All love at American Flatbread

American Flatbread
225 West Bell Street
Los Alamos
344-4400
Dinner Friday and Saturday 5 to 10 p.m.

All love at American Flatbread

High Points:
I’ve been singing the praises of American Flatbread’s Hearth in the Cottonwoods for weeks now. The Los Alamos outpost is the epitome of hippies with an excellent marketing plan who have stayed with the times without sacrificing their ideals.

Nor have they sacrificed their love of organic-local-artisanal and sustainable ingredients and beverages. (The wine list is impressive, as would be expected, and reasonably priced. The staff was also well versed in its nuances.)

Most anything served at the rustic and poetic eatery—lined with prayer flags and good vibes—comes from within a 300-mile radius. Save for the glass bottles of Coca Cola, which hail from Mexico, as the Coke from south of the border contains real sugar, not high fructose corn syrup. Get the gist?

During the week American Flatbread, which received its license to operate from the original American Flatbread in Vermont, is actually a production bakery outputting organic, high-quality frozen pizzas that sell up and down the west coast at the likes of Whole Foods and Lazy Acres-types of stores.

Come Friday and Saturday nights though, they change into their restaurant hat and its apparent that American Flatbread is the place to be in the Valley, playing a gracious host to locals, destination diners and the who’s who of the wine world.

At 6 p.m. on a bitter cold Saturday in January there was a 30-minute wait and they don’t take reservations—first come, first served. The bar area was standing room only, so we squeezed in by the “fire pit” and sipped on Flying Goat Bubbles, a sparkling pinot noir rosé concoction, $8.

The hearth is one of the most creative and crafty hot spots we’ve seen with a beautiful tile mosaic “backsplash” and candles perched on the stepped bricks, giving it a special glow.

We finally were given a front and center table, with a view of the hand-hewn, wood-fired oven, and watched the raw flatbreads, with “intentional” names like Medicine Wheel and Punctuated Equilibrium, be transformed into bubbling hot nourishment.

We started off with a special Wild Porcini Salad with Burrata, Field Greens and a Sundried Tomato dressing, $10. It was small, but incredibly tasty with jiggly fresh mushroom strips and slightly bitter greens.

We also opted for both a 15-inch—good for two people—and a 10-inch—good for one—flatbread. (Think super thin, crisp crust pizza with toppings so fresh they’re practically still twitching.) On 15-inch breads, the kitchen also allows guests to do one half one “flavor”, the other half another so that more than one combination can be sampled.

Our favorites that night were the specials, $20, one with local clams (in their shells) and chorizo, the other with fresh foraged Pismo chanterelles, porcinis, leeks and a goat cheese that was as powdery as Park City snow.

Specials, offered every weekend to showcase the season’s finest bounty, are only available in the larger size and descriptions of them can be obtained in advance on American Flatbread’s website at www.foodremembers.com.

Our small was the Cheese and Herb, $7, topped with California whole milk mozzarella, Three Sisters raw milk Serena, Italian Grana Padano, fresh herbs and white garlic oil. It was also delicious and slightly reminiscent of an organic and non-hydrogenated Cheez-It.

My second visit was after a day of food research in Lompoc and I arrived in Los Alamos via Highway 1, San Antonio West Road and Highway 135. Along this rural route I passed fallow vineyards, a duet of turkey vultures, hazy white hills, barren trees, razed broccoli plots and abandoned homes just miles away from trendy, full-scale farms, all reminding me of the beauty of the region.

Arriving closer to 5 p.m. this visit, a friend and I were seated immediately and started with an Evolution Salad $5, with sweet leaf lettuces, mesclun, and arugula tossed with shredded carrots, thin-sliced celery, flecks of Pacific Ocean Arame seaweed, toasted Flax Seed, and a ginger and tamari dressing, tinged with a strong local raspberry vinegar.

We also split a 17-inch with both Shaman’s Bread, $9.50, and Central Coast Sausage, $18.50. The Shaman’s was especially unique—meaty, kind of burnt pistachios sat alongside flax seeds, charred red onion, fresh rosemary, garlic, and Three Sisters raw milk Serena cheese.

The homemade maple and fennel sausage on the other side was, of course, naturally raised and contained no nitrates. Other goodies included dun-dried tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, cheeses and fresh herbs.

Desserts, $6, looked and sounded sinfully good—Dawn’s Awesome Brownie warming on the edge of the oven before being topped with Strauss Family Vanilla Ice Cream was especially tempting—but I was full, full of peace, love and happiness. Not to mention flatbread that will change your definition of pizza and have you coming back for more.

Low Points:
The burrata in the special salad on my first visit was served a bit too cold—it needed time to “open” up.

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