This is an Austrian restaurant.
No pesto dishes in sight. Hmmm. What else might be fresh, flavourful?
On the menu, which has perhaps too many offerings (that sea bass is sure to have come out of the freezer) -- a pizza Margherita -- tomato and cheese. Cheese, not otherwise specified. Aha. What sort of cheese? The usual, says the waitress to me. Butterkaese. Not Mozzarella? No. -- So I ordered a pizza marinara with two add-ons, Mozzarella and basil, and it was very decent. This conservatism of mine means that I've passed up a chance to learn if the Austrians, with Butterkaese instead of Mozzarella, have improved on what the Italians had supposedly perfected. But that's OK. I've never had pineapple on pizza either, or tried Morris dancing. St Peter is going to ask about these things, you know.
Service: Disorganised but sweet. Wine, rather good, from a list with quite a few choices of by-the-glass, came late, as did a fork; no napkin ever arrived. Two young women, run off their feet. So it goes.
Ambience: Tables, chairs, beach umbrellas set up in a parking lot in a semi-industrial neighbourhood. Sparrows begging for crusts. Sordid or authentic, take your pick.
Value for money... well. It was pizza. Thin-crust, crunchy, flavourful. At half price from a a takeout window it would have been an absolute steal. I had two glasses of red wine and a small pizza and, with tip, handed over €17. Meh.
No credit cards accepted. More difficult for the tax auditors, also more difficult for the prospective guest. And SO twentieth-century. Serious flaw.
Conclusion, not half bad. But also, by the same coin, not half good. Maybe the place to have your evening meal if you're overnighting near the airport to catch an early flight. Certainly not a "vaut le voyage" place.
And if you're particular about the cheese on your pizza... watch out.
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