You’d think a place subtitled “Italian Street Food” would have pizza on the menu. From doughy squares in the train stations of Naples to char-edged slices from the brick ovens of Tuscany, pizza is the go-to for on-the-go Italians. But Piada, a six-year-old chain from Columbus, instead has built its fast-food concept around a pita-like sandwich wrap, along with pasta bowls and salads.
Learning there was no pizza at Piada was actually the second surprise about the place on State near Liberty. Long lines caught my attention first, winding a dozen deep and nearly out the door for lunch in August.
After two visits, I’m still pondering why. The namesake little piada sandwiches sneak up in price quickly: for the $6.99 base price, they come with only veggies and dressing; choosing among several meat and fish options adds a buck or more.
Nor are stellar quality or service the draws, with a line cook forgetting our request to have the feta on the side of the Farmer’s Market salad one day, and greens looking wilted and brown another. Thankfully, nothing we actually ordered tasted off or bad (including fried calamari and sauteed salmon, whew).
Angel-hair pasta was warmed by a strainer immersion into boiling water, while the sauce started with two-to-one squirts of creamy parmesan Alfredo and green basil oil. Sun-dried tomatoes and shredded cheese went into the mix before it was plopped into a cardboard bowl and handed off to me in barely a minute. Still, the pasta’s texture was acceptable and the sauce better than expected–it wasn’t a bad big quick meal for $6.49. Speed, cost, and volume may account for Piada’s lunchtime appeal.
A white porcelain urn gives atmospheric flair to the Italian soda fountain station, and the “cannoli chips” are an unusual dessert in a bag, complete with little plastic cups of chocolate chip cream cheese “dip.” Unfortuntely, there’s no coffee available to go with them.
Italian authenticity isn’t really in the cards for Piada. I’ve heard it called “Noodles & Company by a different name.” And somewhere an old nonna is warding off the evil eye hearing about pasta carbonara with spinach and tomatoes. But Silvio’s is around the corner for real Italian food. The swarms at Piada, meanwhile, are settling for an Ohio-style version served at a Chipotle pace.
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Piada, 311 S. State, 780-7157. Daily 10:45 a.m.-10 p.m. mypiada.com
