A few years ago I read that Gordon Ramsay unleashed a particularly lacerating verdict on what he then-described as his least-favourite ingredient.

Truffle oil, he said, is one of the “most pungent, ridiculous ingredients ever known to a chef” — a sort of “ketchup to the middle-class masses” and that anyone who dares use it should virtually trade their toque for a dunce cap.

I had recently laid out about thirty bucks for a tiny bottle of the stuff from a fancy deli in Pyrmont and for weeks had been splashing it on everything from spuds to spaghetti.

Now a cultural philistine according to the Book Of Ramsay, I was tempted to toss the bottle in the garbage but instead sequestered it to a sad little corner of the pantry, only to be brought out for shameful “meals for one”.

Imagine the feeling of self-satisfaction then, when walking into Maybe Frank, a newish Italian addition tucked in behind Formaggi Ocello in the old Pizza Mario space on Bourke St, I was hit in the face by a waft of that unmistakeable aroma, a key ingredient in their signature tartufo pizza.

Clearly pizza chef Alessandro Spadoni has no qualms about defying Ramsay’s ferocious edict.

The style here is unapologetically classic northern Italian, where the pizzas are cooked at a lower temperature for longer so the bases stay crisp but blister slightly around the edges.

The toppings are simple and traditional — pork, pancetta, ricotta, basil, mozzarella, eggplant and
yep, truffle oil.

There are more than 22 pizzas on the menu — we had the tartufo, which also comes with porcini mushrooms, mozzarella and parmigiana reggiano — and it was close to perfect.

We will make a point of trying the frutti di porko next time — made with several different types of pork — purely for the name.

The specials, scribbled on a blackboard, include a pasta carbonara which is excellent — fresh al dente spaghetti served in the shape of a nest, coated in egg and cream and piled with fried pancetta.

The homemade gnocchi, with more pancetta, as well as tomato and fior di zucca, is slightly less amazing, with the gnocchi served mushy and under-seasoned.

Also not great was our starter of fried calamari, which was a little leathery and, how can you say this … too fishy?

But one area where Maybe Frank really holds its end up is its drinks menu, overseen by charming Italian Andrea Gualdi and including the sort of technical wonders you might get at places such as The Roosevelt in Potts Point or Palmer & Co. which, funnily enough, is where Gualdi worked previously.

His pride and joy is the Sophia, a delicate combination of Cocchi Rosa, tequila, dry Spanish sherry and rose geranium syrup.

There are also some great and reasonably priced Italian wines and, best of all, a great team of wait staff who keep the mostly young and gorgeous crowd tended to — quite the achievement for a place often full to the gills.

And the atmosphere is truly lovely — warm and fun and kind of fitting for a place that is named after old Vegas hotel posters advertising “Dean Martin, maybe Frank (Sinatra), maybe Sammy (Davis Jr)” in reference to the fact the latter would sometimes swing by Martin’s shows unannounced.

You get the feeling this is the sort of place they might swing by after the theatre to get fed and sozzled.

Gordon Ramsay, on the other hand? Maybe not.

Originally published on dailytelegraph.com.au