Mister Paganini

In Italy, the art of pizza making is taken so seriously, that the Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana​ (the True Neapolitan Pizza Association) even stipulates to its members the pH of the water that must be used in dough production.

In Australia, on the other hand, with no such culinary rule book, we cheerfully stuff our pizza crusts with hamburgers, or top them with tandoori chicken, corn chips and other cross-cultural contaminants.

The wind of change is blowing though and it carries with it the scent of woodsmoke. Perhaps it's a result of more frequent travel; this growing weaning off the "more is better" approach and the embracing of something closer to the beauty of a "verace" pizza?

Whatever the reason, there's a burgeoning number of good, authentic pizzerias in Brisbane and the flame once carried solely by Teneriffe's Beccofino​ could just as easily be passed to Julius in South Brisbane, Coppa Spuntino​ in the CBD, Fortitude Valley's Tartufo, Sorrelina​ in Woolloongabba, Kenmore's Pizzeria Violetta​ or Red Hill's Colle Rosso, among others. Or perhaps even South Bank's newest, Mister Paganini.

Opening just before Christmas, Mister Paganini moved into the double street frontage that for years operated as Poppy's Basket/Bakery/Deli.

Like most venues in this South Bank strip, it doesn't really stick its head above the parapet, staying true to the same casual, colourful, alfresco-oriented design as its neighbours. There are jade-and-black chequerboard floors and matching bentwood chairs, banquettes and bifold doors that beckon a welcome river breeze.

Charmingly-accented staff don't always get the social niceties spot-on, but add a pleasing sense of authenticity. Warm, laid-back soul music from Marvin, Aretha and the like may not be so in keeping with the Italian theme, but eminently preferable to ear-worm Euro pop or Italian opera "lite".

Mister Paganini's wood-fired pizza oven, a black-tiled beast tended by a handsome moustached pizzaiolo, is also the real deal. From its 400-degree belly come pizza the Verace Pizza Association would probably happily sign off on. There are 10 altogether, democratically divided between "rosso" (with tomato sauce) and "bianco" (without).

They come out at a clip, needing just a minute or so in the flames to make their crust, known as "cornicione" – puffy and air-filled, with just the right amount of chewiness and bready flavour. Slices are properly pliable, rather than crisp, with the point of the triangle able to be folded neatly into its centre, eliminating the need for pesky cutlery.

The pizza litmus test of any pizzaiolo's​ skill is the classic margherita​, but we liked the salty, briny punch of the "salsicce" with nubs of sausage, whole black olives and thin wafers of sweet purple onion.

The wine list dips into classic and contemporary Italy, from aperativi​ such as Aperol spritz or an Americano, to a Tuscan vermentino​ or a Sardinian red blend, mixed up with some made-in-Australia Italian varietals. By-the-glass choices are casually pre-poured into love 'em or loathe 'em stemless glasses. There are a few Italian beers, too: Peroni, plus a Birra Moretti​ and a wild-card beer from Sicily.

As is the current fashion, the menu is divided into piccolo (small) and grande (large) plates, such as a porchetta with mustard fruit or an 800g steak to share, along with pizza and pasta, and antipasti and salumi.

While the pizza passes all tests, some of the other dishes lose points for a certain restraint that means they are missing that rustic, full-flavoured, bread-mopping oomph of Italian cooking.

Clams with 'nduja (a spicy spreadable salami) and corn sounds odd but it works, although surprisingly un-piquant, and the broth too delicate.

Also from the piccolo plates section, vitello tonnato; veal carpaccio with tuna mayonnaise and horseradish, is pretty on the plate but both the tuna and horseradish are overwhelmed by the mayonnaise.

Spaghetti with spanner crab comes blanketed, rather than just garnished, with golden breadcrumbs, smothering the flavour of the crab – and the promised chilli is barely discernible.

Conversely, a simple artichoke salad is perfect, fresh and zingy, properly seasoned, the artichokes tender, with little apple cubes dressed with apple cider vinegar, crunchy Spanish almonds and a tangle of greenery.

While we eat with our eyes, it's the taste we ultimately remember and Mister Paganini's chefs would do well to be bolder and more confident with flavour. Ultimately, however, the tweaks needed are minor and I'd certainly go back.

Mister Paganini is a welcome addition to South Bank and to the growing education of the "thick-crust meat-lovers" hold-outs.