A crunchy, savory, cheesy pizza pleasure: Easy to make. Easy to love. No special equipment required.

How would you like to test a deceptively simple pan pizza recipe from my forthcoming book, The Lazy Way To Pizza?
 
It is truly easy fantastic-ish.
 
A little backstory. You may have heard this before, but like the song says: “It’s an old tale from way back when and we’re gonna sing it, we’re gonna sing it again.” 
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Have you ever lost a pizza to time?
 
No, this is not the Proustian question about whether you remember a shell-shaped pizza fed to you by your invalid aunt long ago in an Italian galaxy far, far away.
 
This is about missing a real pizza, right here, right now.
 
And when it comes to making this pizza, the pizza that I'm talking about missing, it may be the ultimate lazy person‘s pizza.
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For over 30 years I’d been thinking about this pizza.
 
I’ve been unable to find it anywhere, so I finally decided I had to make it.
 
It took a while, but I figured it out. That was last year. And now, I’ve taken it further and made it my own.
 
Welcome to Greek pizza-a-go-go. (I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like fun.)

ABOVE: I was working on this R&D test pizza when my mailman came to the door with a package.  I asked him if he wanted a slice of pizza. He said yes. I gave him a slice. He about lost his mind. 


There used to be a place next-door to where I worked in Boston. I probably had lunch there three times a week. It was a pizza unlike any I’ve ever had before or since.
 
It was a pan pizza—but not a thick crust. It had a thin crust with an airy crumb.
 
The pizza was also baked in a round pan, which I’d never seen in a professional pizzeria.
 
And the oil in that pan gave the pizza a brown crispy undercarriage with a savory, olive-oil pop.
 
When combined with the oregano punch of the heavily seasoned sauce, this pie packed an herby, crunchy, umami sock in the jaw that made you think, I don’t know what this pizza is, but I like it.
 
 
This was no legendary pizza like a Pepe’s or a Razza or a Bianco.
 
It wasn't made by celebrities and there was never a line at the door.

It was just a neighborhood joint that did things a little different.
 
I eventually learned that what I was eating was called New England-style Greek pizza.
 
It was invented in the 1960s in New London, Connecticut by a Greek guy from Albania named Gus.
 
Every morning, Gus would press the dough for the day’s pizza into pans. Then he’d sling the pans into the oven as the orders came in.

When I would watch the guys in Boston making these pizzas, I always thought, This looks easier than stretching a big dough and launching it off a peel. (I was right. It is. It makes me wonder if Gus in New London was going for efficiency.)

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I’ve gone hunting for New England Greek pizza when I’m in Massachusetts and New Hampshire.
 
I found some OK versions--
 
But nothing is good as I’ve made myself in an effort to re-create the pizza I remember.

ABOVE: A very respectable New England-style Greek pizza I hunted down in Seabrook, New Hampshire during July. It's one of the best I've had--and look at the cornicione in the shot below...

ABOVE: Look at the microblistering on this cornicione. This guy is obviously fermenting his dough. It's a good pizza, made with love. But it's also made for a high-volume commercial environment. The crust is nice and crunchy--but that's partly because it's baked in a perforated pan. And the crumb is fluffy and tight, a little like high-end Wonder Bread. 

ABOVE: One of my own R&D test pizzas. (If the crust seems thick, keep in mind that this pizza is only 8 inches in diameter. That slice is only 4 inches long.) The crunch on the crust and the open and airy crumb produced by a high-hydration dough with a 72-hour ferment makes for a totally surprising pizza experience. And this is a filling pizza. I've found that an 8-inch pie can easily feed two adults who are also having a salad. (All bets are off with teenage eating machines.) 
 

Once I was finally able to re-create the pizza I remember, I set about making it even better.
 
Want to try it yourself?
 
This doesn’t require any special equipment.
 
All you need is a round pan. (The recipe makes four 8-inch pies, two 12-inch pies or one 16-inch pie.)
 
You might want to acquire some form of oil or fat that you don’t already have in your pantry. The recipe explains it--and you might be surprised by the recommendation. No, it's not lard. But you can use that if you want.

ABOVE: Before & After shots of a 14-inch sausage and mushroom pizza that sent us to porky umami heaven. 


Otherwise, this pizza is all about normal pizza stuff: bread flour, water, salt, yeast.
 
Any normal, tomato-based pizza sauce will work, though I recommend reducing it so that it’s thicker.
 
I also recommend having extra dried oregano on hand. When combined with this pie’s yummy, umami olive-oil profile, it’s a delight.
 
And don’t get me started on the crunch. Holy Mother Of Pearl.
 
Here’s the other thing I love about this recipe: it is the ideal lazy person‘s pizza.
 
 
No special equipment, no learning any special techniques, no special tricks.
 
The only special ingredient required is patience.
 
This is a no-knead dough, which is another delight in the lazy person‘s lexicon of homemade pizza.
 
But the dough does benefit from a cold fermentation. I recommend 48 hours after the initial long, room temperature ferment.
 

If you tried this pizza back in December, when I offered my first version of the recipe, you’re welcome to try the new iteration.
 
If you’ve never tried it before, isn’t it time?
 
And if you’re a fan of New England Greek pizza (I’ve never met anyone who even knows what it is), this is the pizza that might exceed your expectations—especially considering how low-friction it is.
 
 
To get the recipe, just visit the contact page.
 
Send me a note that says “Greek-ish pizza, please.”
 
Or, if you’ve received this missive from me in an email, you can just hit reply and tell me: “Greek-ish pizza, please.”
 
I will send you the dough recipe with instructions for baking.
 
There will also be a sauce recipe if you don’t already have a sauce of your own.
 
 
One note: you want to eat this pizza immediately.
 
It tastes best when it’s hot and fresh from the oven.
 
That said, if you reheat it in an oiled cast-iron skillet, first on the stove top and then under the broiler, it can be a pretty good next-day pizza slice—especially for breakfast with a runny fried egg on top.
 
If you’re a hater of the runny egg, this might be an opportunity to reconsider what you’ve been missing.
 
Or not.  
 
And I look forward to hearing how this pizza works out for you.
 
As they say in Greece, Eviva!
 
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Once you’re done with this pan pizza, you might want to take a stab at something more traditional. A lot of big-time artisan pizza makers once made their first (non-pan) pizza in a home oven just like yours. You can do it, too. My weird little award-winning book is one way to make it so. The book is about how to get from zero to pizza using the oven you already have. Besides learning to make great pizza, there’s not much else you can do with it. In fact, you can’t even use it to level a table leg if you buy the Kindle edition (which is less expensive than the print editions and has links to instructional videos and printable kitchen worksheets). To learn more about Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have, click here. ​