Yaron Segal looks at Basel and sees a little Florentin in it. I laugh, but immediately realize he’s completely serious. There isn’t a single person who’s been in both of these Tel Aviv neighborhoods and could give them a similar mark, and he has his. “A bit of graffiti,” he points out, “something on the walls and the inner streets, I don’t know. It reminds me.”
It’s a comparison that would make any resident of these areas nervous and condescending. The Florentin locals take pride in never crossing the Levinsky longitude line, and not venturing beyond the Bima plaza, and even then, only in times of crisis. The Baselites, like all their neighbors in the area, usually say there’s no reason to leave the old north, and they strictly apply rules that keep them within a radius of two or three streets, maximum. They come to Florentin once every six months, like tourists. Some even disguise themselves further and speak English.
No neighborhoods are farther apart, and yet, now, the pizza that brought them together exists.
Something that fits. La Tigre
La Tigre has been in Florentin for over four years. She saw the sidewalks and buildings as an Israeli branch of Naples, and was right even when everyone doubted the neighbors’ tolerance. Absolutely right. She hasn’t moved from there, and if everything continues normally, she has no reason to. Here, she became one of the best pizzerias in Israel, and one of the most popular. Here, she experimented, scratched, ground her teeth, expanded and improved, upgraded and leveled up. Here is home.
Unlike many instant hits, the expansion took time. The oven heated, the turns fired up, but Segal, Dudi Afriat, and Amir Ben Shitrit took themselves seriously and wisely, and looked for something that would fit. There were temptations in the northern parts of the city, but they wanted a street. A real street. Alkalay, on the relatively quiet side of the Basel complex, revealed a space that could be worked with. And obviously, they did.
It’s hard to see now, in the shadow of scaffolding and the construction site that will eventually become a rather crazy hotel in the heart of the complex, but La Tigre uses everything this street gives her, and then some. The interior layout naturally involved a struggle between kitchen needs and Florentin style, but the discussions and deliberations ended pleasantly and invitingly.
There’s a bar that feels right to sit at, dominant stairs (let’s hope the foam pads weren’t attached after the first head accident) leading to a very intimate gallery level, an outdoor terrace covered in preparation for the harsh winter yet to come, and a few more chairs nearby, courtesy of the neighboring salon. Who said the neighbors here aren’t warm?
All these features are complemented by character-warmers – a bright orange sofa, a tiger mural, mischievous neon signs in the restrooms, a wall dedicated to the slogan “Eat Naples and Die,” and the oven, a small sibling (in age only, not size) to the legendary spotted Florentin oven, beautiful and sending flames.
The menu, to their credit, is identical to the original location, based on everything that worked there and established itself. Rightly so, of course. There’s no point in starting over when everything is already running smoothly. There, in Florentin, they tried things and did things. Here, they reap the results of those experiments – in the dishes themselves, but also in the kitchen workflow and assembly line planning. Real estate and hands combined.
And it’s perfect as it is. The "non-pizza" lineup includes six appetizers, each a staple. “Cornicciona” (the pizza edges, essentially a dough circle, NIS 24), three salads (“Green-Blue” with blue cheese, green leaves and mango vinaigrette, Caesar with or without chicken, and “Maria Nava,” delightful on a cold risotto base with other good things, NIS 56–59), oven-roasted cauliflower with caper aioli and anchovy – likely a city sauce masterpiece – and “Sweet Potato Bruschetta,” sweet potato cream and cheeses caramelized with brûlée, completed with a side of sour cream.
Every dish hits the mark. Tell me, is more needed? I mean, aside from pizza.
The rest of the menu, its heart, presents 15 structured pizzas (NIS 54–82). The tables in Basel ask, puzzled, if they can do “half and half” like in some American mega-pizza chain, but they will slowly learn that it’s impossible, and nobody really needs it anyway.
It works here because they made sure it would work. Classic Margherita, eggplant with yogurt foam, “Carciofi” with artichoke, mushrooms, and onion – also vegan with almond mozzarella and pumpkin cream, “Carneria” with asado or redifined meat, veal pepperoni, and Rucola with spinach sauce and potatoes.
The carbonara still managed to jump off the pages, with a very rich cream sauce, smoked goose breast as guanciale, Parmesan, and a stunningly runny egg yolk. “Pistachio,” of course, joined as an essential that cannot be omitted, with mozzarella and mortadella, pistachio sauce, and roasted pistachios. Sweet and bitter, meaty and creamy. A pizza that is a prayer, and an answer to a prayer, in the same slice.
La Tigre leaves no loose ends and doesn’t round its corners. The cocktails and playlist, the dough, of course, but also the dips – spicy hazelnut spread, piquant honey, amazing limoncello dip – join the trays on their way to the table and awaken dark urges to attack other tables and take them home.
The opening also featured a dedicated tiramisu cart, but if you corner the people, they’ll probably admit it was just a gimmick at the start. Soon, the cart will move aside and only the tiramisu will remain – among the best, with quirks like burnt meringue strands.
The location, like any location, challenges with new questions. Half the diners check what’s suitable for a pregnant woman, the other half post-pregnancy, on maternity leave. Not exactly Florentin, but there are answers. They open an hour earlier and wait for the kids to come from daycare, push tables together, and hear a slightly different noise. The noise of a happy street, and a happy city. The noise of pizza.
La Tigre, Alkalay 5, Tel Aviv