You might not realize it, but the pizzas at Boogy and Peel are a test. They’re a test of your definition of chef-driven cooking and how far you’re willing to follow a cook down a particularly quirky rabbit hole. They’re a test of your bias and whether you reject, without further investigation, a menu that draws inspiration from the lowest common denominator of American dining, otherwise known as fast-food chains. They’re a test of whether you have a sense of humor.
Of all the challenges on chef Rachael Jennings’s menu, the one that stands out is called Harambe Loved Big Macs. The pie, a riff on the signature sandwich at McDonald’s, is named for the gorilla whose unfortunate death in 2016 became a blank slate for America to lay out its many grievances — and reinforce our knack for turning anything and everything into a joke.
The pizza seems to be in on the joke: The base, blistered from a hot Marra Forni oven, looks like it’s been dragged through the sandwich station at Mickey D’s. It’s topped with seasoned ground beef, melty American cheese, shredded iceberg lettuce, sliced onions, housemade dill pickle chips and parallel lines of “special sauce.” The pleasure here is not just digging into a Big Mac that has shape-shifted into pizza form; it’s savoring, essentially, junk food in a craft context, namely atop a chewy, semi-crispy crust whose flavors have been developed over a 48-hour fermentation. The pie is brilliant in its subversion of norms.
Jennings, 31, doesn’t view her cooking in those terms, of course. She has a more self-deprecating interpretation of her pizzeria in Dupont Circle. She uses words like “immature” and “ridiculous” to describe her naming conventions. She says she serves the kind of food she just likes to eat, not the food you’re expected to enjoy at those temples of gastronomy that don’t borrow ideas from a clown.
Advertisement
“I would say I’m a pretty untraditional person,” she tells me. Named for her dog, a striking Siberian husky and German shepherd mix, and for the long-handled tool used to maneuver pizzas in an oven, Boogy and Peel, she says, is a “good representation of me as a person: you know, untraditional and a little bit loud.”
“I enjoy things that are, like, comforting and feel familiar in some aspect or another, but can still be surprising,” she adds.
If it feels like Jennings is trying to justify the approach to her debut restaurant, you can blame people like me: the fooderati, the members of the artisanal industrial complex, folks who basically are surprised by the path she took. It wasn’t perhaps one that you, or I, expected.
A native of North Carolina, Jennings is a culinary school graduate who did her externship at the respected City House in Nashville under chef Tandy Wilson before settling in for a multiyear stint at Rose’s Luxury, where she, ahem, rose to sous-chef. She even served as expediter at Tail Up Goat while building out Boogy and Peel.
Advertisement
That’s not a résumé that immediately screams wacky pizza. But during her time at City House, Wilson planted a seed that germinated many years later for Jennings: that pizza is just a canvas awaiting inspiration. Wilson had a knack for trying out new, idiosyncratic toppings on his pies, Jennings recalls. It might be mayonnaise, or a shaker full of pulverized cheeses, the collected scraps left behind after a busy service. Jennings would take this idea and run hard with it.
Jennings’s menu is not long — the last time I ordered there she had just nine pizza options — but it’s long on charisma. Her inventions rarely embrace the pizza-making traditions of previous generations, save perhaps the one that says pies should be round, more or less. Boogy and Peel is not the place to go if you’re seeking a Hawaiian pizza or one of those now-ubiquitous slabs of Detroit pie, with the racy stripe of sauce down the middle.
No, Jennings has constructed pies all her own. One mimics the flavors of Taco Bell’s Mexican pizza. (Actually, I’d say they’re closer in spirit to a Crunchy Taco Supreme, although that’s probably a distinction without a difference.) Another channels the ingredients of a Caesar salad (an ingenious kale version with the dressing as a base, minus the anchovies, which you can add to your toppings for an extra few bucks). Another riffs on a deli standard. (The Kelly Ruben, named after a friend, features pastrami, not corned beef, but the housemade ’kraut and caraway powder tilt the pie fully, deliciously, toward the Reuben side of things.)
Some creations hint at pizza normalcy. The Macha ’Roni comes buried under enough meaty cups to satisfy any pepperoni lover, but the pizza hits Defcon 4 with a secondary blast wave of salsa macha, a fiery condiment summoned into existence by sous-chef Saul Zelaya. The Marinara sounds standard-issue, but I don’t think Jennings’s clever interpretation would pass inspection in Naples, its flavors both softened and intensified with garlic confit and an herb vinaigrette.
Advertisement
Once you venture away from the pizza menu, your options shrink considerably. The wings, brined and fried and served with an Alabama white sauce, will make you surrender allegiance to all others. The side of crispy Brussels sprouts with romesco sauce, feta, pickled Craisins, honey and Marcona almonds will pull your palate in many directions. It’ll enjoy the ride.
Beverage director Krysten Hobbs has assembled a beer and wine list, which, like Jennings’s pies, isn’t afraid to combine the high with the low, which means you’ll find a wild-yeast wine and local craft beers on the same menu as Smirnoff Ice. You’ll also find a frozen cocktail dubbed the Valenciaga Dreamsicle Slush, a neutral, vodka-based libation that allows the citrus to vibrate, sweet and tart, without undue interference.
The dining room is informal and lively, mixing wood with tile, bar stools with mismatched chairs and communal tables. It sort of feels like a study hall by way of Five Guys — if Five Guys’s preferred color were blue, that is. There’s a quote in neon against a tile wall. Often attributed to Bill Murray, it reads: “Every pizza is a personal pizza if you try hard and believe in yourself.”
Advertisement
But when it comes to the inventive, inspired pies at Boogy and Peel, I’d prefer to invoke the cheeky alternative version of the famous quote: “Any size pizza is a personal pizza if you eat the whole thing by yourself.”
Boogy and Peel
1 Dupont Circle NW, Suite 115B. boogyandpeel.com. Open: Indoor and outdoor dining, delivery and takeout, 5 to 9 p.m. Sunday, Wednesday and Thursday; 5 to 10 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Prices: Sides $11 to $13; pizzas $12 to $23. Sound check: 68 decibels/Conversation is easy. Accessibility: No barriers at entrance; wheelchair-friendly restroom. Pandemic protocols: All staff are vaccinated, but they are not currently required to wear masks.
ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7uK3SoaCnn6Sku7G70q1lnKedZLOwu8NoaWlqYmR%2BcXuRcWabp5%2Bcxm68xJ6jZqqVqMGiwdGapa1loprDqrHWaA%3D%3D