Why I embrace e-book cookbooks (and e-books in general), and I think everybody should.
 
They save you money, they save you time, they give you more utility, more convenience, and more fun.
 
Not that all that is worth saving a few trees.
 
You also do not need to own a dedicated e-book reader.
 
I carry around the same 2,000-book library on both my phone and my tablet—and it’s even accessible on my computer.
 
 
Call it in-flight entertainment that will never make it to the seat-back screen.
 
This is especially handy when there is no seat-back screen.

I spent a flight from Philly to New Orleans with a copy of Peter Reinhart’s The Bread Baker’s Apprentice on my tablet, researching recipes for two specific projects.
 
I was able to work out two little programs that I was going to run: One for banana bread as holiday gifts (he has a killer recipe from when he was a bread-baking hippy in Boston), and one for true NYC-style bagels.
 
Lemmetellya, people down here in the Magnolia State lost their minds when they laid hands on legit carpetbagger bagels.
 
At 35,000 feet in the dark of a late-night flight, I was able to highlight passages in the book, make bookmarks, and order special ingredients from Amazon over the inflight WiFi.
 
And the e-book version of this excellent, James Beard Award-winning cookbook cost me a mere three bucks. (As I write this, I think it's about 7 bucks.)
 
That three-dollar additional expense vastly increases the utility of the $23 hard copy that’s on my shelf at home and not on the plane.
 
 
And at home, the fun continues.
 
E-books are searchable in ways a hardcopy cookbook never will be.
 
And when I went into the kitchen to make the banana bread and bagel recipes, I didn’t need to take the hardback book with me.
 
Nor did I take the tablet or the phone.
 
Instead, on my tablet, I just made recipe screenshots.
 
I printed them out, then taped them to my backsplash.
 
When I needed them, they were right in front of my face.
 
No smudging or spilling ingredients onto my expensive cookbook.

And so much more extra counter space!
 
Why don’t more cookbook publishers build in an online component where you can just do kitchen cheat sheet printouts?
 
 
I’ve done this for you because it seems like you should have it.
 
This is one of the reasons I often encourage people to buy my own books in e-book.
 
Both of my pizza books have links to my website—which includes a download link for printable kitchen Cheat Sheets.
 
Instead of having to take the book or the tablet into the kitchen, you just print out a PDF of the recipe you’re using.
 
That’s such a simple feature with a clear and present benefit, I cannot understand how it is that more traditional publishers don’t use it.
 
I have got about 200 cookbooks in my digital library, and as far as I know, not a single one of them has a link to anything that doesn’t prompt another purchase.
 
Call me an innovator! All for you my pizza making friend!
 
 
“I don’t read e-books because I don’t have a Kindle.”
 
You really need to come to the party for the free apps! (These are the puns, folks!)
 
The Kindle app is free.
 
It works on your phone, on your tablet, and even on your computer.
 
When writing things at my computer, I have literally stopped in the middle to find the answer to a question that I know is in a book.
 
I go to the Kindle app online, search the book, find the answer, then copy and paste it into what I’m working on.
 
And literally all it requires is going to Amazon, searching for the book I bought, clicking the “read now” button, and tapping the little magnifying glass in the upper right-hand corner.
 
 
Are you in the I hate Amazon crowd?
 
Well, Amazon is the single largest seller of e-books. And that is in the Kindle format. It accounts for about 80% of the market.
 
However, other major e-book providers in the 20% balance include Apple, Kobo (whoever they are), Barnes & Noble with their Nook format, and Google Play.
 
I will admit, my books have been available only on Amazon. I’ve been a Kindle devotee because I had to figure that the other 20% of the market that doesn’t buy on Amazon probably isn’t interested in my books.
 
But I am going to start making my books available elsewhere. It is time.
 
 
I don’t need a vision of that guy who’s sitting in a corner in the dark, shaking his clenched fist at my website and saying, “Damn you, Blaine Parker why won’t you put your books on Nooks?”
 
Anyway, that’s it.
 
 
My new book, The Lazy Way To Pizza: How to Make the Best Pizza Possible with the Least Amount of Work, is now available on Amazon.
 
The Kindle edition is presently $2.99. The print edition is $9.99
 
But this is a soft launch. Don’t buy it yet.
 
Next week at this time, I will have lowered the price on the Kindle addition to $.99
 
And if you’re one of those who requires persuasion, you can have your own almost-free Kindle edition and try it out as your first foray into digital cookbooks.
 
Free The Pizza—the Lazy Way!
 
-----

Until next week's 99-cent deal on the new book, here's a 99-cent deal on the OG! 

Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

ABOVE: Dough ball in a cast-iron skillet. This is a test batch that proved the secret to this pizza is a wet, sticky dough. That dough ball is very dry and manageable, which does not make the best pizza in this particular equation.  


​Quick-Pizza Heresy Dough

NOTE: There are no weights specified here because a) newbies are often scale-resistant, and b) not all yogurts measure equally. If you wish to weigh your ingredients, refer to the data on the product labels for the flour and yogurt. It's very simple. (It's also how I do it.) 
 
Ingredients
 
1 cup self-rising flour (preferably White Lily)
1/2 cup + 1 tbsp Greek yogurt, divided
1/2 tsp fine sea salt
1 tbsp refined olive oil for the pan
2 tsp extra virgin olive oil for brushing the dough
 
Equipment: 12-inch pizza pan or a cast-iron skillet with a 12-inch bottom, or two 8-inch pizza pans or cake pans. 
 
Mix the self-rising flour together with the salt using a whisk.

Next, incorporate the yogurt using a metal spoon. Once they’re mixed together, remove excess yogurt and flour stuck to the spoon and knead it into the dough, forming a consistent ball.
 
You should now have an easy-to-handle ball of dough. Add enough additional yogurt to make the dough sticky and a little shaggy. With my particular flour, yogurt and climate, I’ve found that one additional tablespoon is sufficient. It goes from being easy to handle like a good biscuit dough to wet, sticky, a little shaggy and kind of annoying.
 
Using a brush or your fingers, oil the pan with the refined olive oil.
 
Press the dough ball into the center of the pan and flatten it into a round.
 
Pour the extra virgin olive oil on top of the dough. Spread it with a brush or your fingers. Using your fingertips, begin dimpling the dough. Your goal is to spread it evenly throughout the pan, all the way to the edge. It will make a very thin, even layer of dough. You may find yourself pressing through the dough to the bottom of the pan. Just gently push the holes back together.
 
It will require a little finesse, but you will eventually be able to spread the dough evenly all the way around. It is a feat and you will be a master in short order.

ABOVE: Same-size dough ball panned in a cast-iron skillet. The dough doesn't quite fill the skillet to the edge, as the diameter is a half-inch larger than the 12-inch pizza pan. But this is the dough that yielded the crispy edge in the finished pizza at the top of the recipe. 


​Topping The Pizza
 
Ingredients
 
7 standard slices of, low-moisture part-skim mozzarella (typically about 4 inches square)
350g marinated tomato (about 2 medium tomatoes the size of a baseball)
extra-virgin olive oil for drizzling
20g pecorino Romano, shredded

​Position 3 slices of cheese across the diamater of the pizza.
 
Position 2 more slices perpendicular to the first row of cheese so there is now a cross.
 
With the last 2 slices, cut each of them in half diagonally. Position each of the four triangles at the four open corners in the cheese cross layout.

ABOVE: The pizza fresh from the oven. While it's still hot, I like to drizzle the olive oil and spread the Pecorino Romano cheese.
 
 
IF USING A CAST-IRON SKILLET: This will extend the baking time. Depending on the skillet, I’ve found that it requires an additional 2 to 4 minutes baking time, and the skillet can remain on the bottom rack the entire time. But this will all depend on your oven and your pan. Check the bottom of the pizza and use your own judgement.
 
When done to an inviting color, remove the pizza from the oven.
 
Using the offset spatula or similar tool (a flat silicone spatula works), coax the pizza out of the pan and onto a cooling rack. You may have to loosen some clingy cheese crunchies around the edge of the pan.
 
Drizzle the top of the pizza with olive oil. (I recommend using a small squeeze bottle for even, controlled drizzling.)
 
Sprinkle the pizza with the shredded Romano.
 
Once the pizza is set, slice and serve and enjoy with reckless abandon.

ADDITIONAL NOTES  
 
Make substitutions at your own peril.
 
I’ve made this recipe using conventional flours and baking powder. It doesn’t work as well as self-rising flour. Most important: It doesn’t taste as good.
 
Make sure your flour is fresh. A year-old bag of White Lily worked, but not as well (and not with as much flavor) as a brand-new bag of White Lily.
 
Bread flour does not work well here. There are various technical reasons for that. But the bottom line is that all the reasons it works for traditional pizza dough do not help us in the realm of this dough. It lacks both the desirable structure and the desirable flavor.
 
I’ve made versions of this pizza where I added the olive oil drizzle and Romano cheese before the bake. Adding it after the bake tastes better.

-----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​
​

ABOVE: Clinton Ferrara's Fresh Tomato Pie based on the recipe in last week's story. 


​I also had a text message from Peter Reinhart.

I didn’t see this coming.
 
I was waiting for him to say, “What’s wrong with you?”
 
But he’s too nice a guy for that.
 
Instead, he called the tomato series, “Terrific” and “Full of great ideas.” I don’t usually get props of that caliber.  

I am humbled. 
 
 
At the same time, Dutch at Tribeca Allie Café reached out to me on an unrelated topic.
 
I’ve been doing some consulting for him (yes, way above my pay grade) and showed him a photo of the fresh tomato pie.
 
He replied, “Looks good. Excellent and very doable.”

ABOVE: The new, quick & crazy tomato pie that may induce guilt and self loathing. 


​Free The Pizza’s social media maniacs have lined up as well.

Hardcore David Hering who says of this week’s pizza photo (above), “Looking forward to [the recipe] because that’s a good looking pie.”
 
Chef Tuan Tran (whom we interviewed back in 2022) shared the statement, “I must have it!”
 
A bunch of foodie friends have applauded, including the legendary pizza blogger, Albert Grande of Pizza Therapy.
 
Who knew that simple, fresh tomatoes on a pizza could inspire such a widespread bout of enthusiasm?
 
Last week's recipe was for a traditional pan pizza as an homage to world-famous New Haven apizza at Pepe's Pizzeria Napoletana.  

How disappointed will they be when they learn the truth of this forthcoming recipe?
 
 
Here now, I prepare you for the crime to come with an explanation of my guilt.
 
All of this tomato love that’s been flowing from the pizza-committed masses, and I was thinking about how sad it is.
 
The sadness is that people who love tomatoes—and love pizza—but don’t make pizza at home for various reasons.
 
Like they don’t cook much.
 
Or they’re scared of breads.
 
 
Or as one friend says, “I’m too impatient.“
 
Since I now live in the American South, The Land of Quick Breads, I was wondering about the viability of a quick-bread fresh tomato pie.
 
We already have the Southern Tomato Pie in a traditional pie crust (which may have been a Sicilian-influenced recipe by immigrants in the late 19th century).
 
But what would happen if the quick bread were to fraternize with the pizza-loving curious?
 
If it were viable, it would solve a lot of problems.
 
 
Non-pizza makers could enjoy a quick & easy, pizza-like canvas for homemade marinated tomato artistry.
 
Of course, there are pizza fundamentalists who would argue that I’m proposing a sacrilege—that I’m on a race to the bottom.
 
I counter that by proposing this: I’m providing a gateway for the race to the top.
 
It would be Baby’s First Homemade Pizza.
 
A base camp from which to begin an ascent of the cheesy slopes of Tomato Pie Mountain in an effort to fulfill the intrinsic promise in our name: Free The Pizza.
 
Anyone can make an artisanal-grade pizza at home in a home oven. All it takes is the right tools and a little practice.
 
 
I admit: I make a damn good pizza—to the exclusion of doing anything else well.
 
I’ve evolved into a pizza obsessive who can steer any conversation about politics, economics, art, film, travel, muffins, pumpkins, wax paper, mahogany, elbows, toll booths or men’s hosiery to pizza.
 
“Nice socks.“
 
“Thanks. I’ve got some socks with pizza on them, ya know.“
 
OK, that’s a stretch.
 
I’ve never spilled pizza on my socks.
 
But I did once give a birthday gift to a pizza geek friend that was a pizza box containing seven different pairs of pizza-print socks. I think he wonders what’s wrong with me.
 
Anyway. I digress.
 
 
“Pizza for the people” sounds like some kind of Soviet era propaganda lie to misdirect everyone in the spirit of Bread & Circus.
 
Not that anyone in 21st Century US Culture would understand anything about that.
 
But the truth is, sharing the skill of pizza with people gets them excited, makes them feel a sense of accomplishment, and it makes the world seem just a little bit better.
 
If I can give the newbie a way to make a pizza in under an hour and enjoy the flavor blast of fresh tomato celebration in a new and hairstyle-changing way, what’s wrong with that?
 
 
Pizza is a gateway to all kinds of STEAM competency that doesn’t get taught in our schools anymore.
 
Pizza is also a drug.
 
It’s a dopamine rush on a plate.
 
Wouldn’t a quick-bread pizza dough that’s worthy of your mouth would be a fantastic thing?
 
It would. I know.
 
How do I know?
 
Because I did it.
 
Yes, I have committed the heresy.

ABOVE: A slice of the culprit pizza...


I have made a pizza with a 20-minute dough and the angels sang, “Swing Low, Sweet Pizza-Wheeled Chariot.”
 
No, I’m not hallucinating through an Ozempic haze.
 
I made a three-ingredient dough with self-rising flour.
 
I topped it with marinated tomatoes (from last week’s recipe) on mozzarella.
 
And I knew we were onto something when The Fabulous Honey Parker (who has an excellent palate and will tell me when I've insulted it) stops what she’s doing to do a taste test—and it evolves into scarfing down an entire pizza.
 
Granted, the pizza was only 8 inches in diameter. And I ate half.
 
Why am I sharing this?
 
 
You should know it because it’s too tasty and too simple and too enjoyable to eschew purely on principle.
 
It is a joy-inducing journey into a head-spinningly simple bread with something on it.
 
I swear. I swear on a stack of Tony Gemingani Pizza Bibles.
 
On a whim, I made a batch of dough with self-rising flour, Greek yogurt, and salt.
 
I let it rest for 20 minutes, pressed it into a pan, topped it with cheese and marinated tomatoes, baked it for 12 minutes, cut into slices, and next thing you know…
 
 
Our heads exploded.
 
Yes, we do feel unclean.
 
I went to Peter Reinhart and asked him about this. (Only as a theoretical query. I did not confess my sin.)
 
