It’s named for chef Michael Schwartz’s son Harrison and is a few blocks away from dad in Miami’s Design District.
The one page menu focuses on pizza, with a homemade soup every day and a few salads. What more do you need?
Even on a ghost town Saturday afternoon, Harry’s felt like the place to be—a relaxed room and a relaxed crowd. A bunch of friends at a sidewalk table, a few couples at banquettes inside, some loners at the bar, and an energetic but well-mannered toddler at a table.
But even on a simple menu, Harry’s provides quality with house-cured bacon and house made sodas—the fennel soda has an ancient but approachable apertivo taste. Drinking it makes you feel like the American granddaughter of one of those old Italian men who hang out in cafes and smoke tar-black cigars, which is exactly right.
Polenta fries, a kind of Italian panisse have the potential to be dead weight, but these were dark and crispy (thank you for actually using the fryolator’s dangerously high temperatures) and had a deep corn flavor. There are just a few on the plate, but that’s as it should be. These are not mass-produced fried generica, they deserve to be savored.
Oh yeah, the pizza is great, blistered crust, fragrant cheeses, balanced combinations. We had rock shrimp for lunch and took home two for dinner– oyster mushroom and some of that house-cured bacon.
Relax, there’s a cookbook.