometimes even a passerby's stray plume of cigarette smoke.

Inside, noise during the dinner rush can also be problematic.  Conversations at one table seem to brawl with the conversations at another; diners haven't yet taken to the idea of leaning in to the table for light discourse. To the soft-spoken or hard-of-hearing: Beware. But even so, it tends to be much less distracting than the crack of a passing Harley Davidson.

Sepia snapshots of rustic Italian life hang on the walls just above the cherry-leather booths. The cynosure bar is a long slab of ashen marble illuminated by hanging decorative lamps and petit-chandeliers with bar stools that match the booths. A sizeable mirror accents the bar's rear, shelf-studded wall. You can see the brick oven through the open kitchen window.

Pizzeria Molto, by name alone, might leave you doubting its capability of ousting any number of Fairfield's red sauce, pre-shredded mozzarella, pizza-slinging joints. But it does.

Perhaps their pizzas aren't Promethean in concept, but compared to your average grab-a-slice-and-go joint they're daringly refreshing.  Eat the California pizza ($14.50), layered with peppery arugala, morsels of lime and bits of ripe avocado. It's slightly messy. Expect halved Roma tomatoes and tender shrimp to tumble to your plate as your lips take on an olive oil sheen. Your fingers will glisten too.

Pizza standards such as the Margherita ($10.50), or the burrata ($14.50), which is named after the inimitably creamy, burrata cheese, lashed with tomato sauce, olives and a smattering of basil, also appear for those with a simpler palate.

But before diving into the pizza, don't bypass the tapas. Just like everything in America, the portions are super sized compared to its traditional three bite, Spanish brethren. A mid-sized man can quite possibly leave sated with just two. Possibly three.

Try the risotto ($8.50), creamy yet textured, made earthen with mushrooms and a slight drizzle of truffle oil, nutty from Parmigiano shavings. There are roasted beats ($8.50) commingled with crumbled Gorgonzola and roasted walnuts. Its flavors are proportionate albeit a touch dry.

"What is that gentleman eating behind me?" asked a woman seated at the table to my left.

"That's the Giardiniera salad ($12.50)," he answered.

I wanted to tell her that it was a forgettable choice. I bit my tongue and she ordered it. Seemingly as if the gardener himself prepared a compost pile on the plate, lettuces are topped with pulpy eggplant, artichokes, roasted asparagus and zucchini all served cold. On another restaurant's menu this would probably read "chopped salad."

Chicken is thinly sliced, lightly charred, and served with a mess of arugula greens, cured olives and concealed bits of mozzarella for the chicken paillard ($16.50); the drizzling of balsamic reduction is like a minimalist Pollock job.

With a wine list of about 50 wines, the descriptor of wine bar is somewhat fitting. Though you won't find any famous chateaux from Bordeaux or a Burgundian grand cru, if you prod around enough you might find a wine to your liking. I enjoyed the Dr. Loosen Riesling from Mosel, Germany: flowers and pear, a touch of tangerine on the palate and pleasant acidity; it's off dry but not cloying.

Dessert is merely an afterthought here. Enjoyable though is the tiramisu ($6): rich with espresso laced ladyfingers, a blanket of velvet-mascarpone, a daub of whipped cream. Of course both cheesecake and chocolate flourless cake also inhabit the menu. But don't they at most places?

Rachel Ray would be impressed though. And just like her you'll probably leave saying "Yum-O."