I wrote, “Since you define pizza as bread with something on it, what about a quick bread with something on it?
 
“Is that still a pizza?“
 
He replied, “A thin, crispy biscuit, which is really a variation of pie dough, seems quite viable. Should it be called pizza? That depends on whether you’re itching for a fight with the purists. But why not?“
 
Why not, indeed.
 
 
This thing that looks and tastes like a pizza that has consumed my kitchen during the past week with its crispy, crunchy, oily (in the best way), cheesy and umami magnificence?
 
 
I’ve made it in expensive pizza pans and old, cast-iron skillets.
 
I’ve covered it with cheese and marinated tomatoes, and experienced umami ‘mato mania in a new, guilt-inducing way.
 
My wife was pretty clear about it.
 
“Your New York Style 2.0 or whatever you call it is my favorite pizza.
 
“The Lazy Way pan pizza is the pizza I didn’t know I was missing.
 
“But this,” she said as she held a tiny slice of Sacrilege Biscuit Dough Tomato Pie, “This is so good. Who wouldn’t want to eat this?“
 
 
Next week: a heretical recipe.
 
Sorry for the lengthy tee-up to a tease, but I’m still dialing it in.
 
I don’t want to share until I’m sure of a fool-proof formula with some necessary alternatives.
 
But you’re gonna love it.
 
Especially if you’re too impatient to make pizza.
 
Meanwhile, if you want to share any of your own tomato-laden lovelies, feel free to send them here—photos are great, or even just lurid memories.
 
Also, please send a message if you understood the veiled Frank Zappa reference. I need to convince my wife I'm not the only person who finds such arcane nonsense amusing. 
 
-----
 
NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

ABOVE: The pizza known as Tomato Ridiculous in its 12-inch format. Looks great. You can’t see the river of juice running from the other side. More research and development is required.


​I will continue to work on that pizza and see if it’s possible to stem the tide of tomato juice.
 
In the meantime, I’ve done something that might make you happy even though Stephen Colbert has left the building.
 
 
Next stop: All passengers out for New Haven!
 
In reevaluating my folly, I decided to heed my own hackneyed advice that simple is best.
 
The tomato pie most celebrated by media may be the Fresh Tomato Pie from Frank Pepe’s Pizzeria Napoletana in New Haven, Connecticut—available only during New England tomato season.
 
The pizza features slices of mozzarella covered with marinated tomato chunks , sprinkled with pecorino Romano, drizzled with olive oil, and baked right to the edge (but not over it) with an enticing char.
 
It’s that simple. And it’s the cause of seasonal mania,
 
 
You can skip this next paragraph.
 
Every year, as tomato season rolls around and Connecticut promises its seasonal marathon of sweltering I-95 traffic jams of countless cars packed to swollen with inflatable beach toys, while the oppressive humidity inspires homebound residents to drape their limp, sweaty children over porch railings and clotheslines while singing hopeful songs of October chill, before that all comes to pass, hungry news cameras from around the state eschew intrigue and corruption and other fake news to descend upon New Haven like a flock of long-lensed truffle pigs pointing their glassy snouts at the story everyone really wants to know: that the fabled Fresh Tomato Pie is back at Frank Pepe’s Pizza Napoletana.
 
That is our inspiration for today. And it is even simpler to make than that paragraph was to write.
 
In fact, I’ve practically given you the entire recipe already:
 
Marinate tomatoes, spread cheese on dough, spread tomatoes, sprinkle with more cheese, drizzle with oil, bake to the edge of darkness.

ABOVE: A Red Pear heirloom tomato that went onto one of the R&D pizzas. It's a good tomato. But you can make do with some high-quality on-the-vine tomatoes as well. (We like the great stuff, but it isn't always readily available.)


The other tomato was with standard on-the-vine supermarket tomatoes, and the pizza was baked in a 15-inch cast-iron skillet from Walmart. (It is a killer all-around pizza tool for just over 20 bucks. It’s the biggest skillet they sell in the camping department. The measurement is 15 inches, which means the bottom measures about 12.5 inches. My advice: just get one.)


Since the tomatoes are marinated, some sins of mass-market produce are assuaged.
 
The tomatoes spend several hours in olive oil with garlic, basil and salt.
 
You could use that marinade with an old leather hiking boot and probably end up with a delightful summer salad as long as you first remove the laces and Vibram sole. Mmm. Boot.
 
I was just in the fridge a moment ago, and tasted the leftover on-the-vine tomatoes, which have been marinating overnight. Based on that taste, I had to fight the urge to sit down with a spoon and start shoveling them in the hole. 
 
Granted, the heirloom tomatoes were better. But not enough that I would say, “STOP! Do not approach this pizza without the finest produce still screaming from the tree!”
 
 
A note about sliced mozzarella…
 
I went right to the pre-packaged cold cuts aisle and bought a big-brand sliced mozzarella as well as a store-brand.
 
Both worked just fine.
 
In other circumstances, I would go to the deli counter and have them slice a premium brand for me.
 
As for the quantity of the mozzarella, I’ve found that 9 slices (two of them divided) provide adequate coverage. (A standard slice of low-moisture mozzarella is roughly 4 inches square. The exact size varies by brand. Use your best judgment knowing that whatever you do, the pizza almost always wins anyway.) One regular slice weighs somewhere around 20 grams.
 
The reason for sliced mozzarella is two-fold. One is that it provides an excellent moisture barrier against wet tomatoes. The other is that it’s just how they do it at Pepe’s.
 
 
A few details about the dough and the baking thereof.
 
The pizza here is a pan pizza dough from a no-knead formula that is so stupidly simple I’ve just written a book about it. (The Lazy Way to Pizza—coming soon!) You can find the dough recipe here. 
 
If you’d rather make this pizza on your own dough, go for it. Just be aware that the quantities specified here are befitting a substantially structured pan pizza crust that bakes for 14 to 18 minutes, depending on your oven and your pan. Adjust as necessary. 
 
(I say all this more for the newbies than for you personally. If you’ve already considered transposing this pizza to your own dough recipe, we know you are already deep in the siblinghood that is pizza and require little such intel.)
 
 
If you’re new to pan pizza, know that not all pans are created equal.
 
If you try to bake this pizza in a disposable, aluminum-foil pan, it will be disappointing.
 
I’ve had decent success with cake pans which lack the mass of pro-grade pans.
 
And while they require additional baking time, cast iron skillets work well. IMPORTANT NOTE: You’ll want to double the amount of olive oil on the bottom of the pan. Cast iron is thirsty.
 
ANOTHER IMPORTANT NOTE: Baking times here are based on my standard home oven. Your baking times will vary from mine. Vigilance!
 
Ready?

ABOVE: The marinating tomatoes. NOTE: Before cutting, always check your tomatoes for PLU code stickers. It gets embarrassing when your guests can scan your pizza with an iPhone. 


​Tomato Pie New Haven Tribute Edition
 
Yield: one 12-inch pizza
 
350-gram Lazy Way pan-pizza dough ball
9 slices of low-moisture mozzarella
300 grams of marinated tomatoes (recipe follows)
25 grams pecorino Romano, shredded fine
Olive oil for drizzle
 

PREPARING THE TOMATOES
 
You’re essentially making a chopped tomato salad.
 
For one 12-inch pan pizza, I recommend using at least a pound and a half of fresh tomatoes. Some of that weight will disappear as waste. Some of it will disappear as water. There will likely be leftover. It makes for great eating all by itself.
 
You’ll notice the recipe calls for both dried and fresh basil. This is a heresy that I practice. The dried basil brings an extra basil punch. And since this is all being cooked, it’s not such a gourmet transgression as much as a flavor-bomb enhancement.

INGREDIENTS
1.5 pounds (680 grams) fresh tomatoes
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
.5 teaspoon dried basil
2 cloves garlic, minced or pressed
6 to 8 large basil leaves, chiffonade
 
Be sure to cut away the woody stem ends, the blossom (bottom) ends, and any tough core and undeveloped white parts inside the tomatoes.
 
Cube the tomatoes into bite-size chunks of roughly one inch.
 
Put the tomatoes into a bowl or other container with the salt, garlic and basil. Mix thoroughly. Allow to marinate at room temp for one to two hours.

ABOVE: The pizza that we will all remember.  


I hope you've enjoyed our journey through tomato pie. Based on preliminary reaction, there is more such pizza to follow. If you try this recipe and want to share your pizza, feel free to drop us a photo of your result at ​the contact page.

And by the way, I just tried a slice of this pizza cold from the fridge. you could take it to a party cold and still win friends and influence people. They might even give you a medal. 

Free the pizza!

-----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

ABOVE: The filling of a Southern tomato Pie before being covered in grated pecorino Romano, olive oil and breadcrumbs.
 
​
It's Southern Tomato Pie, Y'all!
 
This is so clearly not a pizza—until someone insists it is a pizza. But we’re all safe. That bombshell is devoid of explosives.
 
The Southern Tomato Pie, or the Creole Tomato Pie, or the Cajun Tomato Pie—whatever we call it, however we modify it, it has a murky and uncertain history.
 
It came to be in the mid-1800s.
 
Unless it happened in the mid 20th century.
 
Nobody seems to be able to track this one with accuracy. Let's just leave it there. 
 
 
What is accurate is that it’s not a “bread with something on it.”
 
(That being the ever-reliable definition of pizza by the great Peter Reinhart, a man who's on a pizza mission.)
 
However you label it, the Southern Tomato Pie is a traditional pastry pie crust filled with slices of well-drained Creole tomatoes.
 
It is topped with cheese and a binder—usually mayo. Basil and onion are often involved, and it is baked for an hour or so, depending upon the construction.
 
The reason for mentioning this creation is it underscores something so important: it really doesn’t matter what you call it. The truth is in the tomato. 
 

Combining tomatoes and cheese with a crust is what it’s all about.
 
What’s in name? Who cares! A rose by any other name may or may not have thorns. So what?
 
For instance, take the name “Creole tomato.” Nobody really knows what variety they're getting beyond "fresh."

And Creole tomato season here in the south is a huge deal. Tomatoes by the truckload! The loading dock at your supermarket is a symphony of backup alerts as produce dump trucks vie for position. Entire grocery-store produce sections become impassable. The aisles are clogged knee-deep in bright red baseball-sized tomatoes. Frenzied shoppers are wading in, grabbing tomatoes by the armload, giddy with an unbridled lust for love apples.
 
It's a scene.

Most important: Pie crust is merely a delivery system for the joy that is that tomato.
 
What’s also important to note is that even Google Generative AI is not stupid here.
 
The Machine That Knows Only What The Internet Said still spits out an important fact: This pie should not be confused with another important pie.
 
Ready?
 
 
Philly Tomato Pie
 
Also not a pizza.
 
Also often called a pizza.
 
Most people are not fooled and refuse to fall victim to its pizza-adjacent qualities. Those qualities are not a reason to let it identify as pizza.
 
Philly Tomato Pie is very much like a focaccia with tomato sauce on top. There's no cheese beyond a sprinkle of grated Parmesan.
 
And important note: it is served at room temp. It is not to be eaten hot. (Rules!)
 
Philly Tomato Pie also has its diehard fans. What could they possibly see in this not-a-pizza?
 
They see a celebration of the tomato with bread involved—very different, but much like…
 
 
New Haven Tomato Pie
 
Danger, Will Robinson!
 
The family's frantic robot is all agog and flailing its arms as AI animatronics are known to do.
 
We are crossing into Connecticut and the polarizing galaxy of New Haven “apizza.” (That odd word is a Neapolitan pronunciation of “pizza” and is said “ah-beetz.” The New Haven Devoted enjoy making loud and enthusiastic pronouncements of "ah-BEETZ!")
 
The pizza in New Haven is "always coal-fired" [always untrue] and always has so much powdery black char that you require an entire dispenser of pre-moistened towelettes [often true].
 
The New Haven Tomato Pie is also not just one thing.
 
It often depends upon which pizzeria you’re visiting.
 
 
This can be the land of the so-called “plain pizza” being one with no mozzarella—in other words, a tomato pie.
 
And in many cases, that is the "classic tomato pie"--though not necessarily by that name. 
 
Whatever name the pizzeria is using for that pizza, it is baked at high temp (sometimes in a coal oven, but at most places in a commercial deck oven), and it has sauce and maybe a sprinkle of grated parm.
 
Then there’s the Seasonal Fresh Tomato Pie, made famous by Pepe’s. They always get great coverage in the press for this annual celebration of fresh local tomatoes.
 
It also includes mozzarella, pecorino Romano, basil, olive oil, and plenty of fresh tomato chunks.
 
It's a proper pizza as most civilians understand it. It’s also a gorgeous looking pizza.
 
But if you drive a couple of hours southwest…
 
 
Yo! Jersey Tomato Pie!
 
In the Trenton area, there evolved a style of pizza independent of the rest of the New York tri-state area (including New Haven), yet it exhibits similar characteristics.
 
The Jersey Tomato Pie (also known as Trenton Tomato Pie) is a crispy, thin crust similar to New Haven.

My personal favorite joint is Papa’s Tomato Pies.
 
Others prefer De Lorenzo’s, whose crust has a slightly different chew.
 
And there are others. But those two are the legacy joints.

Either way, the tomato celebration here is made manifest with the sauce spread atop the cheese—the signature of Jersey Tomato Pie. (Somebody literally asked me, ”What kind of crazy North Jersey sh*t is that!” Tiny tweaks in technique can inspire the irascible to great pique.)
 
The pizza known as Jersey Tomato Pie is surprising and delightful and, at least with these two pizzerias, is a legacy product being made by the same families that launched them over 100 years ago. (Same with Sally's and Pepe's in New Haven.)
 
And finally…


The Best Tomato Pie
 
What is the best possible tomato pie?
 
The one you decide you like the most—especially if it’s one you’ve created, naturally. 
 
I’ve created mine. Have you created yours?

I admit, I feel like my tomato pie experiments have resulted in an endless array of juicy, glorious, big-tasting pizzas that all vie for Best Of The Moment, which is an ongoing condition of pizza living. 

Anyway, here's what happened...

ABOVE: The pizza we call Tomato-Bacon Mania
 
​
The Other Best Tomato Pie
 
Hello, fresh tomatoes!
 
Using fresh instead of canned product is best when tomatoes are in season. But in a pinch, non-seasonal tomatoes work just fine.
 
When first served, this pizza caused a stir. That’s probably because it’s rare to celebrate so much farm-fresh produce on a pizza. But at the end of the show, the tomatoes are still the star.
 
