[Photographs: L.A. Pizza Maven]

The Los Angeles Times' recent review of 8 1/2 Taverna grabbed me by the taste buds. Visions of pizzas and pastas, in chiaroscuro, of course, danced seductively in my mind's eye. It was all the enticement I needed to head over the hill and into the San Fernando Valley to check it out.

The two veteran chefs, Fabrizio Di Gianni of Torino and Enzo Sanseverino of Napoli, have opened a sleek, modern bistro where pizza plays a prominent role. Yet, in spite of the emphasis on pizza, not to mention the "8 1/2," a reference not only to the classic Fellini film but also to an Italian restaurant rating system, Di Gianni told the Times' Jessica Gelt, "We don't want to be thought of as an Italian restaurant. The food is us just letting it all out. We experiment a lot."

I sensed a bit of an identity conflict. Here are two Italian-born chefs opening a restaurant featuring pizza and referencing Italian cinema, yet they "don't want to be thought of as an Italian restaurant." Moreover, once I'd perused the menu and saw nary a trace of sausage. I could only think: "What's up with that?"

Still, I didn't want to rush to judgment. The pies would have to speak for themselves.

I hoped the pizza would speak loudly because even ordering the pizzas filled me with a degree of culinary dread. I tried communicating my aversion to blond, undercooked crusts to our too youthful waitress, but I could tell by her barely concealed confusion that I might as well have been speaking in Aramaic. I also requested that the pizzaiolo go easy on the chili oil on our "Hottie" pie. I craved the sopressata but didn't want my scalp to erupt in sweat. Lastly, I asked that they hold the mussels and fish from our seafood pie, leaving only the shrimp, baby zucchini, garlic and tomato sauce atop the crust. No problem, right?

We began the meal with salads. Both the rugola and artichoke salads needed a little extra dressing, but they were multicolored and satisfying.

The moment of truth finally arrived as our Margherita (pictured at top) arrived at the table. This first pie's crust was rather tasty. Mildly charred, minimal tip sag but with a too-swollen cornicione, resembling Max Schmelling's lips after a Joe Louis pounding. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough mozzarella on the pie. I mentioned this politely to our waitress who, by way of explanation, told me that the pizza is made "Neapolitan" style. Ignoring the fact that they use a gas oven to make their pies, I know Neapolitan style, and this was indubitably a matter of under-cheesing. And since the mozzarella was made locally by esteemed cheesemakers Angelo & Franco, a little more would definitely be an improvement.

The "Hottie" pie, constructed with spicy salami, mozzarella and chili oil, came next. Though I'd requested minimal chili oil, the first bite had the top of my head percolating. A few more bites and I could have been mistaken for the profusely sweating Albert Brooks in "Broadcast News." I had been salivating for the spicy meat but I had to leave most of this pie on the tray due to the heat.

Ironically, my disappointment was multiplied as this pie's crust was significantly better than the first pie's, but I couldn't enjoy it.

The seafood pie was the most disappointing. First, the pie arrived cold. I actually had to ask the waitress to put it back in the oven. And I thought the only dish best served cold, besides gazpacho and sesame noodles, was revenge. The return to the oven destroyed any hope for a delectable pizza. I had also requested that this pie be topped only with shrimp; hold the mussels and fish. But nooooooooooo! Chunks of fish littered the pizza, making it virtually inedible to my palate. Combined with the excessive sauce, this pie more closely resembled a Cioppino than a pizza.

In Taverna's defense, the waitress informed me that the restaurant had only been open for two months. (Not exactly a defense worthy of Clarence Darrow, I say.) Though I've never owned or worked in a restaurant, I would think eight weeks was sufficient time to iron out any kinks. But I'll suspend final judgment until I revisit.