Inside Tony & Alba’s Pizza, Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck plays on a TV above the beer fridge. Dean Martin records adorn the walls and a Lego model of the Colosseum sits on a shelf.
Yes, you’ll find cheaper pizza places, but easily the most family museum-style joint would be Tony & Alba’s on Stevens Creek, right next to where Record Factory was 40 years ago. I say this not because I still remember the original Mountain View hole in the wall on Escuela Avenue. You’re reading these words because I feel like an Italian Herb Caen whenever I waltz into the place. Or maybe Jimmy Breslin if this was Manhattan. A real columnist. In a real city. The type who phones in the story from the bar, over a plate of spaghetti and a napkin hanging down in front of his shirt. In this case, if we were transplanted back to those days, I’d call it in from the table underneath the bobble-heads.
And who are the bobble-heads? At Tony & Alba’s there are many. Not just sports stars but scientists and philosophers. Curry and Draymond are up there with Willie Mays and Krazy George. Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton, Da Vinci and Pope Francis stand right next to Joey Chestnut. It’s easily the best bobble-head collection anywhere in the San Jose universe.
Like any pizza place, sports teams dominate much of the paraphernalia. At one time, an old pizza box from the 1990s was on the wall in the men’s bathroom. Every single 49ers player had autographed the box.
But my eyeballs are usually fixated on Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. Every time I show up, that film is playing. I can relate to Gregory Peck in that movie. While I haven’t been to Rome, I know exactly what he feels like. I’ve been in similar situations, although half a century later. Those scenes with both of them zooming around on a scooter in 1953 near the Colosseum are just gold. Pure gold.
This is why time doesn’t exist at Tony & Alba’s, especially when you sit at the table facing east, facing Roman Holiday. You see the black and white scenes at the Colosseum, while at the same time, on the wire-rack food service shelf, you can see, in the current moment, an elaborate Lego model of that same Colosseum. It’s a masterpiece. It took the owner months to create.
On the same rack, you’ll see a small library. A huge Vespa book sits there, along with others dedicated to prosciutto, pizza, anchovies and salami. Anyone can read the books while they eat or even check one out for a week. Reading is important, especially nowadays.
Right next to all of this, one finds sauces, honey and other items from local folks for sale. The restaurant supports local artists. Sonya Paz paintings can be found on more than one wall.
Another tidbit: Before Roman Holiday, that same TV above the beer fridge used to show The Bicycle Thief every day. A great post-war black and white classic by Vittorio De Sica, The Bicycle Thief is up there with the best films of all time.
Much of Tony & Alba’s also functions like a makeshift folk museum. In addition to the Colosseum, there are also Lego models of the Apollo moon landing, the Sears Tower in Chicago, and, of course, a Vespa scooter. On the eastern wall: more Vespa stuff, plus hats, plates, more bobble-heads and plenty of framed family photos. Did I mention Dean Martin?
But what about the pizza?—I hear you cry. I know. Any wannabe Jimmy Breslin of San Jose wouldn’t escape this place without mentioning the pizza. Again, you can find cheaper pies, but the goods here contain ingredients made from scratch. The olive oil is just different, you can tell. Some of the recipes originate from the original store in Mountain View 40 years ago and probably go back even further than that.
Outside Tony & Alba’s when I leave, I see a placard in front of the store, a chalkboard with the proprietor’s handwriting. It says: “Good people do things for other people. That’s it. The end.”
And that, my readers, is indeed the end.