Yes, it is lightly sauced with a traditional pizza sauce. (It makes for a juicier, more umami pizza.) It too is topped with both low-moisture and fresh mozzarella. Then, there are chopped roasted mushrooms (direct from the grower), garlic, bacon, and the starring fruit: halved cherry tomatoes.
 
Following that is a garnish of fresh basil and scallions.
 

It's a loaded, tomatoey pizza.
 
We have a friend we call Mr. Bill. His favorite pizza is one we call Mighty Meaty Madness. (Use your imagination.) He took a bite of this produce-laden pizza and muttered the lord's name in vain. The bounty of the summertime New England agricultural economy was present upon his plate in a way that made him suddenly forsake the call of animal protein pizziatics. (New word.)
 
So, how about you?
 
What’s your tomato pie going to be?

• What kind of sauce, if any?
• What kind of tomatoes?
• What format?
• What seasonings?
• Any other toppings?
• How are you baking it?
• Or is it still just a sudden thought, a glimmer in your pizza pied eye?

 
If you have a tomato pie, or even if you’re just inspired, tell me about it here!
 
We love to know these things, and sometimes share them with your soon-to-be adoring public.
 
And get ready for next week: a recipe for my tomato pie. Which one? We’ll see. But guaranteed, it’s juicy…
​
P.S. Spending an entire day writing about all these tomatoes has an hypnotic effect. In the middle of writing this, I threw down my pen and hustled out to the store to buy pie dough and several pounds of fresh tomatoes. The Southern Tomato Pie photo at the top of the post is mere minutes old. And if you're wondering why the photo of the raw, uncooked pie, it's much more a celebration of the tomatoes than a baked slice, which frankly tastes as amazing as it looks disorderly:

ABOVE: Southern Tomato Pie is ugly delicious. 

Eating that pie, however? Superb. And, of course, man does not live by pizza alone. Frequently, tomatoes must be celebrated elsewhere. 

Next week: Pizza recipe for tomato pie...

----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

(This is not a how-to article on edible flowers. But at the bottom of the page is a link for more info on using flowers. In fact, save yourself from the madness to come. Just scroll down there now.)
 
​
I’ve jokingly referred to pizza as discs of joy.
 
This particular disc brings the joy in a new dimension and makes you wonder if it’s too beautiful to eat.
 
The problem from a rational perspective? 
 
As gorgeous as they are, the problem is the flowers.
 
I don’t know if you’ve ever eaten flowers. I have.
 
Not as a steady diet.
 
But as a pizza topping.
 
And in salad.
 
 
What do they taste like, you ask?
 
I don’t know.
 
But they look fantastic.
 
We are clearly wired to be seduced by the beauty of flowers.
 
But the taste is…
 
Subtle. Fresh air with a slight pillowy texture. Baby's breath, maybe. Perhaps a hint of gossamer. 
 
 
A cynic would call it flavorless.
 
I was talking with the Fabulous Honey Parker, comedy vampire novelist about this.
 
I held up the photo of the glorious pizza covered in what looks like casual castoffs from the Royal Horticultural Society.

I said, “I’m thinking that this could be in a class with gold leaf on pizza.
 
“It doesn’t taste like anything. There’s no nutritional value. It’s all there for looks.”
 
She understood.
 
 
But at least flowers are a sustainable resource.
 
Gold, by its very definition as a precious metal, is unsustainable. There’s a finite supply. It’s expensive to obtain, and difficult to keep. 
 
And on a pizza, gold is just firing for effect.
 
Personally, I find the gold on pizza to be unattractive. It doesn’t look right. It looks out of place.

It belongs not on pizza but in my portfolio, and on the ring in my nose. Inorganics on parade.
 
 
But this pizza with the flowers?
 
It's ironic that the crust is radiant and golden. You can’t get more organic. The pizza looks like something Monet might have painted if he had been blessed with 20/20 vision and a sunrise in the garden.
 
The first such pizza to cross my path was a photo from the very famous Lovely’s Fifty-Fifty in Portland, Oregon.
 
Founder and chef Sarah Minnick has a degree in fine arts from RISD. It seems unsurprising that she could create a pizza that is gallery-worthy.
 
You hear the woman in conversations on pizza podcasts, and you think, “I want to have her at the next party. What a joy.”

There's that J-word again.
 
 
Let’s contrast this with the decadence of a gold-leaf pizza.
 
The first time it flew across my radar like a UFO of gilded pizza madness, it was a stunt pizza from a place in NYC.
 
Besides the gold leaf, there was foie gras, truffles, probably angel wings (they’re good for pizzeria margin), uncut gems, lark’s tongue, and the breath of a wombat.
 
OK. Perhaps I exaggerate.
 
But I know that, among other rare, luxury-shop toppings, the gold leaf, foie gras, and truffles were part of it.
 
 
The pizza cost $2,000.
 
It also had to be ordered in advance. Two days.
 
You cannot DoorDash the $2,000 pizza with gold leaf and lark‘s tongue.
 
But it was so insidious. It still sticks in my craw.
 
It’s just showing off: “Look at me! I’m gold! I’m expensive!”
 
As opposed to the pizza with flowers: “Look at me! I’m colorful! Feel the joy!”
 
The gold on the pizza suggests, Eat me because I’m decadent and in the end I’m just coming out the other end. I have zero nutrition.
 
The flowers on the pizza suggests, Let’s get busy! Eat me and propagate! Let’s be fruitful and multiply!
 
 
The flower pizza is optimistic with a promise of a Kodachrome tomorrow.
 
The gold leaf pizza is crass.
 
It promises a grainy, black-and-white tomorrow with Dutch angles and oblique shadows. Some guy in a fedora is lurking around the corner.
 
The gold leaf on the pizza is void of nourishment and promises money spent foolishly.
 
It seems an empty gesture of decadent folly.
 
 
We casually throw around the word “Decadent.”
 
We’ve appropriated it as a luxury descriptor for things like quadruple-fudge brownies laced with essence of cartoon Satan.
 
Did you know that decadence was an actual movement? 
 
And no, not like the one from gold leaf. Though some may beg to differ.
 
Wikipedially speaking, the Decadence movement came about in the late 19th century. It parallelled the Gilded Age. (How's that for irony?)
 
It apparently emphasized “a need for sensationalism, egocentricity, and bizarre, artificial, perverse, and exotic sensations and experiences.”
 
 
Sounds like the downtown Manhattan club scene of the 1980s.
 
The word “decadence” is also used to refer to “a decline in art, literature, science, technology, and work ethic.”
 
(Why am I imagining a Day-Glo painting of dogs playing poker on velvet while Claude repaints the Mona Lisa for your amusement and an AI voice reads aloud from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?)
 
Loosely speaking, the word “decadent” is a description of self-indulgent behavior. See also: that previous parenthetical about the dogs et al.
 
Clearly, I have little sprinkles of bargain-basement decadence speckled about my own character like bits of char on a pizza from Bianco.
 
See also: my own pizza creations topped with gumbo, étouffée, crawfish, shrimp, alligator sausage, too much garlic, and hog jowl. (No, not all at once. Even I have limits.)
 
All of that freaks out some people. I wonder what they'd do if I put gold leaf on the alligator sausage. 
 
 
But at the end of all this, I don’t know what any of it means.
 
Other than the soulless use of gold for gold’s sake—a product of technological advancement, an engine of human suffering, and a magnet for the romantic and the royal, the venal and the violent—it’s maybe an insult to the pizza, and by extension, the pizza lover.
 
The flowers? They’re inexpensive and unexpected. They bring joy. They're kind of a Crazy Ivan peeking around the corner and giggling.
 
Ultimately, all of it is for effect. But one of these effects is different than the other.
 
Enjoy your joy on pizza, whatever it is. Even if it’s pineapple and lark’s tongues.
 
And by the way, my wife just told me to tell you she’s left the building to go light her cigar with a $100 bill and complain about waste for show. 

If you'd like to know more about putting flowers on your own pizza, click here. 

-----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

Let’s face it: For my 20 years of pizza, I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants. This PhD person has vast, actual professional experience—yet the tiny overlap on our Venn diagram is potent.
 
I met this dynamic pro at the International Pizza Expo & Conference in Las Vegas.
 
 
She was conducting a seminar in “Bringing Global Flavors to Your Menu.”
 
I’ve always thought I was progressive in my ideas for flavors on pizza.
 
Borrowing a page from the late, great Ed Ladue, whose pizza R&D put California Pizza Kitchen and Wolfgang Puck on the world map of pizza, I’ve been willing to try things that some think are outlandish.
 
And then came Chef Dr. Junnie Lai, MBA. (She does not use all those titles simultaneously, but I can’t help myself.)

ABOVE: Chef Junnie Lai, MBA, PhD of Global Cuisine Consulting LLC. She knows a lot--pizza included. 

​
In Las Vegas, Dr. Junnie was standing there behind the stainless-steel countertop in the Pizza Expo demo area, daring us in the audience to consider things about pizza flavors that were outside the box.
 
For example?
 
 
One word: Tenkasu.
 
You might know Tenkasu as “tempura flakes.” They’re little, crunchy, savory bits of deep-fried tempura batter.
 
In her demo, Dr. Junnie used tempura flakes as just one element on a pork-rib pizza that had me thinking…
 
I’ve been doing this wrong.
 
Hello, textural elements!
 
 
The focus on both texture and Asian-inspired components is unsurprising here.
 
Among Dr. Junnie’s myriad professional  credentials, this woman has worked for Domino’s in new product development for Malaysia (her home country) and Singapore.
 
It makes sense that there’s pizza there, especially Domino’s.
 
That region is one of the world’s great crossroads of commerce. And where the international money goes, pizza follows.
 
The Malacca Strait handles about 60% of global international trade. I was once there for a couple of weeks. That was long enough to experience a dynamic and vibrant, cross-cultural landscape of cuisine.
 
 
Example: the breakfast buffet in our Kuala Lumpur hotel.
 
It was like a United Nations of breakfast staples.
 
There were dishes representing a dozen different countries—most of which I’d never experienced.
 
Many of them I’d never even heard of.
 
The gigantic breakfast I assembled from all those different foods was crazy.
 
It was like an international incident on a plate.
 
But I digress.
 
 
I suspected there was more to learn about pizza from Dr. Junnie.
 
With professional experience in the most commercial of corporate pizzas; several culinary certifications from CIA; undergraduate study in health sciences; and advanced degrees both in business and in traditional Chinese medicine (boy, do I feel like a slacker now), this woman was going to have a distinctive take on things.
 
And since we here at Free The Pizza focus on making pizza at home, especially in a standard home oven, I decided to get on the phone with Chef Dr. Junnie.
 
I wanted to ask her a question that seemed way too simple.
 
 
I said, “What are three important reasons to make your own pizza at home?”
 
She thought about it. You could almost hear the gears turning as she considered this. That she didn’t hang up on me right away is gratifying.
 
Finally, she replied.
 
“Eating is more than just nourishment.
 
“It’s an experience.
 
“And when you take it one step further, by preparing and cooking your own food, that experience deepens in a way that can’t be replicated.
 
“Making pizza at home is one of the simplest and most meaningful ways to connect with that process.”
 
 
Alrighty! I am a sucker for demystifying process.
 
I’ve always found process fascinating. It might be because it helps illuminate otherwise oblique instructions. Instead of "just doing it," knowing WHY you’re doing it makes you better at it.
 
For example: A pivotal moment for me was learning how thermal mass makes great pizza possible.
 
That simple concept helped me understand why all the pizza recipes I’d tried prior to having a baking stone were miserable failures.
 
(Thanks, every alleged pro who assured me an upside-down cookie sheet was the answer to my pizza problem!)
 
But all that is old news. Now, in one brief thought, my refrain of “pizza is process” had been outclassed.
 
By the dictum of Dr. Junnie, the first reason you should be making pizza at home is simple.
 
 
REASON #1: “You appreciate food on a deeper level.”
 
I can’t disagree with that. I just wish I’d thought to say it. Good thing Dr. Junnie did.
 
She continued, “When you make pizza from scratch, you begin to understand that its synergy is multilayered. It starts with the dough.
 
“Something as simple as flour, water, salt and yeast can create completely different flavor profiles depending on how long the dough is fermented.
 
“A slow fermentation brings depth, aroma and character. You begin to taste time itself.”
 
While it might seem metaphorical, you really can “taste time” in how it develops a flavorful pizza crust.
 
It’s one of the reasons almost every dough I make undergoes a 72-hour cold ferment.
 
It just tastes better. As one of my regular pizza guests said to me, “You’ve ruined me for all other pizza.”
 
 
Dr. Junnie continues, “Then comes the sauce.
 
“You can go classic with a tomato base, or explore beyond—like cream sauce, pesto, or even something unexpected like mashed potatoes or hummus.
 
“Each choice shifts the entire personality of the pizza.”
 
It’s funny. I’ve seen people’s horrified reactions to a pizza I make with mashed potatoes. Those people can get almost violent.
 
Meanwhile, potato is a common topping in Italy. One of Rome’s classic street foods is a white pizza with potato slices and rosemary.
 
And one of my elder relatives, a very smart guy in his 80s, is a big fan of the mashed potato apizza at the world-famous pizza joint in New Haven known as BAR. (Keep trying new things, friends. Novelty is good for your head.)
 
 
“Next is the layering of toppings and cheese.”
 
“While mozzarella may be the most common cheese, once you start experimenting with blends—adding sharper, creamier, or more aged cheeses—you discover entirely new dimensions of flavor.
 
“This is when you realize… pizza isn’t just one thing.
 
“It’s a composition.
 
“I remember being just 7 years old, already drawn to cooking and baking. There was something fascinating about watching simple ingredients come together and transform into something delicious."
 
There is something delightful about the image of a 7-year-old version of Chef Dr. Junnie Lai, MBA experiencing epiphany in the kitchen.
 
But there’s something else, too. Something important and persistent.  
 
 
One again, we have the “T” word!
 
Watching simple ingredients “transform into something delicious.”
 
This happens repeatedly. Pizza people are often captivated by transformation.
 
Peter Reinhart even discusses it in his TED Talk about baking bread with spent grains from breweries. In the transcript of his 15-minute presentation, some version of the word “transform” appears 18 times.
 
And in his book, Pizza Camp, Joe Beddia of nationally famous Pizzeria Beddia in Philadelphia says of making pizza at home, “It’s best when your oven has a window and a light for watching the bake. I like to watch.”
 
Transformation is captivating.
 
But I just interrupted Dr. Junnie, who was only 7 years old and already fascinated by “watching simple ingredients come together and transform into something delicious.”
 
This was a pivotal moment for her, it seems.
 
 
“It builds respect for food, and a deeper awareness of what you’re actually eating.”
 
I concur.
 
