WORDS AND PHOTOS BY CHRIS TIESSEN
Regular readers know we’ve been unapologetic Willibald groupies since day one – following the arc of this inspired operation from its humble beginnings when, nearly a decade ago, brothers Jordan and Nolan van der Heyden, alongside childhood friend Cam Formica, launched a small-batch distillery on a bucolic farm on the outskirts of Ayr. We first wrote about the farm (cheekily named after a grandfather’s middle name) in our inaugural issue and have kept close watch ever since: from the introduction of Willibald’s farm-to-table restaurant to the expansion of its brewing program to (during the darker days of the pandemic) the creation of its outdoor biergarten where loaded smash burgers, standout pizza, and cold beers were served beneath a billowing white tent while cattle grazed nearby. This was a place where community stitched itself together over plates and pints.
In our admittedly biased opinion, Willibald has long hovered near beyond reproach: the spirits, the beer, the food, the setting, the ethos. If we ever felt a hint of hesitation, it was about geography. The farm is pastoral, beautiful, and entirely worth the drive – but not somewhere you casually duck into between errands. It’s a destination. A place you plan for, travel to, and linger at. A locale set just far enough out of the way (though easily accessible off the 401) to inspire those now-legendary staff tees asking what many were quietly wondering: ‘Where the f*** is Ayr?’
Enter the boys’ elegant solution to this geographic ‘quandry’: Willibald Pizza – smartly located in the heart of Galt, directly across from the nostalgia-soaked bleachers of Dickson Park and steps from the Grand River. Galt’s Willibald pares things back to essentials: showstopping pies, hearty salads, excellent drinks, and a neighbourhood-friendly slice program – available daily until 4pm. The obsessive care that defines the farm remains intact, only now in a familiar-feeling format built for everyday life. The place of pilgrimage is still in Ayr; the pleasure of casual closeness is just down the street in Galt.
In January my TOQUE partner Cai and I bundled up and made the short drive from Guelph to take a closer look at Willibald’s new digs. Located inside the historic former South Waterloo Agricultural Society building – in the industrial-chic space that once housed Blackwing Coffee and later Old Galt Bottle Shop – the place feels instantly familiar, yet confidently its own. Spacious without austerity. Polished without pretension.
A handsome red-tile bar back anchors the dining area. A wide pass offers diners a view into the kitchen – the undisputed focal point – where serious culinary veterans led by chef Brian McCourt shape dough, build pies, and work the ovens. Two- and four-tops line the airy, sparingly decorated room accented by custom Willibald chandeliers that nod knowingly to ‘Mother’s Pizza’-type nostalgia. A beer fridge stocked with crisp lagers, juicy IPAs, and summery seltzers sits conveniently beside the takeout counter (for slices), while taps pour everything from house brews to cult-favourite Purple seltzer to batch-made negronis for dine-in guests. Come warmer weather, a front patio with communal tables will open onto the neighbourhood – ballpark bleachers just across the way.
The menu here is concise by design. Full pizzas come as 18-inch pies meant for sharing – or not (depending on your level of commitment). Cai and I settle on two: the ‘Funghi’ (roasted mushrooms and onions, confit garlic, tarragon aioli, goat cheese, whole-milk mozzarella, fontina, and a whisper of truffle) and ‘Spicy Vodka Roni’ (pepperoni and jalapeño, young and whole-milk mozzarella, vodka-tomato sauce, basil, hot honey). Both arrive on classic pizza stands that dwarf our small two-top – easily solved by our commandeering a neighbouring table. To round things out, we order both feature salads: the ‘Italian Chopped’ (prosciutto, baby gem, radicchio, chickpeas, pepperoncini, cucumber, artichoke, tomato, croutons, bocconcini, bright vinaigrette) and ‘Baby Gem Caesar’ with smoked bacon, white anchovies, capers, lemon, garlic, and grana padano.
The salads are hearty, fresh, and firmly in main-course territory. If I weren’t in the mood for pizza (which is never), I’d find ample sustenance in a bowl alone. And while the caesar is phenomenal, it’s the chopped salad that steals my heart with its generous toppings and perfectly balanced vinaigrette. Still, the pizzas are why we’re here. And to absolutely no one’s surprise, they deliver: balanced toppings, bold flavours, and a confident restraint that lets each ingredient – organic tomatoes, fresh honey from the farm in Ayr, organic flour from Tavistock – speak clearly.
I am especially drawn to the mushroom pie: a veritable umami bomb. But it’s the light and crispy crusts that are (in my opinion) the heart of the whole affair. When chef Brian, who somehow seems to exist in two kitchens at once, stops by our table, I ask about the magic behind his pizzas. ‘The foundation is patience,’ he tells us. ‘The dough is built around time and temperature: after mixing and bulk fermentation, it’s portioned and cold-fermented for four to five days. Nothing rushed.’ The reward is flavour, structure, and a digestibility that keeps you reaching for another slice long after you probably should stop.
I’m curious about how the pizzas here might differ from those at the farm. Brian is quick to answer. ‘While the philosophy mirrors Ayr,’ he remarks, ‘the ecosystems are completely different. Seven years of baking and brewing at the farm have created a rich presence of wild yeast – something this newer space is only beginning to develop.’ To bridge the gap, Brian’s team has been experimenting with introducing wild yeast from the farm into the kitchen here and even shipping in well water (less treated, more mineral-rich) to maintain fermentation consistency. Brian is clear: dough, workflow, bake, consistency – everything remains under scrutiny. Comfort isn’t the goal. Progress is. On busy nights, a five- or six-person kitchen crew hums with quiet precision: shaping dough, building pies, running ovens, finishing, garnishing. Recent additions Joey Bornino and Ross Kennedy, stepping into co-chef roles, have only sharpened the operation.
And then there are the slices – a deliberate nod to classic New York neighbourhood pizzerias and perfectly suited to Galt’s daily rhythms. ‘We’ve settled on four different slices daily,’ Brian tells me, ‘with plans to expand and rotate features.’ No need to commit to a whole pie (at least until 4pm); you can wander in, grab a slice, try something new, and carry on with your day.
As Cai and I begin to slow down – salads polished off, slices boxed for later – I catch a glimpse of the back of Brian’s tee as he heads toward the kitchen. It’s illustrated with step-by-step instructions for how to slice and serve a pie. The final panel shows a hand deftly folding a slice the way true pizza devotees do, accompanied by the tagline: ‘Fold and Enjoy.’ Simple. Uncomplicated. Considerably more straightforward than navigating country roads (albeit joyfully) to the farm in Ayr.
And that, really, is the point. Willibald Pizza doesn’t replace the farm – it’s not supposed to. Instead, it complements it, bringing a little rural magic into town, one slice at a time.
WILLIBALD PIZZA 135 George St N, Cambridge ON eatwillibald.ca
