Wait Watchers

You can fuss, you can fidget, but you can't say management didn't warn you: If you're going to eat at Angello's, you're going to have to wait.

Owners Jim Angello and Monica Angello Bowe (a father-daughter duo) are only slightly apologetic about the delays guests will certainly encounter at their popular Italian restaurant in Canton. "We wish we could do fresh, homemade, 'to order' faster, but we can't," reads a small part of the lengthy disclaimer inside the multi-page menu; the same sentiment is echoed in signs strategically placed around the premises. But what else can a restaurateur do? Even with 100 seats, the lines of diners waiting to grab a table are almost inevitably out the door. Factor in the demands of a busy carryout trade, the kitchen's insistence on making meals from scratch, and a no-reservations policy, and diners have been known to while away two or three hours from the time they pull into the parking lot until the moment the last dribble of pizza sauce is blotted from their chins.

From a potential patron's perspective, of course, this raises an inevitable question: Is the food -- mainly brick-oven-baked pizzas and al dente pastas -- really worth that investment of time? If you happen to live in a part of the world where fancy pizzas and gourmet pastas are available on nearly every street corner, perhaps not. But we're not talking about San Francisco, Chicago, or even Cleveland here; we're talking about Perry Heights, a safe but somber neighborhood on the west side of Canton, where the major thoroughfare is lined with thrift stores and payroll advance joints, and where the waitresses offer caveats to diners who order the pesto, just in case they don't know what they're in for. ("Well, I didn't know what it was until I started working here," shrugged our server, after we assured her we were familiar with the basil-based sauce.) So from the POV of the locals, at least, the almost seven-year-old restaurant undoubtedly scratches a culinary itch.

Papa Angello, a Canton native who operated Italian restaurants in California and Colorado for 25 years before returning to his hometown, sometimes refers to his cuisine as Italian-Californian. The "Italian" part is clear enough: Angello's roots are in Abruzzi and Sicily, and his menu is full of such classics as wedding soup, antipasto, and meatballs. But the "Californian" reference seems a little more obscure, until one realizes it is shorthand for the owner's devotion to artisanal quality. For instance, preservative-free dough -- for both the pizza crusts and the dense loaves of Italian bread that come rolling out of the brick-lined ovens -- is made by hand every day. Soups and sauces simmer on the stovetops for hours. And such items as fresh -- not canned or frozen -- vegetables are sautéed to order, lest they fade before they're called to duty.

The California influence also shows up in the selection of pizza toppings Angello has brought to town -- "nontraditional" gourmet goodies like Gorgonzola, grilled eggplant, artichoke hearts, and sun-dried tomatoes, as well as standards like pepperoni, black olives, and sausage. All in all, in fact, the mix-and-match options include 44 different toppers and six types of sauces, on a choice of thick or thin crusts. And if that's still not enough to stir your sauce, there are 18 thick-crusted specialty "pizzas for a new millennium," each named after a person or place that left its mark on the peripatetic Angello: The "Mendocino, California," say, with a smear of creamy Alfredo sauce, tender grilled chicken and eggplant, roasted red pepper strips, Parmesan, and fresh oregano; or the Mediterranean-style "Jimmy Ain't Greek," with olive-oil-and-garlic sauce, fresh spinach, kalamata olives, feta cheese, zucchini, oregano, and freshly ground pepper.

On the plus side, all the pizzas we sampled were emphatically nongreasy, their chewy, slightly sweet crusts providing a sturdy platform for the good quality toppings and sauces, which were generously applied. That pesto, for instance? Fearlessly garlicky. The tomato sauce? Sunny and bright. On the minus side, though, other flavors seemed surprisingly subdued: Neither the "spicy" Alfredo sauce nor the "Cajun" grilled chicken on the Mendocino pizza, for instance, had any noticeable kick. And another potentially supercharged pie, the "Sedona, Arizona Southwestern Delight," bordered on bland, despite the alleged presence of garlic, chile peppers, and cilantro (which, along with ground beef, corn, black olives, onion, cheddar, and mozzarella, lent the 'za a terrific mouth feel, if not a lot of zest). Indeed, heaping spoonfuls of peppery on-the-side salsa (also homemade) were required to shake this hombre to life.