I’ve been cooking most of my life.
 
But I’ve never had more respect for the process and the ingredients than when I began making pizza.
 
It’s easy to become fascinated by the transformation of simple pizza components in combination.
 
It’s also difficult to understand the power of transformation until you initiate it yourself—and then witness what happens when serving it in your home at your own table.
 
Homemade pizza even has a transformative effect on the people you serve it to.
 
We could blame it on the dopamine rush. But I like to think it’s more than that.
 
And I suspect Dr. Junnie does, too. Because…
 
 
REASON #2, “The process becomes the experience. Cooking isn’t just about the final dish—it’s about the journey.
 
Dr. Junnie raises the bar yet again.
 
“Kneading and stretching dough, spreading sauce, choosing toppings…
 
“These small actions create a rhythm. They slow you down. They bring you into the present moment.
 
“For me, the process of cooking is also a time to decompress.
 
 
“It feels like stepping into a playground—where I get to create, explore, and make something delicious with my own hands.”
 
(I admit, I often find time in the middle of my day to interrupt my work flow by making a pizza. Of course, if your work includes making cookbooks, sometimes you rationalize it by calling it R&D.)
 
Junnie says, “When I was growing up, the kitchen was never quiet. My grandmother, my aunt, my parents…everyone would gather around. There were always opinions, suggestions, and yes—sometimes criticism.
 
“But now, I realize those weren’t interruptions.
 
“They were moments of togetherness.
 
“Cooking became the reason we gathered—unplanned, unstructured, but deeply connected.”
 
 
I don’t have kids, but I do have friends who love pizza.
 
I’ve done pizza nights where a bunch of us all gather in the kitchen.
 
I will have already made dough, and sauce and shredded the cheese.
 
Everyone brings a pizza topping.
 
Alcohol might even be involved.
 
We assemble pizzas—and magic happens.
 
The transformation occurs yet again, and with it comes fascination.
 
Just assembling pizzas—combining mundane ingredients and seeing them transformed into discs of joy—becomes thrilling to everyone in the room.
 
I’ve never been exactly sure why.
 
But I suspect Dr. Junnie has one possible explanation.
 
 
As she just said, “Cooking became the reason we gathered—unplanned, unstructured, but deeply connected.”
 
Makes sense.
 
The excitement is unlike any other I’ve experienced.
 
Which brings us to the “sensible” part of the conversation.
 
The adult part.
 
But where there’s still a little magic involved.
 
Here now, the third reason (with no apologies to the Burger King of 1974…)
 
 
 
REASON #3: “You Control Quality, Health, and Flavor—Your Way”
 
Ah-ha.
 
Have it your way.
 
“One of the biggest advantages of making pizza at home is the freedom to choose exactly what goes on it.
 
“You can use ingredients you truly love—whether it’s a rich heirloom tomato sauce, slowly caramelized onions, or delicate slices of prosciutto.
 
“At the same time, you can be more health-conscious.
 
“You control the salt. You choose cleaner ingredients. You add more vibrant, delicious vegetables.
 
“And perhaps the most underrated luxury?”
 
 
This is a big one and deceptively simple—and I believe it’s why people are astonished at how great pizza tastes coming out of a seemingly pedestrian home oven.
 
Ready?
 
Dr. Junnie defines this luxury accordingly: “You get to eat that pizza fresh and hot, right out of the oven--
 
“The crust is perfectly crisp.
 
“The cheese is just melted.
 
“And every bite is at its peak.
 
“That’s something no delivery box can replicate.”
 
Wow. Yeah. I hate to say this because it seems to disparage an entire industry (that’s not the intent) but I have to go there. Ready?
 
 
The Pizza Box is the death of a great pizza.
 
An expert pizzaiolo takes a hot and freshly transformed artisan pizza from the ripping-hot oven and dumps it inside a cardboard box.
 
He closes the lid, and transforms the pizza yet again.
 
Inside that box, the pizza sits in its own steam, and cools for as much as an hour before it arrives at your front door.
 
Cold.
 
Maybe you reheat it. That can give back some of its life.
 
But mostly, people eat that pizza cold and squishy.
 
So it goes.
 
By the reasoning of Chef Dr. Junnie MBA, you get the most desirable and possibly the healthiest pizza when you control it inside your kitchen.
 
I don’t disagree.
 
Now listen to your doctor.
 
 
Thanks very much to Dr. Junnie Lai for playing. She’s is the author of Discovering Your Body Constitution: An Introduction to Personalized Living.
 
You can find out more about the good doctor by visiting her Global Cuisine Consulting website. 
​
-----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

ABOVE: The canvas for the things that happened next... 


Only one way to find out. To the oven!
 
I originally proposed taking the pepperoni and fresh jalapeño pizza from Los Angeles dive bar my wife and I used to call home-adjacent, and adding more jalapeños—this time of the pickled variety
 
Of course, now I’m down in this rabbit hole and I’m not willing to climb out before visiting the bottom.
 
Like I have time for this.
 
I’m already editing a book, editing a film, shooting another documentary, and getting ready to release my next cookbook, The Lazy Way to Pizza: How to Make the Best Pizza Possible with the Least Amount of Work. (Coming soon to an Amazon near you!)
 
Plus, I’ve been fine-tuning a recipe for competition, which is why I have dough in the fridge at 4:30 on a Saturday morning, ready and waiting to be turned into a Saturday Afternoon Pizza Post just for your edification and delight.

 
So here’s the deal: I’m making an 8-inch round pan pizza.

This has become our new format for test pizzas in this house.
 
And yes, I said we were going to do pepperoni, fresh jalapeños, and pickled jalapeños.
 
But I don’t have any fresh jalapeños.
 
I do have Serranos, and I like them better.
 
I might also try a little lemon zest to give it a zippy citrus pop.
 
And if I get daring, I have some Mexican Crema in the fridge that I’m never going to finish because you can buy it only in the industrial size jar, and I am not an industrial size Mexican cook.
 
I’m just a pizza guy who does drizzle.

I will drizzle some on half of this pizza
 
 
Will I ruin this pizza?
 
Probably.
 
But nothing ventured, nothing gained!
 
And once again: I screw up all kinds of things so you don’t have to.
 
So anyway, by 5:00am I was panning pizza dough.
 
Then I went out for a 30-minute walk in the dark. (Keep walking, my friend. It’s good for your endocrine system, which includes the hypothalamus, which regulates your hunger for pizza. Science! Check it out.)
 
 
By 7:30, and two additional dough dimpling sessions later, we were ready to bake in a 500F-degree oven.
 
I topped the pizza with my standard Bianco DiNapoli tomatoes kicked up with garlic, onion, herbs and spices.
 
There was low moisture, whole milk mozzarella involved, as well as pecorino Romano.
 
Since it’s such a small pizza, and ratios are important, I cut thickish slices of pepperoni from a whole Margherita-brand pepperoni stick, then quartered the slices.
 
(I believe that a well composed pizza with an even distribution of toppings is a thing of beauty—which is contrary to the artistic and slapdash nature of a traditional, wet, floppy Neapolitan pizza eaten with a knife and fork. Go ahead, call me a madman and a Philistine. It tracks.)
 
These small-sized pepperoni quadrants work well on a small pizza, and they also play well with other small toppings—like the Serrano chili slices coming their way.

I thought about this because I’ve been working on a new pizza recipe on a deadline that has a judgment involved.
 
The pizza must be as good as it can be.
 
 
So I did something to the pizza that elevated it in a way so surprising, it is unmeasurable.
 
(And what is the measurement scale of pizza surprise, anyway? Does the National Institute of Standards and Technology have a system for that?)
 
This pizza is rich and unctuous with several fatty components.
 
In fact, it’s a concerto of fat for fun and delight.
 
But it was also feeling just a little heavy. And rich.
 
Solution?
 
 
Break out the lemon wedge!
 
I’ve done this often enough that I should not continue to be surprised by how well it works.
 
Just a squeeze of lemon juice around the finished pizza.
 
That bright, acidic pop changes the experience of that rich and lusty pizza, giving it a little jazz hands.

The contrast provided by the acid heightens the flavors--as does (surprise!) a specific biological defense mechanism. 


Danger food!

Acid in excess can harm tooth enamel.

As a result, when your brain detects acid, it stimulates saliva production as a defense mechanism.

Acid is literally a catalyst for a mouthwatering experience. (As if the word "mouthwatering" weren't already challenging enough.) And the result of that saliva production? 

Even more heightened flavors.
 
Which got me thinking.
 
This might account for the fad of pickles on pizza. I’m not a fan--but I think I get it. It's just pizza going through another phase.
 
 
Pizza fans are seeking ever more novelty.
 
Did you know novelty in our lives is part of the recipe for mental health?
 
While routines are helpful for daily life, new things are good for keeping us sharp.
 
And surprise! Novelty is like pizza: Dopamine is involved.
 
In the Psychology Today blog from January 21, 2022 (remember those locked-down days of yore?), Alane K. Daugherty, PhD writes, “A sense of novelty activates the dopamine system directly.

"As a result, it enhances mood, positive outlook, motivation, and goal setting.”
 
 
What could be more appropriate?
 
I can’t speak to the value of pizza in goal setting or motivation. I possess neither as long as there's pizza involved. 
 
But for mood enhancement and positivity? Wow.
 
As if our glorious platters of bread, tomato, cheese and meat weren’t dopamine triggers enough, enter the additional dopamine trigger of Something New.
 
Of course, what is new also becomes old.
 
How many breakthrough moments can attend yet another creative use for ranch dressing?
 
More new things!
 
Make them count!
 
Bring on the acid!

You can't see it, but boy does it do stuff. 
 
 
“If you were told to take a favorite pizza and change it with one acidic element, what would you do?”
 
This is the kind of game The Fabulous Honey Parker and I like to invent on the fly and play for extended minutes of nonsense over morning coffee.
 
One of the first pizza discoveries in our lives together occurred in Los Angeles back in the early aughts. We lived in the thick of things around Fairfax and Melrose Avenues.
 
We were in our favorite dive bar (which was a block and a half from our house—a unique DUI prevention feature) and noticed the cook on his break.
 
 
He was at the end of the bar, eating a pepperoni pizza also topped with slices of fresh jalapeño.
 
It was also not a pizza that was on the menu.
 
We asked the bartender, “Can we have that?”
 
She said, “Sure!”
 
And a new favorite was born.
 
Because of that, pepperoni and fresh jalapeños have long been a staple topping combo in our lives. It’s just a good, solid pizza.
 
Forced to modify a favorite pizza with an acidic element, I choose that pizza and elevate it by adding…
 
 
Pickled jalapeños!
 
I would take that pizza and I would add pickled jalapeño slices along with the fresh ones, then see where that briny vinegar hot pop takes us.
 
We’ve already got the bright, crunchy heat of fresh jalapeños.
 
There’s the rich fatty cheese and the oily, zingy umami of the pepperoni.
 
If we bring the tangy, briny flavor of the pickled pepper, it’s going to cut through all of that with zip and vigor and additional, novelty-induced dopamine on top of what the pizza is already bringing to the party.
 
Not to mention the added endorphin rush of additional capsaicin. (That's the so-called toxin that gives hot peppers their spice.)
 
Peppers are fun.

And acid is your friend. Who knows where it can take you.
  
How about you? What’s your happy acid for pizza? Even if you haven’t yet done it, tell me all about it…
​
-----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​​

ABOVE: The Pizza Vending Machine of Tomorrow counting down the time until my pizza is delivered hot and ready for love.


As the onscreen clock ticks down, the looped video of prurient pizza titillation continues delivering its mobius strip of infinite enticements until the numbers finally hit zero and the screen displays one word.
 
“Delivering…”
 
The ellipsis is animated, its three dots pulsing so you know the machine is not suddenly unstuck in time but is truly committed to pushing a pizza out of the slot in its face.

ABOVE: The undercarriage. An optimist might view this as a hopeful sign. A pessimist would be at a different vending machine. 


It was a promise unfulfilled.
 
The predominant flavor profile was under-seasoned Kraft paper with a half-baked veneer of insipid hues.
 
If our supermarket produce sections in America specialize in selling us the veritable idea of tomato, this pizza machine of tomorrow specializes in selling us a half-baked promise of last-week's pizza.
 
And when your expectations are already so low that you can’t imagine being disappointed, it takes a special effort to dash a hope so meager.
 
As a bonus feature, the pizzas on the vending portal's giant screen were round, but the pizza that came out of the box was square.
 
I held it up for Honey to see.
 
It flopped over like a gourmet washrag.

ABOVE: The Pizza of Tomorrow in all its dopamine-inducing gourmet glory. 


I told her she should have a bite.

She said, "No thanks."

I said, “You need to know.”
 
Reluctant, she took the pizza-like object from my hand and had a taste.
 
She looked at me and said, “Why did you do that to me?”
 
The pizza of the dystopian future is a 12-dollar disappointment of such a degree that I can’t even begin to understand beyond believing one thing: This is a mistake.
 
 
It must be the product of a mechanism malfunction.
 
My pizza was the result of production failure in the moment. 

I hope. 

If it was not, if this is the way it was supposed to be, the reality is far worse.
 
It means millions of dollars in research and development and marketing and logistics shepherded by hundreds of humans have all come together in this misbegotten mess of a meal substitute that tastes like a disappointment so harrowing, it could be rendered in a Rodin sculpture of an epic tragedy all covered in bird droppings that are impervious to the rain in which it stands and of which there are biblical amounts.
 
(Dennis Miller, eat your heart out.* It’ll taste better than this pizza.)
 
Moreover, when I stood there in front of the machine, watching the voluptuous porn pizzas being manipulated beneath the flames of corporate marketing—and the machine then delivered a square pizza—I was philosophical.
 
 
I thought, As disappointing as the shape may be, at least the square is about 20% larger than the circle.
 
Well, even that hope doesn’t float.
 
There’s no reason to endure an additional 20% of this misery delivered with the promise about a simple joy of which this product is utterly vacant.
 
Who would ever think that vending machine pizza is going to be great?
 
Nobody. Any expectations of the pizza are the product of a willingness to compromise mightily.
 
Crushing those already compromised hopes for a tiny rush of dopamine while enduring The Doomtown Of The Air Travel Herd Animals is an emotional bridge too far.
 
 
I pray this is a failure on the part of the machine to perform as programmed.
 
Because if it’s not, it means something dire.
 
Somewhere, somehow, some people have done their collective best, and this is the unworthy result.
 
A purposeful evil committed in an effort to cash in without conscience.
 
Or maybe it’s just a collective denial and insanity. The subjects are cheering the cut of the emperor's new pizza clothes. 
 
