The Travel Critic

Right, so Rudy’s Pizza in Bristol. Another bloody pizza joint. Or a burger place. Those are the only two things that seem to open these days. You can’t move in a British city without tripping over an “artisan” sourdough base or a “dirty” triple-stacked beef thing. And I’m not going to stand here and make some sweeping generalisation about Gen Z’s lack of culinary imagination (although God knows it’s tempting). Maybe this is just what works economically. Maybe, thanks to Gregg Wallace and John Torode drumming the difference between seasoning and “flavour profile” into our skulls for two decades, we’re all now such expert home chefs that when we do go out, we just want something simple done properly. Or maybe it’s the influencers – all bronzed teeth, trout lips and a vocabulary that extends only to “pizza” and “burger”. Who knows. But the fact is, I don’t actually object to either, and nor, clearly, does anyone else. Hence: Rudy’s.

This particular Rudy’s has just opened in Bristol. Not that you’d notice. It’s on one of those central roads that Bristol City Council has decided to make un-driveable, on the grounds that it might encourage you to cycle, bus, taxi, or pogo stick instead. Cars? Forget it. You need a PhD in one-way systems to even get close. I gave up, dumped the car somewhere legal-ish, and walked the last bit, muttering “when will it end?” to no one in particular like an old man who’s been short-changed on his Werther’s Originals.

Anyway. Monday lunchtime. Impromptu birthday lunch for a friend. I gave him the choice. “What would you like?” And of course it was always going to be pizza or burger. Pizza won.

Inside, Rudy’s ticks all the modern boxes. The chairs and tables don’t match, which means they’ve “got character” rather than being “knackered”. The walls are left half-finished, like a building site, with plasterboard and pipes sticking out, but it’s intentional, which makes it cool. And I wasn’t handed a hard hat with my menu, which felt like a missed opportunity for full immersion.

But here’s the thing: none of that matters. Because in this age of identikit pizza and burger joints, you’ve got to be one of two things: very different, or very good. Rudy’s has gone with “very good.” The pizza is Napoli-style – thin, light, chewy where it should be, charred where it needs to be. The tomato base is tangy, the mozzarella actually tastes of something, and the toppings are properly balanced rather than “chef had a panic attack in the walk-in fridge and put everything on at once.” I’m not going to bore you with the “notes of basil” or “earthy undertones of olive oil” – I’m not writing tasting notes for Majestic Wine. Just know this: they know what they’re doing.

And that’s enough, really. Because when there are this many pizza places in one city, you don’t have to reinvent the wheel. You just have to make sure your wheel is round, crisp on the outside, and dripping with molten mozzarella. And Rudy’s? They’ve nailed it.