The incredible, gravity-defying pizza putting Sydney’s Little Italy back on the map

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You don’t have to look far to find good pizza in Sydney. Whether you prefer thin and blistered Neapolitan pies, something light and leopard-spotted, or doughier and enriched by olive oil, there is a decent version in almost every direction. There isn’t anything quite like this pizza, though, and you’ll need to make a special trip to Little Italy to try it.

For the past 16 years, Aperitivo, dressed proudly in the colours of il Tricolore, has been a fixture of Norton Street. Until recently, it was a classic Italian restaurant doing classic Italian things.

Last year, the restaurant changed hands, snapped up by Michele Rispoli, a fourth-generation restaurateur from Positano and owner of Capriccio Osteria, two doors up. Since taking over, he’s introduced a style of pizza the suburb hasn’t seen before.

It’s called canotto – named for its signature cloud-like crust that balloons around the edges like an inflatable raft (canotto means rubber dinghy in Italian).

Beyond Aperitivo, you can count the Sydney restaurants doing something similar on one hand – Gigi’s in Balmain and Pizzeria La Regina in Redfern among them.

“There’s only around six to 12 people around the world, that I know of, that are doing this kind of pizza,” Rispoli says. “Some do it as a hobby at home, but not in a restaurant because it’s very hard to do.”

Rispoli knew it might divide the locals, who take their Italian traditions seriously – this is, after all, a suburb that historically shuts its main street whenever Italy plays in the World Cup.

“I was worried they’d say it’s too soft, or it’s not cooked properly, because a lot of people here like their pizza thin and crispy,” he says. “But it’s a beautiful pizza. So I thought, let’s take a gamble.”

Aperitivo’s pizzaiolo, Christian Faccenda, can attest to just how temperamental the dough can be. The Naples-born chef spent five years refining the recipe, then another month adapting it to Australian conditions.

The dough runs at a hydration of 77 per cent (far above the standard 60) and ferments for between 48 and 72 hours. The margin for error is microscopic.

“If you leave it outside the fridge for too long, you ruin the dough. If you leave it inside the fridge for too long, you ruin the dough,” says Rispoli. “Everything has to be right at the same time for it to work.”

Inside Aperitivo’s dual wood fire-and-gas oven, the high moisture content turns to steam, inflating the crust into ripples of tiny air pockets that create an almost honeycomb-like structure. The result is improbably light: a crust that stretches and sighs as you pull it apart, with gentle tang and smoky char. It made me do the unthinkable – flip the slice around and eat it crust-first, savouring every mouthful.

Given the sheer altitude of the crust, it would be easy to overlook the toppings. The pomodoro balances sweet blistered heirloom tomatoes against salty speck, while the salsiccia is heftier, topped with a house-made pork-and-fennel sausage and slender porcini mushrooms, the whole thing pooled in a reduced porcini stock.

And because the dough is mostly air, there’s room for other things too. Arancini arrives crisp-shelled and studded with peas, while the linguine scoglio is tangled with prawns, clams and barramundi slicked in briny-sweet oil.

The drinks list is, unsurprisingly, spritz heavy – Rispoli’s family is from the Amalfi Coast, after all. There’s the glowing orange original served in oversized balloon glasses, alongside versions splashed with vermouth rosé, passionfruit liqueur and limoncello.

Positioned towards the back of the Norton Street strip, sandwiched by Capriccio Osteria and Bar Italia, the space is deceptively large. There’s a main dining room, a second upstairs, an outdoor terrace out the back, and more tables on the street sheltered by white Birra Menabrea umbrellas. When I visited on the weekend, it was quieter than I expected. Word about the pizza hasn’t got around yet.

The interiors could also use a refresh. Rispoli says it’s next on his list. But no one is coming for the decor anyway. They’re coming for the crust.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.