The uninitiated will enter Pizzele's Bistro expecting Italian, but they'll find themselves at a restaurant that adds soy to the pasta sauce and Hawaiian pidgin to the menu. Yes, wasabi does inhabit the fried shrimp's cocktail sauce, and yes, the Hawaiian-style poke is meant to be scooped up with wonton chips for an appetizer. But once you accept the owners aren't in it to out-Batali Batali, you'll get over how Pizzelle's fried artichoke hearts are to be dipped in Thai chili sauce, not marinara. This isn't to say they're playing fast and loose with tradition. The pizza is hand-tossed to a wafer's thinness, an acolyte of how it's done in Naples. There's a reverential margherita topped with nothing but fresh mozzarella, basil and roma tomatoes. Never mind that it's spelled margarita here. Besides, the term doesn't seem so improper when you realize there's also a spicy-chipotle- chicken pizza on the list. A loud bell is clanged whenever a pie just comes out of the oven. And while the chicken piccata tastes of white wine, the lasagna is only passable if you're grading on a curve. Only when you're offered complimentary pizzelles, Italian waffle-like cookies, to conclude your meal will you wonder, "Where am I?"