Ask a Zagreb local where to find a thin-crust pizza that won’t break the bank and you’ll probably be pointed toward Vlade Gotovca Street, a quiet stretch a three-minute walk from the British Square tram stops. There, wedged between a bakery and a bike-repair shop, the modest red awning of Mozzarella promises little more than the name implies. Step inside, though, and you’ll discover why this 30-seat dining room has become a go-to for families, students, and visiting football fans alike.
What’s on the plate
The menu is deliberately short: eight pizzas, three pastas, two mains from the grill, and a daily vegetable side. The crust is Neapolitan—thin in the middle, puffy at the cornicione—baked in a gas-assisted oven that reaches 400 °C so pies finish in 90 seconds. Toppings stay classic: San Marzano tomato, fior di latte mozzarella, fresh basil, a restrained hand with the oregano. A 32-centimetre pizza for two costs 70 kn (≈ €9.30) and arrives on a wooden paddle that doubles as a serving board.
Pasta is house-made every morning. The best-seller is gnocchi al pomodoro e basilico: potato dumplings tossed in a sauce that’s simply tomatoes reduced with garlic and a glug of olive oil, finished with torn Genovese basil. Grilled calamari come from the Adriatic—cleaned in-house, flash-seared, and served only with lemon wedges and a drizzle of local pumpkin-seed oil. If you insist on something recognisably Croatian, order the Zagreb schnitzel; the veal is butterflied, breaded, fried, and topped with a fried egg, the way grandmothers do it in the surrounding region of Zagorje.
Wine is stored in a two-door fridge behind the bar: two Croatian whites (Graševina and Malvazija), one red (Plavac Mali), and a single Italian Pinot Grigio poured by the glass. Draft beer is Karlovačko; a half-litre is 18 kn. Desserts rotate—tiramisu, panna cotta, or rozata—but most guests skip sweets and linger over an extra glass of house red.
Inside the dining room
Interiors are unpretentious: honey-coloured wooden tables, bentwood chairs, ceiling fans that wobble gently above the lunchtime rush. A single TV is mounted above the bar; it’s muted unless Dinamo Zagreb or the Croatian national team are playing, in which case volume goes up and the staff hand out paper flags to anyone who wants one. High chairs are available, and children receive a sheet of colouring paper shaped like a pizza base and a handful of crayons while they wait.
Service is fast—pizzas average eight minutes from order to table—but never rushed. Waiters know the menu by heart and will warn you that the diavola is genuinely spicy (they import Calabrian chillies packed in oil). On weekend nights the place fills quickly; locals reserve by WhatsApp, tourists by phone or email. Turnover is brisk, yet no one pushes you out the door.
Getting there and when to go
Mozzarella sits halfway between the Britanski trg and Zvonimirova tram stops—lines 1, 6 and 11. From the main square it’s a 12-minute ride plus a two-minute walk. Street parking on Bučanovačka is metered 8 a.m.–8 p.m.; after that it’s free. The restaurant opens at 11 a.m. seven days a week. Last orders are taken at 10 p.m. Sunday through Thursday and at 11 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Note that the kitchen occasionally closes early for private events, so it’s worth calling ahead if you’re planning a late dinner.
What visitors say
On Tripadvisor the restaurant holds a steady 3.8/5 rating after 600 reviews. Praise clusters around three points:
- Fresh mozzarella that actually melts rather than turning rubbery
- Speedy service even when every table is taken
- Portion sizes that justify the price tag
Complaints are rare: the room can get loud during Champions-League nights, and vegan choices are limited to marinara pizza and grilled vegetables. Still, most guests leave satisfied; the average bill per person, including a drink and tip, hovers around 100 kn.
Why it works
Zagreb already has upscale Italian restaurants and cheap slice joints; Mozzarella occupies the sweet spot in between. The dough is fermented 24 hours, the mozzarella is delivered daily from a dairy in Samobor, and the staff treat guests like neighbours. It’s not a destination for culinary fireworks, but that isn’t the point. The draw is a reliably good pizza, a carafe of decent wine, and a corner-table conversation that can stretch until the last tram rattles past outside.
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