How to do pizza improvisation if you hate following a recipe--when to do it for no-fail fun.

Let’s assume love to improvise in the kitchen.

Pizza dough doesn’t allow improvisation, right?
 
I’d say that depends: How thoughtful is your improvisation?
 
Of course, if you’re talking about pizza toppings, improv can be king—and sometimes it’s even comedy.
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As with all baking, pizza dough is chemistry. And biology. And physics.
 
And you really don’t have the opportunity and the latitude to play fast and loose if you want those things to survive and thrive.
 
That is, unless you are being thoughtful and purposeful about it.
 
Most people, when they think of improvisation, don’t think about being thoughtful and purposeful.
 
Improvising means being off the cuff, right? It means just winging it! It means the devil may care!
 
Well, you’re right. You can’t do that with pizza dough—unless you can.
 
 
I was just talking with a friend about this. She is one of those improv chefs.
 
She’ll read half a dozen recipes about how to do the same thing, figure out the common denominators, and then wing it based on what she knows is required.
 
“But I can’t do that with pizza dough.“
 
And that frustrates her. But in the same breath, she also said, “Humidity can ruin everything. In high humidity, my pizza doesn’t work as well.“
 
Well, what is high humidity? It’s just more moisture in the air.
 
I’ve had situations where I’m feeding people New York style pizza in high humidity, and it’s neither as well structured or as crispy as I had hoped.
 
That’s because I wasn’t really paying attention to the humidity. Had I done so, I would’ve adjusted my dough hydration to try and compensate for the humidity.

ABOVE: Meet the gluten network inside your pizza dough. Without this crazy looking stuff, no pizza is possible. And it doesn't respond well to radical shifts in temperature or ingredients--especially water. 


So here’s where we frustrate the pure improv people.
 
Instead of just winging it, you can take tiny steps and make notes.
 
Making notes helps you figure out which of your improvisations works the best.
 
I know, I know. It’s not sexy.
 
Or at least it’s not sexy until you serve the sexiest pizza anybody has had.
 
 
Here are some things that you can do to improvise your dough during periods of high humidity.
 
And again: not sexy.
 
Reduce the hydration of your dough by anywhere from 1% to 3%.
 
Yes, minutiae has entered the building and might even sound menacing.
 
After all: Math is involved.
 
But when there’s extra moisture flying around in the atmosphere, determined to flopify your pizza crust, holding back a meager amount water from the recipe is a good way to show your pizza dough some kindness while demonstrating to the gods of atmosphere who’s boss.
 
 
Try using water that’s cooler than what you usually use.
 
I usually use room temperature water.
 
But that depends on the dough recipe I’m using, of course.
 
But room temp water is common in Neapolitan-style dough recipes and it’s where I’ve defaulted for reasons of practicality and intentional laziness.
 
Cooling your water with ice or getting chilled water out of the refrigerator dispenser will help slow the fermentation of your dough.
 
 
You can also add a fraction of a percent more salt.
 
Extra salt—again, just a touch can help firm up the gluten strands during fermentation.
 
And all of these things will help increase the structure of your dough when the weather is hot and humid.
 
And make notes. Niggling little details like “July 4: used .25% more salt” doesn’t take long to write down in a notebook, and it’s useful for the next time the humidity is threatening to liquify your mascara. (No, I don’t wear mascara. Except for the one time at Halloween. And that’s because I was dressed as Derek Smalls from Spinal Tap. I even shaved away the middle of my beard to emulate Harry Shearer’s whopping muttonchop sideburns. But I digress.)

These kinds of things are not new and are a time-honored part of pizza’s practical science.
 
Pizza makers in Italy have practiced these for generations.
 
One of the challenges with controlling dough in the old country, so to speak, is that air-conditioning is not nearly as common there as is here in the US.
 
Pizza makers in Southern Italy have to understand how to continue producing a consistent product in an inconsistent climate.
 
 
The same, simple things will work for you.
 
Again, make notes. Simple notes are great for reference when the circumstances come around again.
 
Note both the percentage and quantity of change that you made, what the result was, and whether you think continued tweaking is required.
 
Yes, this sounds dead freaking boring. It took me years before I was willing to keep a notebook about things like this.
 
And once I started, it was invaluable.
 
Granted, you don’t have to do this. If you’re making pizza twice a year, it might not be of much use.
 
If you’re someone who’s happy to have anything remotely edible emerge from your oven, notes are likely of limited use.
 
But more likely, if you’re on a pizza journey that becomes part of general life, you’ll ignore what I’m suggesting until one day, you have an epiphany. You’ll be in your kitchen, looking for a pen, and thinking, “Damn. That Free The Pizza guy was right.”
 
 
Or don’t. You may not care in the slightest.
 
Something I’ve noticed recently with the dough recipe in The Lazy Way to Pizza is that the high-hydration, no-knead dough is also affected by humidity—but not enough that I care to tweak it. I think it tastes just fine.
 
The whole point of the book and the accompanying recipe is to be a low-friction, low-effort, low-fuss dough.
 
Maybe someday I’ll try the tweaks. For the moment I’m happy to be lazy about it.
 
 
Now, doing improv on the toppings.
 
Here’s where the comedy can happen.
 
Not that it’s ever intentional.
 
I cannot tell you how many times I started out making one pizza, and then suddenly I was making an entirely different pizza.
 
Granted, that’s only been for pizza I’m making for myself. Rarely have guests ever been subject to such capricious behavior.
 
And sometimes, in doing it, I frustrate myself.
 
But for the most part, doing an improv pizza is a kind of experimentation that leads to insight—good and bad.
 