Either way, I hate to believe this is a pizza for our time.


Want pizza for the road?
 
Make pizza at home.

Let it cool.

Pack it to travel.

It would be a far, far better thing--even served at room temp. 
 
Reclaim the power and free the pizza.
 
At least for a moment, it’ll make you happy like you can’t imagine.


*Comedian Dennis Miller is known for his long and rambling esoteric references. I have been known try and out-Jabba the Hutt. So to speak.
 
-----
 
NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​​

 
Bums me right out. I love a good frico, and I love a good Caesar, and the pizza was a spectacle on a paper plate.
 
I declined it because of something that happened about five minutes earlier.
 
I told the guy offering the bite, “The last pizza I ate was so amazing, I want to keep the memory of that flavor in my mouth for as long as possible."
 
He nodded. He got it.
 
It’s possible you would’ve done it too—had you been willing to eat what I ate. 

Which might seem innocuous. 
 
 
I’ve never been a fan of the artichoke heart.
 
I find their flavor to be too rich, too dominant, and too commandeering.
 
I’ve always felt they hijack the pizza (or whatever else they’re appearing upon).
 
So why in the name of Grendel's lovely mother did I pick up that slice of pizza?
 
Because I wanted to know.
 
People love them. My wife is a fan.
 
 
I saw that gray-green greasy portion of plant matter and thought, Why not give it another go?
 
It was a “Maybe this time?” moment.
 
I had the slice in my hand and was walking the trade show floor at a brisk pace as I took a bite—and stopped dead, a dangerous move in a crowd that size.
 
I did not get rear-ended.
 
On top of the pizza was artichoke heart, mushroom and prosciutto, a little bit of cheese and the thinnest layer of sauce. The crust was a very thin, crackery, Roman-style crust. It had spots of crunchy black char in all the right places.
 
 
That first bite was a flavor bomb explosion that would've torn the head off a lesser human being.
 
(Not to brag.)

That one taste was so tantalizing, I was afraid to take another bite.
 
I took another bite.
 
It was not imaginary. This pizza really was that good
 
The mushroom meaty umami earthiness, the salty porky post-bake prosciutto righteousness, the creamy, fatty fresh mozzarella, and the little leaves of artichoke all came together in one complex, salty, fragrant, meaty, magnificent bite of pizza that said, "Stop the world and let me on!"
 
 
I’ve never used artichoke hearts, despite my wife’s enjoyment of them.
 
I’ve always figured it’s difficult to do justice to an ingredient if you have no affinity for it.
 
That belief about the artichoke has just been slapped out of me as if with a wet heart to the face.
 
As unpronounceable as the scolymus variation of Cynara cardunculus is, as daunting as its cousin the thistle looks, I’m ready to revisit the artichoke as a provision for pizza.
 
(Like I really need more reason in my life to make pizza.)
 
I will also share my pain with you as it develops over the coming weeks because such joyful misery loves good company. 
 
 
Despite being back from Vegas for a few days, I’ve yet to implement any artichoke delight on my own pizzas.
 
Upon my return, we left home almost immediately for a flight to Philly (which diverted to Baltimore because of weather on our way to an ultimate destination of South Jersey pizza and hoagies and cheesesteaks, oh my.)
 
But I’ve been researching artichoke hearts.
 
It’s boring.
 
The real mystery is how anyone looked at the artichoke and said, “Hey! This pointy, spiny, weaponized vegetable is good to eat! Let’s cultivate them!”
 
Yes, as always, I do these things so you don’t have to.
 
 
And if there’s any object lesson to take away from this experience, it’s simple piece of advice: Be open.
 
Fear of food is silly.
 
Disdain for food is even sillier. (I’m looking at you, pineapple haters who’ve never tried pineapple. I was once one of you.)
 
We live in a time and place where mere subsistence has been displaced by art and craft and enjoyment.
 
We are a culture of recreational eating.

 
Being open to surprise with our comfort foods comes with more benefits, rewards, excitement and joy than one person can even begin to anticipate.

Exciting new stuff should get everyone all aquiver. The shaking should be measurable on a seismometer at Cal State Northridge. 

I say this as I'm watching the social media posts of a friend who's in Oaxaca and just had a grasshopper omelet.

I said to him, "Grasshapper omelet? That's cool. I've had the grasshoppers from a street vendor. They're like eating crunchy little shrimp. Are they crunchy in the omelet?"

He replied, "That's a great description. Crunchy little shrimp."

Yay, crunchy little cousins of shrimp! (Both animals are Arthropoda Pancrustacea and grasshoppers are sometimes referred to as "Land Shrimp." Who knew?)

And yes, I do have some grasshoppers in my pantry, waiting for their turn upon a pizza pie. 
 
 
As the Japanese might say, “Shoshin.”
 
Such things are far more fun, exciting and surprising then yet another slice of pepperoni.
 
(And no, there's nothing wrong with pepperoni.)
 
Shoshin is a word designating openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions.
 
Shoshin flies in the face of the closed-minded hubris associated with being an expert.
 
Shoshin is literally composed of two separate words, "sho" meaning first, initial, or beginning, and "shin,” meaning mind, heart, or spirit.
 

The famous Zen Buddhist monk Shunryu Suzuki wrote a really slim, short and potent book called Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. (Affiliate link!)

That slim volume is so compact and charged that it can be a mind bender. 

(I'm disappointed to report that I just searched me Kindle edition, and the word "pizza" appears nowhere inside the book. That said, my buddy Dutch at Tribecca Allie Café makes a lot of pizza and bread for a bunch of Buddhists in North Mississippi. But I digress.)

Suzuki once said, “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind, there are a few.” 

I only just read that quote today.

It helps explain why I cringe any time someone introduces me as an "expert."

(The only more cringe-worthy introduction is "award-winning." Ick.)
 
 
I just asked my world-famous author wife, The Fabulous Honey Parker what foods she’s continued to try despite not enjoying them.
 
She said, “There’s the vodka sauce. I’m coming around on lamb.
 
“The big surprise was the IPA. I didn’t care and wasn’t interested.
 
"But since we were sitting with the brewmaster and he poured it for us, I didn’t want to be rude.

"And I took a taste and I thought, Oh. This is what an IPA is supposed to taste like!” (It was stellar. You also can't buy it very easily. It's made by his dinky nanobrewery in Sonoma.)
 
My wife also continues to try olives, hoping to one day be part of the olive loving culture around her. We once tasted some precious olives of outer-space royalty in at a famous joint in Yountville. (We are not fancy people, but we know fancy people who tolerate us around a dining table.)
 
Those olives were glorious. Even Honey enjoyed them. If you want to buy them for yourself, you have to go to your supermarket’s unobtainium aisle. Good luck. I've tried. 
 
 
I hesitate to admit how much I’ve given short shrift to artichoke possibilities over two decades of making pizza.
 
What can I say? It took me a long time to follow my own advice of shoshin.
 
And now, based on a pizza moment in ludicrous Las Vegas, I have reevaluated the status of that weird, unattractive little vegetable part.
 
Its own, distinct, rich, earthy, nutty, buttery flavor combined in moderation with the salty, fatty umami medley of the other toppings made me look twice.
 
This was not the artichoke heart of a pizza Quattro Stagioni, or “Four Seasons,” which you often see on traditional Neapolitan pizza menus. Its “four-seasons” designation divides the pizza into metaphorically seasonal quadrants.
 
It offers artichokes for spring, tomatoes and basil for summer, mushrooms for fall, and olives and prosciutto for winter.
 
But this was most of those ingredients combined on one tiny slice of pizza.
 
It’s possible what I’d eaten was a slice of Pizza Capricciosa, which is all the Quattro Stagioni ingredients combined together, and I was just missing some, like the requisite olives.

Whatever. That's not the point. 
 
 
It all shall remain a mystery—and it is now time to adopt a new adventure.
 
I don’t know how much bandwidth I have to devote to creating experimental pizzas with artichoke hearts, mushrooms and prosciutto, much less on a Roman-style cracker crust.
 
But it will be worth it.
 
And the results will eventually end up here in this silly little blog.
 
I’ve been looking for novel toppings and it’s nice to know I can venture into the tried-and-true toppings to repurpose a path to new fun.
 
Whatever that means.
 
What was your ah-ha moment of discovery with a disliked food? Tell me here. I’d love to hear about it. (And as you know, I get enough good ones, I write about them. You will remain anonymous, of course.)
 
-----
 
NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​
​

We are, to use the vernacular, non-normie. That’s a designation reserved for people like tattoo enthusiasts, nudists, philatelists, denizens of the demi-monde, and soap carving experts.
 
Not to mention home pizzamakers (among others).

 
And yes, I even checked with Google Generative AI, which assures me that we are not normal.
 
Since you’ve read this far, you may not be normal, either.
 
So come join me in this unusual convo with the king of quality tomato goodness.
 
It will be enlightening.
 
If you read my stuff with any regularity, you know that I’m a fan of Bianco DiNapoli organic tomatoes. (Affiliate link!)
 
This quirky little product is a partnership between Rob DiNapoli (star of this missive) and Chris Bianco (star of world-famous Pizzeria Bianco in Phoenix).
 
 
You may also know that I used to beat the drum for true, DOP San Marzano tomatoes imported from Italy.
 
I still like them and buy them on occasion. I sometimes even buy the untrue, non-DOP tomatoes.
 
But the tomatoes I now order in bulk from Amazon are Bianco DiNapoli. 
 
And since I like talking to pizza people, Rob DiNapoli has been on my radar for several years now.
 
I first heard him on Peter Reinhart’s Pizza Quest podcast.

ABOVE: Emerson DiNapoli, Rob DiNapoli and your dutiful pizza scrivener. (Photo credit: Albert Grande, who happened to be standing there and directing a photo it never occurred to me to be taking, so thanks to Albert.)


Something else unique about Bianco DiNapoli tomatoes is the high level of family involvement.
 
I asked Rob, “What would you like people to know most about DiNapoli?” And I was asking the question really about DiNapoli Family Foods, Rob’s company.
 
But Rob's answer was a more about a holistic view of success.
 
“Well, I think it’s more the industry. California is our industry, and I’ve been at it—my grandfather started the cannery in 1938, I’m third generation, but there are families and there are farms and it’s, like I said, it’s not subsidized. It’s free enterprise. It counts on the soil and the sun to make it great, and the people, so I think as an industry, it’s worth supporting.
 

“I think California tomatoes are worth supporting because these are our people.
 
“My background has always been in canning tomatoes, and that’s what I grew up doing.
 
“Now we count on a cooperative that’s supplied by 16 growers, families themselves. So we’re an extension of that from the farm to the processing facility and all the workers that are there and supporting their families. And we’re the last step.
 
“Now, we’re out here showing the product off. It’s got our name on it, but it’s backed by a lot of people and a lot of hard work and farmers.
 
 
Rob is so enthusiastic about this, I suddenly felt like had to ask, “How much do you love doing what you do?”
 
He got a sly look and said, "Well, as I get older, I love my grandchildren almost as much as I love the tomatoes. " We laughed. I hope that by the time his grandkids are old enough to read this, they'll understand he was being ironic. 

He went on, "But no, really. I love what I do, and I work hard at it, and I hope it’s a legacy that another generation will take over for me.

"I’m not ready to retire, but I am ready to spend more time with my grandkids."
 

Many thanks to Rob DiNapoli for his willingness to talk tomato.

He’s a great guy with a much-loved product. And I’m especially thrilled to have been gifted with my very own Bianco DiNapoli tomato can lapel pin.
 
If you’d like to investigate Bianco DiNapoli tomatoes for yourself, here’s an affiliate link to the product I use most often for pizza- and pasta-related pursuits.  
 
I’m unable to buy the product locally, so I routinely purchase them in flats of six cans. I’ve also found that Whole Foods and some better supermarkets often have them on the shelf.

Special thanks, too, to Albert Grande for being the conduit for this conversation as well as the photographer. You can see his video interviews and other material at his Pizza Therapy YouTube channel. 
 
-----
 
NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can even start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

ABOVE: The same mushrooms after a total 40 minutes of roasting. Even smaller!


​Small, black and beginning to wrinkle.
 
Yes, those mushrooms might look a bit suspicious.
 
Take a bite, and all suspicion evaporates.

It makes me wonder why there isn’t a business called Sweatpants & Pizza LLC.
 
I imagine it as more of conceptual business.
 
 
Delivering actual sweatpants and actual pizza simultaneously seems a problematic mashup that’s bound to end up in a cheesy, sweaty mess.
 
You got any idea how hard it is to get tomato sauce and congealed melted cheese out of a fuzzy sweatpants lining?

Don't ask me how I know. 
 
And because it’s 5am and I’m not yet caffeinated and thus unprepared to think too deeply about such philosophical, life altering nonsense, I turned to Google.
 
 
GoogleAI is my new best friend.
 
We have a kind of shorthand understanding that only true friends can develop.
 
I went to GoogleAI and said simply, “Sweatpants and pizza.”
 
And GoogleAI nodded. Oh yeah, said Google. (Silently, of course.)
 
Specifically, GoogleAI said, “’Sweatpants and pizza’ represents the ultimate cozy, comfort-focused lifestyle.

"Pizza is considered a top comfort food due to its savory, fatty, and rich components.

"The pairing of pizza and sweatpants is a popular theme for cozy nights in, casual parties, or themed loungewear.”
 
 
Themed loungewear?
 
It’s obvious that GoogleAI hasn’t quite figured me out yet.
 
I’m not a themed loungewear kinda guy.
 
Not yet, anyway. I’m always open to change. (I’m still evolving as a pizza-fueled, lounging-inclined human being. And I'm doing so at a much slower pace than a GoogleAI friendship.)
 
But in the process of discussing pizza-themed loungewear with GoogleAI, my new little buddy in the midnight digits is suggesting something called “Weirdcore Pizza Pajamas.”
 
 
Things get strange in a hurry, especially when it goes all GooglyEye.
 
It can do so in all kinds of ways, really.
 
Like, what friend slips paid advertising into the middle of a conversation, anyway?
 
But right in the middle of my quest for insights related to sweatpants and pizza, there’s a tiny Etsy logo.
 
And if you search Google for the suggested Weirdcore Pizza Pajamas (I am nothing if not suggestible), there’s a clear preference for Etsy results.

And GooglyEye freely admits to pimping Etsy. (I asked. It's true.) 
 
 
And who better to meet all your Weirdcore Pizza Pajama needs than Etsy?
 
The first search result at Etsy is clearly the apex of Weirdcore Pizza Pajama style.
 
I’m looking at a pair of men’s pajama pants in black and awash in a frenzy of oozing, psychedelic Day-Glo pizza slices and ice cream cones.
 
