It was a Tuesday around noon when I finally made good on a years-long promise to myself and walked into Al Forno on Power Street. The sun was cutting through the windows at an angle that made the brick walls glow, and the room was already filling with the kind of quiet confidence that comes from a place that doesn’t need to prove anything anymore.
Al Forno has been on Power Street since 1980, when Johanne Killeen and George Germon turned a former stable into what would eventually become one of the most influential restaurants in the country. The New York Times said so. Bon Appétit said so. But none of that is why I go. I go because the grilled pizza here is the real thing — not a trend, not a gimmick, but the original. Killeen and Germon actually invented it, right here in Providence, decades before every gastropub from Portland to Miami put it on their menu.
That Tuesday I ordered the pizza with tomatoes, two cheeses, and fresh herbs, and I want to be honest with you: it looked simple. Charred edges, olive oil pooling in the blisters, not much on top. The first bite knocked me sideways. The crust had this impossible combination of crunch and chew, slightly smoky from the grill, and the cheese was just barely melted in a way that let everything stay distinct — tomato acidic and bright, herbs still fragrant. There’s nothing else like it in Providence. There’s very little else like it anywhere.
The restaurant sits on the eastern edge of Fox Point, close enough to the Brown campus that you see a lot of faculty types at lunch, mixed with people who drove in from the suburbs specifically for this meal. The room is warm without being cozy in a self-conscious way — exposed brick, copper pots, wooden beams, the kind of interior that happened organically over forty-plus years rather than being designed for Instagram. The open kitchen is visible from most seats, which I appreciate. There’s something grounding about watching food actually being made.
I also had the baked pasta — penne with tomatoes, five cheeses, and cream — which arrives in a small oval dish, bubbling and bronzed on top. It’s rich in the way that only a wood-fired oven can produce, with caramelized edges that taste faintly of the fire. Split it if you’ve ordered the pizza too, because portions here are generous and the food is serious.
Dinner is where Al Forno gets more elaborate — and more expensive. Expect to spend $40 to $60 per person with drinks and something to start. Lunch is a relative bargain, and I’d recommend it: shorter waits, the same kitchen, a little more breathing room. Reservations are smart no matter when you go; they take them online and the room fills fast, especially on weekends.
What stays with me, walking back out onto Power Street with the sun still high, is how quietly radical this place remains. It doesn’t chase anything. It doesn’t relaunch itself every few years with a new concept. It just keeps making food that matters — grilled pizza the way it was meant to be, pasta from a wood-burning oven, a room full of people who came because they knew exactly what they were getting. That’s rarer than it sounds.
