Toronto’s 5 Best Pizza Slices in 5 Hours in an Alfa Romeo Stelvio QF

The mission was simple: five slices in five hours, care of the four clovers, on my birthday.

There wasn’t much more to it than that. My wife and I had been doing pizza dates at new locations every weekend this year, and since the Alfa’s presence coincided with the end of the first half of the year, it was as good a time as any for a round-up. Slices only, because even I have my limits.

The Quadrifoglio bows out this year, and while I’m sure it won’t have the same long-reaching influence over the automotive world as pizza has on the culinary one, it deserves to be celebrated. I was hoping to learn something new about the QF, the high-performance version of Alfa’s original SUV. Maybe—if I was lucky—there’d be some parallels between it and the slice-slinging spots we’d be visiting.

The adventure begins at 11 in the morning. We’re into the Alfa now because lineups start early at the Badiali, the first stop of the day. Nestled within a quiet residential part of Dovercourt, Badiali opened a few years ago and quickly rose to prominence as one of the very best in the city. California-style tomatoes and 72-hour-aged dough makes it my personal pick for classic pep slices, but that’s not what I’m waiting in line for today.

Nope, it has to be the Cacio e Pepe, a deliciously creamy option that conjures up the best fresh pasta dishes I’ve had in Rome. The crust is incredibly crisp, standing up to the richness of the ingredients, yet it’s fresh and satisfyingly chewy too. Simplicity is key here—something the Alfa has in common. A BMW X3 M offers myriad settings for suspension, transmission, throttle, you name it. The Stelvio has a pair of drive modes and a third that lets you pick-and-choose. More time for driving, you see.

The plan was to visit the friendly crew at Big Trouble Pizza next, but they took the holiday weekend off. I point the Alfa’s bluff nose back south, blatting our way to the western tip of Little Portugal for a bit of sourdough goodness at Acute Pizzeria. This punny little shop opened in the spot previously occupied by Yummy Pizza, but honestly the new one is more deserving of that title. Like Badiali, it’s a 72-hour fermentation process here, but with a tangier, slightly denser result. It’s Canada day long weekend, so the eponymous slice makes sense here. Acute comes correct, layering hearty, slow-roasted mushrooms and chunks of bacon on top of the classic pep.

The Alfa isn’t without its own bouts of silliness, like Acute’s name or the very strange neon sign featuring a slice wearing sunglasses. Is the DNA dial a somewhat contrived way to do drive modes? Sure is. But it still makes me smile. A twist to D gets the Alfa prepped for the next blast, even if it’s only a few minutes away.

With the gorgeous red paint and aggressive V6 burble from an oversized quartet of pipes, the Stelvio is hardly subtle. Neither is Superpoint, the middle visit in this journey. Okay, the storefront is, an unassuming bit of glass and a modest awning almost blending into the background on the hip Ossington strip. But these slices—oh boy, they go hard.

It’s time for a classic pep. It’s an oversized affair, hanging over the simple paper plate and going some way to explaining the high as-tested price. Superpoint hits it with a liberal dash of an in-house seasoning blend which, when paired with the prodigious levels of gooey cheese, makes this the closest to the platonic ideal of a NYC slice. It’s salty, it’s floppy, it’s greasy excess—and I love it.

I’ve been rushing through these slices almost as quick as the Alfa’s eight-speed auto fires off shifts. I take it easy en route to the next spot, and park far away for a good walk—which is easy to do, because Mac’s Pizza doesn’t have any parking directly out front. We first came here right as winter was finally receding, sitting outside to watch the city come alive. I do it again today, opting for the left-field Lemonhead slice. In theory it’s similar to Badiali’s C et P, but in execution it is very different. Starting with a lemon pepper cream base, there are dollops of bright ricotta and an even sprinkling of cracked black pepper. Lemon zest adds an extra helping of freshness.

Truly elevating the experience is the accompanying lemon wedge. A direct shot of acid might seem like overkill, but it ties the slice together. The Lemonhead tastes like summer. I’m getting properly full now, but there’s a long drive after all these rapid-fire slices.

Okay, I lied. It isn’t all Toronto. As the Alfa rumbles its way onto the highway, we’re pointing towards Hamilton’s Cowabunga+. It’s an hour or so when traffic is good, and it’s a chance for the Alfa to flex its daily driver muscles. The ride is well done: firm no doubt, but never crashy, the Stelvio maintaining a semblance of comfort despite the steamroller rubber. It’s even reasonably quiet inside—for as long as I can resist a pull or three of the left-side pretty aluminum shifter paddle.

I’ve been following these guys since they opened their first location on the Hamilton escarpment in the height of COVID-induced lockdowns, showcasing that fighting spirit so emblematic of the Hammer. Fast-forward and there’s a second, dine-in location down in the hip James North community. A year ago you could get a spot pretty easily, but recently Cowabunga won the award for the best cheese slice at the International Pizza Challenge in Las Vegas—a real thing, honest—and Hamilton likes few things more than a local success story.

The win is a story fit for a Netflix special, involving a last-minute flight with the dough, but I’ll keep it brief: the team has tinkered with its sourdough-like crust to end on near-perfection. It’s resilient yet fresh, crispy and chewy. As tempting as it is to go with that award-winner, I opt for the 1UP instead. A truffle cream base gives it a rich, earthy tone, balanced by the honey and big flakes of mellow Maldon salt. A deliberate blanket of fresh parmigiano means I’m good after just one.

What did I learn? I’d say it’s that Toronto (and the surrounding area) has some world-class pizza spots, but I already knew that.

I learned the Stelvio Quadrifoglio is one of a kind. It doesn’t have the tech or features or myriad adjustable settings of others in the class, but that’s not the point. It might be a played-out cliché to roll out something about emotions when talking about an Italian car, but the Alfa really is more about heart than head. It looks stupendous, sounds thrilling, and drives better than anything else this size and shape. Yet it retains a level of everyday usefulness to make it an impressive all-rounder. Utterly appealing, but still practical enough to win over just about anybody? Turns out it’s like pizza after all.

(Postscript: I'd be remiss if I didn't mention more pizza-loving goodness. Our friends at The Drive last month did a tour of multiple NY pizza spots in a Maserati Gran Turismo. I encourage and support all automotive-fueled pizza consumption.)

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