They’re all dripping in a lurid, surreal 1960s head-shop/black-light poster detail that hints at a Salvatore Dali fever dream about a bad acid trip with snacks.
 
 
Weirdcore Pizza Pajamas. You heard it here first.
 
GooglyEye concluded our little tête-a-tête by saying, “Whether you're looking for comfortable loungewear or just planning a relaxing evening, this combination is a classic choice for comfort.”
 
The combination referred to is, of course, sweatpants and pizza and not Weirdcore and Loungewear.
 
I hope.
 
Given the GooglyEye penchant for nonsensical associations, I decided I had to know what my friend thinks about its abilities at making pizza.
 
So I asked a simple question of tremendous import for these troubled times in which we live.
 
 
I wanted to know: “Will Google ever be able to make a decent pizza?”
 
It’s almost shocking how aware GooglyEye is of its own limitations.
 
“It is unlikely Google will ever directly make pizza, as their focus is on software, data, and robotics rather than culinary arts.”
 
(Referring to itself in the third person is a problem that comes and goes with GooglyEye.)
 
 
GooglyEye knows that while it “could theoretically optimize recipes, the dexterity and sensory skills required for top-tier, artisan pizza making are far outside their core technological expertise.”
 
The conclusion GooglyEye draws about pizza is “the actual creation of a ‘decent’ hand-crafted pizza requires the human touch.”
 
For now, anyway. It's still up to you and me to make our own homemade pizza with actual hands on the dough. 

After all, we still have the uncountable millennia of opposable thumbs that GooglyEye is missing. 

Zeroes and ones can take an intelligence only so far. 

In other words, don't trust it with the football, whether pigskin or nuclear. At least, not until it can make pizza as good as the one you make at home. 

 
Join me next time as I climb out of this early-hours rabbit hole and get back to actual pizza.

It's going to include a new discovery involving roasted mushrooms, sliced white onions, garlic and pistachios.

Really.

That's not a fever dream with Day-Glo colored nuts in pajamas. Promise.
 
NOTE: The preceding was indeed written in a hotel room in the French Quarter of New Orleans. But the room was nowhere near Bourbon Street and the actual events bear zero functional similarity to the one depicted in “Truckin’.”

-----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME--SO MUCH CHEAPER THAN A CAN OF SOUP! Still haven't bought your pizza oven yet? That might be a good thing. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​​
​

This is happening because a week ago Wednesday--as with every February 25 since its sacred designation by parties unknown--the day was host to a hallowed celebration of soupy reverence.
 
 
Last Wednesday was officially National Clam Chowder Day.
 
And since you know how absurd and tenuous we are here about pizza connections through history, you’ll be unsurprised to know there’s a cockamamie connection between chowder and the pizza we all know and love.
 
It’s all representative of the crazy, fantastic melting pot of food cultures in these greatest of United States.
 
And none of this is to mention that, whether Red or White, clam chowder goes great with pizza, atop pizza, or alongside the world‘s best sandwich made with a home-baked bread born of leftover dough for pizza. (It’s called “panuozzo,” and it makes a fantastic BLT.)
 
And remember, we do these things so you don’t have to. Instead, you can just watch my "progress," shake your head, and go make a pizza the correct, approved and accepted way: by calling Domino’s.
 
Now, for just a moment, let’s talk about that chowder…
 
 
If you grew up in New England as I did, you understand the challenge of chowder chauvinism.
 
The typical Yankee curmudgeon (as I often pretend to be because it’s easy and fun to apply such comedic crankiness) is known for a hardcore hatred of the tomato whenever it gets too close to the clams.
 
And Yankees love their clams.
 
The New England clam bake is an institution unrivaled in feasting complexity.
 
Dig a pit, heat a bunch of rocks, throw in the shellfish, and cover it all with wet seaweed.

Iconic! Delicious! Yankee ingenuity at its finest!
 
 
Who in the world could possibly come up with something like that anywhere else in the world?
 
New Zealand? Portugal? Spain? Poland? Peru? All over Coastal North America as practiced by Native Americans for 4,000 years?

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. All of the above! So what?
 
Despite today’s prohibitive prices on the namesake bivalve of clambake fame, it’s fun to note that early colonists in America declared clams “Revolting!”

They served clams not at backyard parties but fed them to their pigs.
 
But I digress.
 
Cranky Yankees love their clam chowder. And they’re very vocal about the rule of white chowder: It’s a stew of clams in a milk-infused broth. There are typically onions, celery, bacon and potatoes.
 
 
Cranky Yankees also love to get up in arms over red chowder.
 
Instead of dairy, there’s tomato involved. 
 
Yankees lose their cockles and mussels over tomato-based chowders. Violence can ensue.

This despite a very clear history of red chowders born in New England.

The most notable of New England red chowders is the Portuguese-style that hails from Rhode Island.
 
 
And here’s where your historical Pizza Link comes in.
 
Strap in and hang on.
 
That most sinister of red chowders is that which is known as Manhattan Clam Chowder.
 
Manhattan clam chowder was indeed born in NYC.
 
It is also believed to have been evolved by those fun-loving originators of our most treasured of food stuffs…
 
 
Pizza!
 
That’s right. Neapolitans stormed ashore in the US in the late 1800s armed with recipes for not only pizza, but for something called zuppa de vongol.
 
Neapolitan immigrants served “Soup with Clams” in their New York fish houses, and a craze to wrankle the Yankee was born.
 
And that’s just the Manhattan edition.


Let’s not forget the other Italians, the Spanish, the Portuguese, the Irish, and the English, all up the coast from Manhattan making chowders of their own cultural device.
 
Interestingly, the late, great Chef Jasper White--whose book 50 chowders (affiliate link alert!) is one of the most well-worn in my vast library of cooking books--subscribes to the opinion that red chowder versus white might be the result of a long-dismissed baseball hatred between the Yankees and the Red Sox.

Yes, it could be connected to Boston’s trade of Babe Ruth to New York.
 
(Chowder is not recognized as a part of Babe Ruth’s famous Wheelbarrows Of Beef diet, so no reference is available regarding the Babe’s preference for either tomatoes or milk in his chowder. And since The Babe was born in Baltimore, if he had any seafood soup preference, one might speculate his alliance was to Maryland Crab Soup which is made with [GASP!] tomatoes. He was by his own admission, after all, a delinquent youth.)

Soups can make great pizza!
 
I’ve been doing this ungodly thing to soup and pizza for almost a decade.

And recently, I was very glad to see the 34-pound, three-volume, steel-encased pizzapedia of Nathan Mhyrvold’s Modernist Pizza suggesting that my potentially criminal actions here are 100% valid.
 
They pointed out that soups are emulsions, and emulsions belong on pizza.
 
Yay, emulsions!

 
Of course, this also justifies ranch dressing on pizza, but that’s another discussion.
 
If you’ve been struggling with deciding what fun, new things to do with your homemade pizza program, look to your soups.

I've used a variety of soupy comestibles. 

I just went to look at the soups mentioned in Modernist Pizza. It was surprising to realize that in there with bisque and gumbo, they mention laksa. 


Who in the world has laksa pizza except for Modernist Pizza and possibly a whack job like yours truly? 

Laksa is a soup found in Malaysia and Indonesia, as well as in Singapore, which is where I had the coconut curry version with prawns. 

It would make a great pizza topping!

The Modernist crew has devised a recipe specifically for the sauce. But nothing is stopping you or me from grabbing a jar of Thai-style curry soup off the shelf, a handful of frozen shrimp, and making your own CPK-beater Thai curry shrimp pizza. 

 
The first time I did this was with a leftover homemade gumbo.

Not exactly a soup, but so close.

And this was long before I'd even heard of Modernist Pizza, so it's all on me whether you like it or not. 
 
My soup-on-pizza method (which you are free to use unabashedly and without royalty or license) requires first straining out the solids.

In the case of the gumbo, for a 12-inch pizza, that means using a slotted spoon to extract about a half cup of the chicken, sausage and vegetables.
 
Then, taking about a half cup of the soup juice (that's a pro kitchen term, y'all) which goes onto the stove in a saucepan for thickening into a sauce.
 

Heat the soup juice gently.

(Try using that term on your pro-chef friends and see their respect for you blossom like an orchid in the moonlight.)

Sprinkle about a half teaspoon of flour very lightly across the top of the soup juice and keep whisking it over a low flame until it thickens like magic. (Alternately, you can make a slurry and add it to the saucepan before whisking.)

Let the sauce cool to room temp.

Sauce the pizza with the thickened soup, spread the cheese (if any), then add the strained solids as pizza topping.
 
Bake your pizza per usual.

The one I'm about to make will look like this...

​I’ve changed my mind.
 
I don’t want to be a smartass.
 
Well, not as much as I usually do.
 
This pizza is so good, and the backstory is surprising yet so familiar.
 
It might even become your favorite new interpretive pizza recipe. (The difference between interpretation and appropriation? We honor the source of the inspiration and acknowledge its rightful place in lore. I guess.)

If you don't have the patience for this, you can scroll on down to the recipe, then decide you're not interested in that, either. Liberty is alive at Free The Pizza!
 
 
There’s a lot to enjoy here on this pizza.
 
And yes, on the face of it, this is an oddball affair: a traditional American Italian-style pizza interpretation of a traditional Somali-Italian pizza sporting a traditional Somali xawaash-spiced ground lamb.
 
And no, I am far from the first person to do this. It’s a thing.
 
I’m pretty sure traditional xawaash-spiced ground lamb was not traditionally served on a pizza crust. But such spices are a quintessential ingredient in Somali cuisine.
 
 
In fact, if you’re a fan of Indian food, xawaash is considered by some to be the garam masala of Somali cuisine.

As with garam masala in India, xawaash is in every Somali kitchen and touches almost every dish in some way or another. 
 
Are you wondering how to pronounce it?
 
So was I.
 
Sources say the "X" in “xawaash” has a raspy sound not unlike the “ch” in Scottish loch. But apparently, Americans like to anglicize it to a simple “H” sound.
 
The accented syllable also seems to vary, depending on who’s saying the word: “HAH-wash” or “huh-WASH.”
 
I prefer the latter “huh-WASH” because it sounds authentically not American. (What fun are mysterious new foods if you can’t enjoy their phonemes as much as their taste?)
 
 

You’re also probably wondering why we’re dancing at the edge of a Somali pizza crust.
 
Blame it on current events.
 
The Somali community in Minneapolis has been in the news a lot lately. According to the Commander In Chief, "They contribute nothing.”
 
I, of course, have my doubts about that. Every community contributes something, especially when it comes to pizza.
 
But what, exactly?
 
Consider this: as you probably know and were about to remind me, Somalia has a mixed bag of colonial influences, including Great Britain, France and (yes!) Italy.
 
(And yes, this will be on the test.)
 
Italy began colonizing Somalia in 1889, formed the colony of Italian Somaliland in 1905, integrated the colony into Italian East Africa in 1936, then it fell to British forces in 1941. Italian Somaliland returned as a UN trust territory under Italian administration from 1950 to 1960.
 
 
A byproduct of all this Italian empire building is that one of Somalia’s national staple dishes is something called baasto with suugo.
 
Baasto is a Somali variation of the Italian word “pasta.”
 
Suugo is a single-vowel variation of the Italian word “sugo,” which means sauce, which in turn is a variation of the Latin word “sucus,” meaning “sap.”
 
I suppose I could be the sap in this equation, but I don’t know enough yet to make that evaluation with accuracy.
 
But the more I went spinning down this rabbit hole so you don’t have to, the more intriguing it became.  
 
I figured let’s start with how long pizza has been in Somalia—and the answer seems to be about as long as it’s been in the US.
 
 
It’s just that Somalia was not as much on the Italian diaspora hit parade as prominently as the USA.
 
By 1935, there were about 55,000 Italians in Somalia.
 
In the US during the same period, there were more than 4 million Italian immigrants.
 
Nonetheless, pizza got a toehold in Somalia. And like so many other migratory foodstuffs, it evolved with the local food traditions and customs.
 
Hello, halal!

No pork on pizza for you! But look at this sweet little lamb…
 
 
As it happens, I’m a sucker for both lamb and pizza.
 
The latter more than the former, of course. But why choose?
 
Do you dislike lamb?
 
That’s understandable.

So much lamb available to you tastes like mutton—which is different. Mutton is the meat of an old sheep and tastes somewhat like a sweater not yet washed in Woolite.
 
A lot of imported lamb in the US is grassfed, and has a mutton-ish taste.
 
Domestic lamb is typically cornfed, and has a more mild flavor.
 
The reason people love lamb is attributable to its fat. We’re talking BCFAs, or branched-chain fatty acids. These are aromatic compounds that deliver a savory, earthy note.
 
And I love that note—especially when you sing it with those BCFA lamb fats crisped up with salt and herbs on a leg of lamb. It's like heaven's own chicharrónes.
 
 
The joy-inducing potential of this lamb-on-pizza combo seemed like a no-brainer.
 
And when I started digging for Somali pizza, it was surpisingly easy to find.
 
There are even a few guys on YouTube who are Dave-Portnoy wannabes, saying, “I had to try Somali pizza! I mean, what the…!?”
 
And then they each buy a pizza in a box, sit in their cars, and video themselves eating the pizza and saying, “Wow! Somali pizza!”
 
I think those pizzas have beef on them.
 
They also look a lot like Pizza Hut pan pizzas, with a lot of cheese and a thick, crispy crust, and little dark dots of unspecified meat product. 
 
 
What could be more convincing of quality than all that?
 
Nonetheless, we moved forward with our quest for a Somali-influenced pizzed.

Cultural appropriation galore—maybe.
 
It’s hard to know.
 
In the high-end travel guides, it would be called fusion cuisine.
 
Either way, I felt confident that I could get a handle on the flavored-up fatty goodness of the xawaash-spiced ground-lamb pizza with a degree of authenticity, since it all seems to be pretty loose.
 
In fact, it seems like there are no hard and fast Somali pizza rules, just so long as somewhere there’s ground lamb spiced with xawaash seasoning involved.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I am not pretending to be halal here in this preparation. I have zero authority or even experience in that department. Nor am I going to joke about it. Though I once paid a premium for halal raw chicken thighs at a Walmart in New Hampshire, and it was an excellent product.

But I digress.

Recipe follows.

ABOVE: The Somali-style pizza, topped with lamb and tomatoes and ready for launch. 


RECIPE: How to make this authentically American questionably Somali pizza that tastes great (unless you’re a homesick Somali, then no guarantees).
 
This recipe yields a pizza with a fair degree fat on it, and it is yummy.
 
