In my memory, it was in the very first issue of Saveur Magazine (1994), but I doubt that’s true. I do have very clear memories of my emotional reaction to that first issue, but can’t actually recall a single recipe or article. I wrote them an email telling them that I had devoured every image, word, advertisement, and footnote, cover to cover, and couldn’t believe how beautiful it all was.
It was likely a few years later that they printed a recipe for basic pizza dough, as part of a story on Italy, which I copied into a leather journal and referred to for years. I’ve altered the recipe over the years, but that was the start of my pizza journey. It’s only taken me 27 years or so, but I think I’m finally starting to get the hang of it.
When it’s well done, I think of pizza as one of the world’s perfect foods, like spaghetti aglio e olio, soft-boiled eggs with toasted soldiers, or peach blueberry crisp. It transcends the ingredients to offer something sublime and mysterious. Good pizza is nothing more than flour, water, salt, yeast, mozzarella, and tomato sauce. But when prepared properly is one of my favorite things in life.
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My favorite foods almost always have vivid memories attached to them of memorable meals in specific places at distinct times in my life. I can certainly rattle off a dozen extraordinary meals I’ve had at fabulous restaurants around the world, but that’s not usually what comes to mind when I get nostalgic. Rather it’s the simplest meals that I remember most fondly. Simple ingredients, expertly prepared.
Pizza is a regional delicacy in America. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. I don’t know what they think they’re eating west of the Mississippi, but it’s not pizza. It’s some sort of dough-like substance topped with ketchup and some sort of melted dairy product. Deep-dish pizza is an unholy casserole. Flatbreads are hot crackers with melted cheese. If you’re putting clams on it, you’re doing it wrong.
If you want good Neapolitan pizza in America, you have to stick to the East Coast, mostly in the Northeast, but also in some places on the east coast of Southern Florida as well, presumably from all the Northeast transplants. From enormous slices of boardwalk pizza to whatever dark magic Brooklyn artisanal pizzerias use, New York City and New Jersey are the heart of good pizza. That doesn’t mean all pizza is good pizza, even here.
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For years I considered a humble pizzeria in New York’s Penn Station, a prime example of a quality slice. It’s still there. Still very good. But New York has upped their game in recent years, and I now consider it a killer snack but not a destination. Brooklyn has that honor now. There are probably dozens of places in Brooklyn alone that offer better pizza than you’ve ever had in your life, and I’ve had the pleasure of tasting quite a few.
I’m not going to name names because who the hell knows what exists today, what’s still there, and if they’re any good. But I’ll paint you a picture of one of the most memorable pizzas. The point is to go find your own favorites, not take my word for it.
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At the top of my list was a Brooklyn pizzeria in Crown Heights. I had read about it on some list, and it was near the place where we were staying, so we decided to try it. We were already out, so we walked to the place and arrived a few minutes before five o’clock. Even this early, there was already a half dozen people waiting in line, outside of the locked doors. We got in line and waited. By the time they opened the doors, there were another dozen people behind us. By the time we were seated and had ordered a bottle of wine, the place was completely full.
I ordered a basic pizza, either marinara or margarita, which is what I always order. If you’re testing out a pizza you can’t afford to get carried away with toppings. I honestly couldn’t tell you what my wife ordered. It’s been driven from my mind. But when our food arrived, I could tell it was going to be good.
I don’t know if I have this skill with all food, but I can always tell if I’m going to like a pizza just by the way it looks. What does the crust look like? Is it charred? Does it look crispy or doughy? What are the proportions of cheese and sauce? These are all tells, and once you’ve been around the block a few times, you gather a sixth sense about these things.
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These pizzas had been cooked in a wood-fired brick oven and had all the requisite charring and smokiness. The balance of sauce and mozzarella was perfect, with the flavors leaning towards the salty and away from the sweet. But the miracle was the crust.
Ask anyone in the Northeast what makes a good sandwich, and they’ll tell you it’s all about the bread. What you stuff it with is almost secondary. The same goes for pizza. You can get as crazy as you like the toppings (although I have rules about that, too), but it all comes down to the crust.
First, it must be thin. This isn’t focaccia. It must also find the perfect balance between crispy and chewy, a state that doesn’t seem physically possible. It has to be fluffy, but firm. Light as air, but strong enough to hold the toppings.
“What the fuck,” my wife said after she took her first bite.
What sort of madness was going on here? What sort of dark magic were they working in that kitchen? Pizza dough has like four ingredients. Even with a good pizza oven, how could this be so much better than anything we’d ever had? What was in this shit?
