FiDO Pizza Review: Allston’s New Neighborhood Joint

For the SEC warriors, Western Ave’s new restaurant may come as a welcome respite from the routine Flyby of the SEC Cafe. Just a few steps away, FiDO Pizza makes a cheerful case for dual citizenship: Italian at its core, American in its ambience. The room wears the familiarity of a neighborhood joint with its bartop glow, sports games murmuring on TV, and close-knit booths, while the menu speaks in crisp Italian, conjuring terms like “fett’unta,” “cipollini,” and “budino.” That pairing turns out to be the house style: precision without pomp, with ingredients rooted in tradition and hospitality tuned to locality.

Service sets the tone early with the staff leaning into choreography. “Tear, dip, and schmear” — a server’s instruction that becomes the evening’s refrain — arrives alongside two standout starters that go together like two peas in a pod: the Olive Oil Fett’unta and the Burrata & ’Nduja. The fett’unta bread alone could carry the weight of a course: Toasted until its face crackles, it eats like a perfect focaccia — crisp at the edges, chewy and elastic within, speckled with tiny bubbles that indicate careful fermentation. There’s a soft, mochi-like pull that is satisfying to rip and impossible not to. The burrata is cool and plush, a plump ball that sits on a thin, ruddy layer of ’nduja and a scatter of spicy, crunchy breadcrumbs. The cheese brings gentle tang and lactic sweetness, the ’nduja brings saline heat, and the crumbs bridge those two textures. Eaten in the prescribed sequence of “tear, dip, and schmear,” the parts click into a single, deeply savory bite. More crucially, each element can stand on its own, and the portions are generous enough to leave burrata leftovers for later crust-dipping — a small grace note that pays off when crust fatigue threatens to take off points.

The pies arrive thin and well-charred with a good chew and a pleasantly restrained profile. If there’s one consistent critique to be made, it is that the crust trends slightly dry and flour-y, dusting the back of the throat and knocking an otherwise polished bake down half a notch. Even so, FiDO’s cheese behaves, clinging to the slice instead of sliding off in one molten sheet upon taking a bite — a virtue that is rarer to behold in other pizza establishments than one would like to admit. And, even when the crust does run a bit austere, those dollops of burrata from the appetizer prove to be a clever, well-appreciated auxiliary seasoning, restoring moisture and interest with a quick dip and flick of the wrist.

Starting off the pizza lineup strong is the Potato, which makes a convincing case for white pies. The potatoes are shaved so thin that they flirt with potato chip territory, but they’re tender rather than crisp and light enough to almost dissolve on the tongue. These are laid over a gentle, creamy base that nods towards a French gratin dish. Black pepper and a hush of rosemary tighten the overall composition, while broad ribbons of salted guanciale contribute a rich, porky bass note. The flavor is gorgeous, though the distribution could be improved. Diced guanciale would read less dramatically on the presentation aspect, but it would reward each bite with the same savory intensity instead of spiking sporadic bites with a pop of salinity and others with hardly a tint. Still, as is, the pie delivers a rare combination of something both indulgent and somewhat airy, the kind of pizza that one could solo eat the entirety of without feeling immense regret.

A half-and-half of the Doc and the Sausage following the Potato brings attention to the red pies. The Doc deals cards of contrast: the sweet acidity of the tomato sauce vs. piercing saltiness of the soppressata, the eye-watering spicy kick of the chili vs. faintly delicate sweetness of the garlic honey drizzle, the snappy crunch of the crust vs. smooth creaminess of the whipped ricotta. The soppressata lands in gratifyingly large slices and offers a deceptively large amount of meat, while the chili sends a jalapeno-like jolt that keeps the pie awake. The honey drape adds a saccharine hint that dials up the complexity without becoming cloying. The ricotta, however, is the swing factor. As full meringue-like dollops, it can read too rich in a single mouthful and absent in the next — similar to how the whole-guanciale strips of the Potato verge on overwhelming. Smaller, more frequent pipetted drops of the cheesy goodness would better disperse that creamy lift across the slices.

Meanwhile, The Sausage is next-level comfort: meaty crumble, pecorino’s granular salinity, cipollini onions for crunch and lift. The onions help, although they would perhaps serve the balance better if cooked down further towards caramelization, producing a deeper sweetness to square off fairly against all the salt and savoriness. As composed, the pie is fully satisfying, but with just a bit more natural sweetness in the mix, it would be complete. The point here is not to turn this into a sweet pizza, but rather to add a counterweight that lets the savory parts blossom into full sentences rather than sporadic and sudden capital letters.

And just when the pizzas seem to have made FiDO’s case, dessert clinches it with the Chocolate Budino surpassing even the pies’ high bar. It’s silky and buoyant, not airy to the point of nothingness nor heavy enough to tire the palate. The texture lands between custard and mousse, with enough substance to carry deep cocoa flavor and enough lightness to invite continuous spoonfuls. The portion is generous too, a trait that fits the restaurant’s sharing spirit. The sweetness is measured, not overpowering, letting the cocoa resonate and permeate deeply onto the tongue. And, the finish is a clean, satisfying echo. It’s truly the sort of dessert that quietly resets expectations for this whole category and an option that, frankly, more pizza joints should embrace into their sweet offerings.

Beyond individual plates, the through-line of the restaurant is intent. FiDO prioritizes Italian choices even as it embraces American conviviality: “fett’unta” rather than the generic “bruschetta,” “cipollini onions” instead of the more familiarly-termed “white onions,” and a dessert that is accurately named “budino” instead of an approximated “mousse.” That attention signals an allegiance to cultural roots without posturing.

Minor critiques are just a matter of calibration. The crust’s dryness occasionally outpaces the otherwise respectable char, so a touch more hydration would keep the chew without any chalkiness — but at least the “tear, dip, and schmear” refrain of the burrata features several reprises throughout the meal. On the red pies, sweetness needs a bit more say, whether coaxed from onions cooked longer or embedded in the infrastructure so that the chili and pecorino don’t dominate. And as for the rich elements like dollops of whipped ricotta, distribution matters: Smaller, more frequent touches can create a much more uniform thread.

In the end, though, FiDO feels easy to love, the kind of place that turns dinner into a small ritual and sends everyone out smiling and patting their warm, round bellies. Good bread, good pies, good sweets — what more does a college neighborhood need?

—Staff writer Audrey Zhang can be reached at audrey.zhang@thecrimson.com.