All that rendered lamb fat on a crispy pizza crust with a little olive oil and all the spices is a flavor bomb.
 
And since fat is filling, you may find yourself satisfied after just a single slice. (Ha!)
 
If you don’t want all that fat on your pizza, you can pre-cook the lamb until most of the fat is rendered out. But the meat will be somewhat dry after baking on the pizza. It’s up to you. (I’ve done it both ways. Guess which way I prefer.)
 
Following is a recipe for a quick xawaash blend using dried and ground spices. Grinding whole spices is obviously the more cheffy way to do this. I didn’t have enough whole spices readily available, so I went with the quickie method courtesy of Google AI intel and informed by my own experience and preferences.
 
Following the spice blend is a recipe for making the pizza using that spice blend.

 
This recipe makes a single 12-inch pizza.
 
If you come from the same less-is-more pizza philosophy as I do, it seems like this pizza has a lot of topping. Feel free to adjust the quantity if you wish. I found the topping load I specify to be an ideal amount, especially since there’s no sauce and no melting cheese.
 
A note on the Serrano chili: This is optional. It’s supposedly an authentic Somali topping. I like the kick from Serranos, and most people I know can handle them. Sources (as much as they can be trusted) say the traditional Somali way of spicing up food is after it’s cooked, using a sauce made from jalapeňos or Serranos and known as bisbaas. But Serrano or jalapeño pepper on pizza is considered popular.
 
Cilantro is also a traditional ingredient. I’ve specified dried cilantro for sprinkling on the cooked pizza. This is informed by the common, post-bake use of dried oregano on New York pizza, which I enjoy as a guilty pleasure. On this pizza, the cilantro provides a nice herbal note without the same, often unpopular floral (read: soapy) notes of fresh cilantro.
 
I tried using both fresh cilantro and fresh parsley for garnish. The cilantro didn’t pop as much as the parsley. Both are traditional herbs in Somali cooking. I found the parsley to have a more enjoyable profile on this pizza. Your mileage may vary.
 
And no, feta is not an authentic Somali cheese. But Somalia does have similar cheeses. Sources say feta is an acceptable substitute.
 
A note on feta: one of my new quests is looking for imported feta made with sheep and goat milk. That’s closer to traditional feta cheese than the cow’s milk feta often available from American sources, and I’m a sucker for the natural tang of sheep milk cheese.
 
The pizza dough here is my standard recipe (as available in my book), and is a low-hydration dough, about 63%. It’s much like a Neapolitan-style dough, except made with King Arthur bread flour for more structure. You can use whatever dough you prefer and adjust the pizza toppings as you see fit. As mentioned, this is for a 12-inch pizza.
 
 
Xawaash Spice Blend
 
8 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground black pepper
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cardamom
1 tsp ground turmeric
 
Mix all the ingredients together and store in an airtight container.
 
 
Xawaash Lamb Pizza Recipe
 
INGREDIENTS
1 dough ball, 235g
7 oz ground lamb
4 oz tomatoes, canned petite diced
3.5 oz feta, crumbled
1 small onion, minced
1 large serrano, sliced (optional)
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp xawaash spice blend (see above)
1 tsp grated ginger
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp (or to taste) black pepper, fresh ground
1 pinch cayenne pepper
1 dash white pepper
Dried cilantro to finish
Lemon wedge
Fresh cilantro or parsley for garnish
​Olive oil for brushing the dough

INSTRUCTIONS
With a baking steel in the middle to top third of the oven, preheat to 550°F (or as high as it goes, whether that’s 525 or 500).
 
As usual, we’re going to use the broiler method at the end of the bake to mimic the effects of a pizza oven. If your oven doesn’t have a top broiler, you can extend the baking time instead.  
 
Once the oven reaches temp, let it preheat for an hour.
 
Meanwhile, combine the ground lamb in a bowl with the xawaash spice mix, salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper, white pepper and the ground cinnamon, and mix it all thoroughly.
 
Heat about a teaspoon of olive oil in a pan.
 
Add the onions and sauté for a minute or two. Then add the garlic and sauté for another minute.
 
Turn down the heat. Add the spiced-up ground lamb mixture. Use a spoon or a spatula to break up the lamb.
 
Cook the lamb on low heat just long enough that it starts to brown and crumbles instead of sticking together. Much of the lamb will still be raw. Remove from heat and allow to cool.
 
When the oven is ready for baking, stretch your dough to 12 inches.
 
Brush olive oil lightly around the stretched dough.
 
Spread the ground lamb mix evenly around the oiled pizza dough.
 
Sprinkle the petite diced tomatoes evenly around the lamb, followed by the Serrano slices.
 
Launch the pizza. Bake for four minutes.

ABOVE: Pizza removed from oven mid-bake, and topped with the feta cheese and sliced chilis. 


​Remove the pizza from the oven. Sprinkle crumbled feta evenly around the pizza.
 
Return the pizza to the oven and rotate 180 degrees.
 
After two more minutes of baking, switch on the broiler to high.
 
After one more minute, rotate the pizza 180 degrees.
 
(NOTE: Your home oven will perform differently than my home oven. Be prepared to adjust baking times up or down based on how your pizza is looking. It should look happy and healthy and ready for fun.)

Check the pizza for doneness. It should ideally have a little bit of char evident on top.
​

ABOVE: Pizza removed post-bake, before applying dried herbs, fresh herbs and lemon juice. 

​
Transfer the pizza to a cooling rack. Sprinkle with dried cilantro.
 
Allow the pizza to set for a minute.

ABOVE: Pizza with garnish applied. 


Garnish with fresh cilantro or parsley. Squeeze fresh lemon juice over the pizza. Slice and serve. Revel and exclaim. Think about making another. 

I hope you've enjoyed your trip to Somali-style pizza in your home oven. 

-----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Did Santa forget to bring you a pizza oven at Christmas? That might be a lucky accident. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

 
And instead of just a not-quite-a-knight CBE (what is with those complicated antique titles in the old country, anyway?), Sir Dave deserves to be the Patron Saint Of Pizza Power.
 
He also doesn’t even know it.
 
Sir Dave (as he seems to be known) is a noted figure in competitive cycling—which has nothing to do with pizza, right?
 
Not so fast, Armstrong.
 
Here’s the topline story you need to know about the simple genius behind his philosophy—an astonishingly banal insight that bred a bunch of breakout world champions.
 
 
As surprising as it may seem, the British Cycling team was really bad.
 
Over a period of 76 years, they had collected exactly one gold medal.
 
They were so bad, equipment manufacturers didn’t want to give them gear. Manufacturers were afraid of having their products associated with a group of organized sports’ most epic losers.
 
Sir Dave came to the team with a simple idea: the philosophy of marginal gains—more popularly known as The 1% Improvement Theory.
 
If he could improve every aspect of the team’s performance by merely one percent, it could become a championship team.
 
During a morning “brekkie” show on the BBC, Sir Dave said, “The whole principle came from the idea that if you broke down everything you could think of that goes into riding a bike, and then improved it by 1%, you will get a significant increase when you put them all together.”
 
So he did that.

And we're talking not just the things you'd expect in training and equipment, but EVERYTHING: from the determining best pillows and mattresses for better sleep to surgical-grade hand-washing techniques for avoiding illness.

 
As a result, British Cycling became an unstoppable force.
 
Across two Olympics, they won a slew of medals the size of small pizzas from a chip shop, and became a powerhouse in the annual Super Bowl of cycling, the Tour de France.
 
And if you know how much the French and the English love each other, British Cycling kicking ass in France is probably reward enough by itself.
 
How’s that for realizing the potential benefits of a one-percent, marginal-gains focus?
 
I was pondering Sir Dave’s philosophy, and suddenly had a realization:

“Holy carp! I’ve been doing something similar with pizza.”
 
 
At the moment this cartoon lightning bolt smacked me atop my head, I was lowering my oven rack two inches.
 
I was trying to determine if it would result in a better tasting pizza.
 
Yes, two inches.
 
Lo and behold, it did.
 
But who is ever going to say something like, “Lower that oven rack two inches and your pizza will be fantastic."
 
Nobody.
 
Until now.
 
 
Let’s call it the infinite and unmarketable boredom in the radical minutiae of pizza process.
 
It got me thinking about how some of the least sexy tweaks in pizza making have led to the sexiest pizzas possible.
 
Some of the biggest frustrations have been mitigated by the most mundane moves imaginable.
 
How in the name of Sir Dave does such pizza magic become manifest?
 
By kicking the devil right in the details.
 
And you’re witnessing it right now.
 
You can say you were here at its first flaming flight like a pizza rocket from the launch pad at…well, wherever they launch flaming pizzas from.
 
 
We’re talking about delivering the biggest, most exciting pizzas possible from your home oven with tips that come at you one gram at a time.
 
Welcome to the first installment of “The Free The Pizza Compendium Of Tiny Tips.”
 
Rolls, right off the tongue, doesn’t it?
 
By the way, I challenge you to come up with a more ridiculous name.
 
In fact, let’s make this a contest: If you can come up with a more delightfully ridiculous name for this one-percent pizza thing, I’ll send you an autographed copy of my soon-to-be-released new book, The Lazy Way To Pizza.
 
It’s only fitting, since I was testing recipes for that book when I experienced this one-percent pizza-piphany.
 
It also seems fitting that today’s tip is the one that got us here in the first place.
 
Got a name? Send it here.
 
And now, the Tiny Tip that starts it all.
 
You’re going to have a hard time getting enough of this, lemme tell ya.
 
 
So. It’s 10pm. Do you know where your children are?
 
And speaking of that, where is your oven rack?
 
Yes, it’s in the oven.
 
But where in the oven?
 
What is the position of your oven rack in your home oven?
 
That position changes the way your pizza bakes.
 
Experimentation is your friend.
 
For a long time, my rack was always just in the middle of the oven.
 
Then, I began raising it into the upper third.
 
Hey! Better pizza!
 
 
Then, I began using the broiler during the second half of the bake.
 
The upper third worked even more brilliantly!
 
That position served me well across two more ovens.
 
Then, I bought a brand new oven.
 
Holy Mother Of Charred Pizza, the rack settings I’d been using were suddenly too high.
 
I had to move the rack back to the middle of the oven.
 
 
Then came test recipes for my new book, which focuses on simple-to-make pan pizzas.
 
I already knew the middle rack was way too high for medium-crust pan pizzas as The Lazy Way prescribes.
 
Moving the rack to the lower third of the oven worked out much better.
 
But the tops of the pizzas were still a touch overdone.
 
So I did something that seemed like madness—madness, I tell you!
 
I lowered the rack the final two inches to the very lowest position available.
 
Amazing!

The balance between a crunchy bottom crust and a perfectly baked top had reached championship levels. 

I suddenly wanted to make pizzas the size of bicycle wheels. 
 
This victory in pan pizza all stems a very simple process known as The Not-So-Scientific Method for Making Pizza.
 
 
I moved the rack. I made a pizza. It was better or it was not.
 
Make a tweak. Bake a pizza. See what happens

Related to rack position is the broiler. In my old oven, the broiler wasn’t as hot as the broiler in the new oven.
 
In the old oven, the upper third was a great place to bake a traditional pizza.
 
A traditional, hand-stretched artisan-style pizza baked directly on the steel in the old oven took about 5 to 6 minutes and was fantastic.
 
With the new oven, that was too much time and too much heat.
 
Lowering the rack, and reducing the amount of time under the broiler made a much better pizza.
 
It also did the job in about four minutes with half the broiler time.
 
 
As for The Lazy Way pan pizzas, they’re so surprisingly good you won’t believe it.
 
While I’m not much of a self-promoting slapper of my own back, these pizzas are a delight. Crunchy, crispy, olive-oily herby. And filling enough that half an 8-inch pizza can be satisfying (depending on your level of discipline and gluttony). 
 
But I digress.
 
I already knew the raw pizza in a pan needed to be closer to the heat source than the traditional, “pan-less“ pizzas.
 
I just didn’t realize how close.
 
It seems that baking at the bottom of the oven is brilliant.
 
And I’m baking those Lazy Way pizzas for as much as 18 minutes.
 
That seems crazy after living in a world of 4-to-6-minute bakes.
 
But trying the lowest oven rack position changed everything about the pizza.
 
Well…maybe not everything. It didn’t fly to the moon or win a bunch of cycling medals from the French.
 
 
But in the case of each pizza style and each oven, each small change made a significant difference.
 
Each pizza looked and tasted better.
 
None of them required a special oven.
 
They didn’t take any extra work.
 
There were no special ingredients required.
 
I didn’t have to buy any new tools.
 
It just took about a one-percent change in the process.
 
 
As you may have heard me say before, pizza is not recipes. Pizza is process.
 
It doesn’t matter what recipe you’re using. If you don’t know how to handle the particular dough with regard to the overall process, it’s a crapshoot. 

Sometimes, it's a win. But not always. 
 
I now know, in my new oven, part of the process for a Lazy Way pan pizza is positioning the oven rack at the bottom position.
 
If you’re a beginner, you might want to experiment with your oven rack position—especially if you were unhappy with your pizza bake.

It could be the 1% solution that changes your command of that pizza. 
 
 
If you’re an expert, have you experimented with your oven rack position?
 
What was the result? Anything surprising? Was there an epiphany?
 
Inquiring minds and all that. Tell me here. I’d love to know.
 
And that’s it.
 
A tiny tip.
 
Does it seem anti-climactic?
 
That’s probably because you haven’t tried it yet.
 
You’re gonna love it.
 
Stay tuned for more tips to come in the one percent pizza process.
 
-----
 
NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Did Santa forget to bring you a pizza oven at Christmas? That might be a lucky accident. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

Madness abounds. Not since the 1984 league championship game, when Ridley Scott put a muscular blonde in a track uniform to have her throw a sledgehammer into the face of Big Brother conformity, has there been so much fuss over so little.
 
And while Free The Pizza! remains apolitical in the face of the madness, we still want to bring a pizza to the party.
 
Once again, it's another exercise in "I do these things so you don’t have to—" and you get to join in if you want.
 
​I’ve researched the state of pizza in that magnificent and maligned stepchild of a US territory called Puerto Rico, and have devised a recipe for a simple pizza that fits the established Puerto Rican model like Bad Bunny in a dress.

​So that’s what we’re calling it.

​The name of this pizza is Bad Bunny in a Dress. 

​No matter who you are—whether you love satire or you hate Bad Bunny and love Kid Rock, or all or none—you can manage to find some reason why the name of the pizza is amusing.  
 
The actual pizza requires a few simple ingredients, one traditional Puerto Rican culinary element, a couple of unusual but readily available toppings, and it’s a party in your mouth. ("Write that down!")
 