After nearly three decades of trial and error, not all of it all that disciplined, I’ve finally arrived at a place where I make a phenomenal pizza, good enough for my stepson to drop what he’s doing and tell his friends, “Dude. I gotta run. My stepdad is making pizza, and it’s stupid good.”
Unfortunately, I’m restricted to my Viking Professional home oven and not a real wood-fired pizza oven. I know it would be even better, and even though I make pizza at least every 2-3 weeks, it doesn’t seem like enough to justify the cost and time to build an oven simply to make a few pizzas for my wife and I.
A few years ago, I made the move to a pizza steel as opposed to the string of pizza stones I had been using for decades. Mine is ⅜” of heavy steel and measures 20×14”, which almost entirely covers a rack in the oven. The steel definitely makes a difference, and is great if for no other reason than it’s indestructible. Just don’t drop it on your foot.
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I always make my dough in the morning, then let it rise slowly throughout the day. I use a bread machine to mix and knead the dough. You could do it in a stand mixer or by hand, but this is just too easy. I dump all the ingredients into the bucket and press play. After about 30-45 minutes, I pour the dough out onto a marble slab I use and form into a tight dough ball. I transfer the ball to a lightly oiled bowl and cover it with plastic wrap. I usually make two batches.
The biggest breakthrough I’ve made in making pizza was learning about “00” flour. This is the finest grade of flour you can buy and is usually used to make pasta. I buy it in 11 lb bags from Amazon and store it in twin canisters. It makes a dough that is like silk and unlike anything I have ever made with all-purpose flour.
Here’s my recipe:
3 cups of “00” flour
1.5 cups of lukewarm water
2 tsp of dry instant yeast
1 tsp of salt
You can’t get much more basic than that, but I’ll tell you there are some major improvements in there over where I started. I already told you about the flour, but there are two other factors. Using instant yeast rather than active yeast, and using 50% more water than most recipes call for.
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All of this produces a sticky, high-hydration dough that is silky smooth, delicate, and full of gas bubbles. It takes some practice to get used to working with high-hydration dough, so if you’re just starting out, use one cup of water instead. You’ll have more fun.
I preheat the oven for 90 minutes at 500°, flour my work surface, sprinkle a liberal amount of cornmeal on my pizza peel, and when the oven is ready, I prepare my first dough ball. I take one of the balls out, and using a dough scraper, I cut it into three even pieces. I don’t weigh them or anything. I just eyeball it.
I take one of the sections and form it into a loose ball with my hands. You don’t want to ever overwork the dough, so over time, you learn to have a light touch. I flatten the ball and begin to push to dough outwards, making a circle that begins to expand. Turn it over and do the same thing. Once it’s big enough, I pick it up and work it on the backs of my hands, using my fingers to lightly stretch the dough. When you can almost see through it, I lay it down on the peel and stretch it as far as I can without ripping it. All still very lightly.
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I begin by brushing the edges of the crust with flavored olive oil. Rosemary is my favorite. Then I sprinkle it with course sea salt. Next, I had the sauce which I ladle on with a large spoon. Your sauce should be slightly garlicky with no added sugar. Great if you make your own but jarred sauce is perfectly fine. The trick is to go light on the sauce. You’re spreading a thin, uneven layer around the crust. This isn’t spaghetti. A little goes a long way.
Next, I sprinkle whole milk mozzarella cheese across the top. Again, a little goes a long way. Anyone who orders extra cheese on a pizza should be drawn, quartered, and then shot. You should see sauce all over the dough after you’ve spread your cheese. Finally, I slice a few pieces of fresh Buffalo mozzarella. Good fresh mozzarella made from Buffalo milk is one of life’s great treats. It’s unlike anything else. I place 4-6 dollops of the fresh cheese around the pie.
Then I put it in the oven.
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At only 500°, it takes maybe 7-8 minutes for the pizza to cook. A traditional pizza oven operates at between 900-1000°, so almost twice as hot, and your pizza only takes 90 seconds to cook. One of the benefits of the pizza steel is that it transfers heat more effectively than a traditional pizza stone, causing your dough to rise quickly, and giving you those beautiful air holes in the crust.
When I think it’s sufficiently done (I like my pizzas on the well-done side), I slide it out and sprinkle it with grated Parmesan, fresh basil, and hot pepper flakes. Side note: I found these amazing hot pepper flakes from the Flatiron Pepper Company. They’re called Dark and Smokey, and they really do give it a slightly smokey taste while providing a little heat.
Then I slice it up with a pizza cutter and serve. It doesn’t last long, so I go directly back to making another pie. It’s chewy, crispy, salty, creamy goodness. Like you died and woke up in Brooklyn.
Bon appetite.