CAUTION: Always consider what your toppings are bringing to the pizza. Overly wet or fatty toppings can be hazardous. I recommend always being aware of the potential for the swimming pool effect atop your pizza. Conversely, is a topping going to properly cook in the time your pizza is baking? For instance, I always par-cook bacon before putting it on a pizza.
 
 
One night, I was making a pizza and thought, Hey, I should use the leftover Thanksgiving dinner ingredients.”
 
So I did.
 
Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green beans, and gravy.
 
It was not a pizza I would ever serve to anyone I like.
 
It was awful.

ABOVE: The Thanksgiving Leftovers Pizza. Do not try this at home. Or, try your own version of it. This one looks benign. But it was truly a pizza mistake. 


The flavors were muddled. There was no star performer. It lacked any of the mouthwatering mélange of a Thanksgiving dinner plate or a post-Thanksgiving turkey hash.
 
But I’m glad I did it.
 
I know that there are people out there who make a similar pizza and put it on their seasonal menu.
 
Clearly, if I’m going to be doing it, I need to experiment more. And be more judicious with my toppings. And maybe leave some of them out. Like the cranberry sauce.
 
These are the kinds of things that come only with improvisation. Rarely is there a recipe for a pizza like that.
 
 
Another improv pie happened when we had leftovers from a low country boil.
 
We’re talking about shrimp, sausage, corn, potato and asparagus.
 
I put all of that onto a traditional cheese pizza with a tomato-based sauce that was boosted with boil spices, and it was fantastic.

ABOVE: A low-country boil or shrimp boil, depending upon your regional preference. It releases an animal instinct inside of people, and they fall upon it as if gthey've never before seen food. And maybe they haven't. 

 
I also thought I was being totally original.
 
Not so fast there, Bucko!
 
Peter Reinhart’s nephew did this same pizza long before I did when he was living in the Carolinas, and Peter included it in his Pizza Quest cookbook. I admit that upon reading that, I was deflated and disconsolate.
 
Nonetheless, I went there on my own without outside intel and made it mine.

ABOVE: The Low Country Boil Pizza (minus the garnish, which I often forget to apply before photography). It's a really good, fun pizza born of improvisation. 

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Another pizza favorite born of improvisation was something we call Cajun confusion.
 
It’s another tomato based sauce with low-moisture mozzarella and pecorino Romano, this time topped with tasso (a smoked pork shoulder product), Boudin, sliced Serrano chilies (despite them not being a traditional Cajun ingredient), red bell pepper, onion, garlic, and garnish of Italian parsley.

ABOVE: Cajun Confusion. Boudin (which is a Cajun sausage made from ground pork and rice) makes for a savory, creamy, unique pizza. Boudin often contains liver, which gives it a pronounced, meaty, mineral flavor that is distinctive and surprising. (Yes, in a good way.)
 

Let me tell you, that is one fun pizza.
 
And part of the secret to its success is something about which I’m always waving a cautionary flag: less is more.
 
Do not pile on the toppings, especially when there are many, and more especially when they’re heavy, and very, very especially if you are using a traditional pizza dough launched with appeal onto the baking surface.
 
Overdoing it with toppings is a recipe for disaster.
 
More than once I’ve made a pizza that ends up with a giant hole in the middle.
 
 
Also more than once, I’ve changed my sauce while in the middle of making the pizza.
 
For instance, I was making a white pizza with bacon, spinach and mushrooms.
 
There was no sauce involved. The plan was just olive oil on the dough with low-moisture mozzarella. But as I was about to begin topping the pizza, I said, “No. Wait a minute.”
 
In a flash, I whipped up a bechamel sauce (it sounds fancy because it’s French—but it’s insanely simple), then spread the sauce on the pizza and voila ma gerd!
 
It was a fantastic pizza.
 
Someone I know said, “I don’t like bechamel.”
 
I believe that is a) a lie, b) a case of mistaken sauce identity, or c) jealousy.
 
Or all of the above.
 
That classic, easy, creamy, no-fuss sauce tied everything together and made for a rich and satisfying pizza.
 
 
The sauce and toppings are where your improvisational genius gets to shine or fail.
 
That’s where the fun of experimentation comes in—as long as you’re not dismayed by failure. Because face it: not every pizza is going to work.
 
But unlike the tiny attenuations made with dough, there’s much more room for wild and weird improvisation on top of the pizza.
 
By all means, experiment with dough improvisation. But careful is key. Small increments. Being thoughtful and understanding your desired result is key. Thinking about how you’re going to get there is part of the purpose and intent ethos.
 
If high humidity is screwing up your pizza crust, think about how you can reduce the moisture in small increments.
 
Or maybe bigger increments! There are rules, but you sometimes learn the limits only by flying right into the face of good and true advice.
 
 
You could be making dough and suddenly decide that you want to make a Trenton-style tomato pie.
 
That’s a thin-crust pizza made with a very low hydration dough that yields a very dry and crispy crust. It could represent something you didn’t even know you wanted.
 
But again, at some point reign in your madness and be thoughtful. Make notes. It doesn’t matter how much of a steel trap you think your mind is, you’re going to forget some details somewhere along the line, especially if alcohol is involved. (I’ve been know to have a stem glass at my side in the kitchen, though less so these days. The zeitgeist is weird and I’m trying to be less altered chemically. The pizza-based dopamine rush is a more reliable and dispensable fermentation than one involving the nectar of fermented grapes.)
 
This has been a public service message from Free The Pizza for all you improvisation minded chefs, who get frustrated by the precision demanded by Pizza dough chemistry.
 
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The only special tool: A pan. The only special ingredient: Patience. (Just a pinch.) The only oven: the one already in your kitchen.

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