Bad Bunny in a Dress is a flavor bomb of a crowd-pleasing pizza for your halftime TV festivities while everyone’s watching the family-friendly Kid Rock show over at YouTube or TBN.
 
Just FYI, sports book odds say it’s unlikely Kid Rock will also be wearing a dress, and nobody at that particular show will be mentioning any of his homemade porn videos, his assault arrest at a Waffle House, or his fistfight with his ex-wife’s other famous ex-husband at the MTV awards. Small favors abound!
 
TRIVIA: An unchurched believer, Kid Rock is a proponent of forgiveness. If you have a rap sheet like his, you’re probably also a fan of forgiveness. I know I am. But I digress. And Bad Bunny will be wearing a dress. (Have we made that clear yet? And by the way, since I’m making pizza, I’ll be wearing an apron.)

 
You’ll be glad to know that Puerto Rican pizza eaters enjoy pineapple on pizza—not to mention plantains.
 
I’m sure someone is going to hold that against them.

All these years and I’m still pineapple agnostic. I’m not a fan of pineapple on pizza, but I want to be. Someday, my pineapple pizza princess will come.
 
That said, I considered going down the plantain hole because I’m a big fan of tostones. Despite sounding like it involves male hormones or ED medications, the tostone is a slice of plantain, smashed, fried and salted.
 
Plantains are also a lot of work. And pizza is already enough of a calorie bomb without adding a starchy fried fruit to the mix.

 
Also, with all the hip-hoppin' hoo-hah happening on all sides of this epic distraction, I wanted to make a pizza that is very much of the American story.
 
After all, pizza is an import from Italy that is widely loved and highly evolved from its impoverished roots, when it was a food for the aggressive and violent dirt poor of Naples.
 
Known as Lazzaroni for their attire of rags that evoked biblical images of the ragged beggar Lazarus, the Lazzaroni were a useful populist mob who were ready at a moment’s notice to act as street fighters for the royal palace. Using the copper-coin carlinos and tornesis they earned from their illicit labors, they subsisted on “pizza by the cut” from the kingdom’s street vendors.
 
Before Puerto Rico was acquired by the United States, it was taken from the indigenous Taíno people by Spanish colonizers, who were followed to their new Caribbean island getaway by settlers from Corsica, France, Lebanon, Portugal, Ireland, Scotland, Germany and Italy.

That’s because Spain wrote a Royal Decree that, in return for loyalty to the church and payment of taxes, they’d give folks free land in Puerto Rico. (To be sure they attracted desirable candidates, they wrote the decree in three languages—one of them English. Phew!)
 

Anyway, what could be more of an American culinary melting-pot scenario than all that?

But this pizza really sticks to the Spanish influences on Puerto Rico’s pizza culture. We’ll have to look at the Corsican, French, Lebanese, Portuguese, Irish, German and Scottish culinary influences at another time.

The Scots are my people, and I’m also haggis pizza curious.

And while Puerto Rico lacks haggis (which is a savory blend of sheep organs), they do have gandinga, a stew of pig heart, liver and kidneys, as well as queso de cabeza, better known here at home as head cheese.

But again, I digress.
 
 
Back to this epic showdown in halftime entertainment!
 
The big game being played this weekend is a faceoff between east and west.
 
On the east, the storied old-guard, 1960s New England Patriots are a Boston-area team whose Pat Patriot mascot is a caricature of a soldier from the American Revolution’s undisciplined and laugh-a-minute Continental Army—a ragtag, decentralized bunch of volunteers and militias of varying loyalties.

The Continental Army was mainly white colonists fighting alongside African Americans, Native Americans, French and Spanish.
 
The upstart 1970s expansion team known as the Seattle Seahawks are different. For one, they have a fan base so loud, they’re known as the 12th Man. The team mascot is an African bird of prey known as an Augar buzzard because it looks like the “true” sea hawk, which is an osprey—but it’s against US federal law to use native birds for commercial purposes.

An African buzzard it is!
 
Anyway, that’s all nonsense. On to the pizza!
 
 
What you need to know about this pizza--and a few things you totally don’t know about Puerto Rican cuisine because (like me) your knowledge thereof begins and ends at West Side Story
 
There was a lot of dancing and fighting and thinly veiled Shakespeare plotting in West Side Story--but did they ever even eat anything in that movie?

And Jerome Robbins' choreography was killer--but could he make a pizza?

I dunno. All I do know is when you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way—until your try sofrito in your pizza sauce.
 

First of all, this pizza description presumes that you already have a pizza process of your own.

If you don’t, my award-winning book (which is now only 99 cents on Kindle) can help you there. Or really, any good pizza book that’s not mine can also work. Or you can use the free "Cheap The Pizza" no-knead dough recipe here. (Just a cautionary note: if you’re brand new to pizza, there’s a learning curve involved.)
 
I’m not offering a formal recipe for this pizza at the moment. I’m offering only ingredients and basic steps. That’s a very cheffy way to do this.
 
But if enough people (at least, like, two of you) want the formal recipe and send me a message that says “I’d love Bad Bunny In A Dress, please!” by Valentine’s Day ’26 (that’s in one week), I will codify it and send it out. (Right now, the recipe coming up is how it would have appeared in an old-fashioned cookbook. Measurements and comprehensive instructions be damned!)
 
The recipe I send will not include the dough, but again: get your free recipe for my no-knead dough right here.
 
 
Also, a note for you haters of soapy cilantro in this recipe.
 
While I enjoy cilantro, I also understand the soap taste that some people complain about. I’ve experienced it. I’ve also largely gotten past it.
 
But here’s what’s interesting about the cilantro in this dish: I find that it exhibits no soap, either in the sofrito or as a garnish.
 
I also suspect there’s not enough garnish to be objectionable. The cliantro leaves are more for visual appeal.
 
Cilantro in the sofrito is sublimated by the more powerful onions and garlic, showing itself only as a fresh, herby note.
 
And just in case you don’t know this, if you happen to enjoy Thai food, that stuff is loaded with cilantro. You’re welcome. (I just like letting people know that it’s possible to transcend the soap thing. I’ve done it and found I enjoy the heck out of cilantro.)

 
Have you ever wondered how that damn cilantro ended up in North America in the first place?

It came to our fair continent from Western Asia via the Mediterranean with English settlers in the 1600s.
 
They even had cilantro in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, where they knew it as coriander.
 
Migration to North America from Spain also helped spread cilantro around North America.
 
And the growing popularity of Mexican food in the 20th century put cilantro on the tongue of so many Americans.

Yay, cilantro!
 
 
Oh, you’re wondering about sofrito?
 
Yeah, I get it. I’d made it before. I didn’t really understand it until this pizza.

I’m new to the Sofrito craze, which has been going on since at least 1342.

Sofrito migrated to the New World and made the rounds in the Caribbean islands, where it was adapted and evolved by the various Caribbean cultures.
 
Sofrito is considered the alma or soul of Latin cooking.
 
I asked my new kitchen consultant, Chef Google Generative AI, if there’s a difference between a traditional a Spanish sofrito and a Puerto Rican sofrito.


Damn the tomatoes and full speed ahead!

Apparently, unlike Spanish sofrito, Puerto Rican Sofrito does not typically contain tomatoes

But it does include aji dulce peppers.

These little peppers look dangerously like habañeros, but that’s a ruse. They have none of the danger heat. They apparently have a sweet, smoky taste.

Aji dulce peppers also do not reside in my local grocery stores on the Gulf Coast. But sweet and smoky? I got that nailed.
 
Two standard spices in my cupboard are Spanish smoked paprika, one of which is spicy. The other paprika brings the sweet and smoky to the party.

So I used Spanish sweet paprika as a substitute for fresh aji dulce. It may be wrong, but at least I’m not wearing a dress or trying to punch out my ex-wife’s ex-husband. Yet.
 
 
Got cheese? No?
 
As of this writing, there’s a shortage of certain cheeses in my local supermarkets. One victim is mozzarella.

I’m seeing some empty holes in the refrigerator case where my low-moisture, whole-milk mozzarella is usually singing to me with its siren song of pizza desire.
 
As a substitute, I’ve stocked some Mexican Oaxaca cheese.

Despite being named for one of Mexico’s biggest pronunciation challenges for us gringos, Oaxaca cheese is virtually indistinguishable from low-moisture mozzarella. It’s just a little more salty, and a touch more buttery, and it has a more photogenic cheese pull.
 
Thank you, Mexico!
 
And there’s also no queso fresco in any of my usual spots. Fortunately, there’s plenty of feta about. And to be honest, I like that feta has a little more zip than queso fresco.

But...
 
 
Am I creating an international incident by putting a Greek-style cheese in a Puerto Rican-style pizza for the NFL league championship while the whole world is booing us at the winter games?
 
No.
 
At least, not any more of an incident than when I’m substituting Puerto Rican chorizo with so-called Spanish chorizo that’s been made in Milwaukee.
 
Yep. It says it right there on the package: Proud Milwaukeeans made this cured, cased meat product.

How many of them are Spanish speakers from south of the border? Makes a guy wonder. But Wisconsin is a red state, so our Spanish chorizo with the upper-midwest accent, in the land where cheese is made with “melk,” is probably safe for the moment.
 
 
Things I discovered to give this pizza more zip
 
I’m winging it here. I’d never before eaten this pizza in the wild. I know only that chorizo, cilantro, queso fresco and roasted red peppers are common toppings in Puerto Rico.
 
I had to take some ownership that may get frowned upon by the Puerto Rican Pizza Cognoscenti.
 
The first time I made this pizza, it was good--but it needed the additional pop of a little acid and a little spice.
 
I can’t speak to how my pizza folly might taste from the perspective of a proper Puerto Rican pizzeria. But it made us happy. (The Fabulous Honey Parker is my silver-palate test taster, and she’s kind of amazing.)

So on the next round of Bad Bunny In A Dress, after it came out of the oven, I added a sprinkle of crushed red pepper, and a squeeze of lime juice all over.
 
That combo kicked the extra point.


Ultimately, this is not a groundbreaking, punch-you-in-the-mouth pizza.
 
Instead, it’s pleasant pizza that brings some subtle new flavors to the pizza palette.
 
Bad Bunny In A Dress might not fly with anyone over at Kid Rock’s halftime show. And really, this is just a slightly fancy pizza with a better tasting alternative to pepperoni and a little “¡a fuego!” jazz hands.

(“A fuego” literally translates to “on fire.” It’s an idiomatic phrase that's like their version of, “That’s cool.” Try it. You'll like it. Money-back guarantee.)

ABOVE: The pizza baking in the oven. And just by the way, we do ugly, unvarnished photos here so you can see the pizza warts and all. This is humanly attainable stuff, not glossy magic. Whee!
​
​Making the pizza

Get your dough out of the fridge at least 90 minutes before baking.
 
Place your stone or steel in the oven, middle rack or just above, depending on how your oven calls its plays.
 
Turn the temp to 550 (or however high it goes), and once it reaches temp, let the baking surface preheat for an hour.
 
Your oven and baking surface have preheated, and your dough has tempered.

Set up your mise en place as best suits you.

The key to a successful pizzamaking experience is organization. 

Stretch the dough and add the sauce.

​Sprinkle the crumbled queso fresco or feta around the pizza.
 
Sprinkle the crushed red pepper flakes.
 
Scatter the cilantro leaves.
 
Squeeze the juice from a wedge of lime around the pie.
 
Congratulations! You’ve made Bad Bunny In A Dress. Slice and serve to your friends’ delight or disdain.
 
Hope your team one, and the sports book took your bet on the halftime show ire.
 
Free The Pizza!

And since you came this far, here's a little bit of fun from 42 years ago, referenced in the first paragraph of this mishegas. 

-----

NOW JUST 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME! Did Santa forget to bring you a pizza oven at Christmas? That might be a lucky accident. Because you don't really need one, especially if you're just starting out. It's much easier to start by making pizza in your home oven. I endorse baking pizza on steel. But if you need to do it on the cheap, you can start with a big, upside-down cast-iron skillet and my silly little book: Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. When you’re just starting out, it’s much easier and more productive to learn about pizza in a way that demystifies everybody’s favorite food—including the flying in the face of the belief that great pizza is possible only with a special oven. Speaking as a guy who has two portable pizza ovens sitting in a shed, and who used to have a 1,200-pound wood-fired oven in the kitchen, the best oven on which to learn pizza is a regular home oven with a few simple tools. And the Free The Pizza book is designed specifically to take a newbie from zero to pizza in as short a time is possible. It’s also a lot more fun than the heartbreak of a tiny, cruel oven in the yard. Want to make a pizza at home? Homemade pizza success happens with Free The Pizza at Amazon. ​

But I can understand why you might ask that. Especially since I’m often surrounded by mushrooms. (And sausage.)
 
Success in anything means owning it. Owning a recipe means understanding it, and knowing why you’re doing the things it proposes.
 
 
But yesterday, I suddenly came up with the wild, crazy, inexplicably sober and clear-minded idea: I’m not the first person to say something so insane.
 
It also didn’t take long to find out: I’m right.
 
So much for originality. But hey: Great minds and all that.
 
That’s because what I never counted on was discovering that my proposal—the notion that you should own the recipe—is considered “The Thomas Keller Method.”
 
Or at least, that’s what Google AI thinks it’s called. I still have my doubts.
 
 
That’s in keeping with my firm belief the Google Generative AI is merely an idiot child who knows only what the internet said.
 
Example: I once asked Google AI for the area of a 12-inch pizza, and it multiplied pi times the diameter squared instead of the radius.
 
I would have been better off asking a C-student in geometry.
 
But I digress.
 
If you don’t know about Thomas Keller, he is very famous, very expensive, and very much knee-deep in restaurant awards. He practically clanks when he walks. (Or so I’ve heard.)
 
Mr. Keller is most famous for The French Laundry, making him the reigning king of tweezer food in the Napa Valley.
 
He’s won more James Beard Awards than you have fingers (I hope). One of those awards is for Best American Chef.
 
Mr. Keller is the only American chef to simultaneously have two restaurants with three Michelin stars each.
 
Best of all, perhaps, is that Mr. Keller is a Chevalier in the French Legion of Honor, which entitles him to pretend he’s riding his horse through the kitchen while wearing a full suit of armor. (It’s hard to tweeze microgreens and caviar while wearing those steel gloves. Forget making pizza.)
 
Thomas Keller certainly owns his place in the restaurant business. He also seems like an astonishingly nice guy.
 
But does he really own the idea of owning a recipe or is Google AI just regurgitating internet nonsense?
 
So I went to my own, rarely opened copy of The French Laundry Cookbook.