It’s a Big Game melting-pot gadfly tribute pizza that even a cilantro hater can love—regardless of whose halftime show you’re watching!

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.)

How Making this Pizza Works
 
This is much less complicated than calling plays for an NFL championship game. But there are a few extra steps required after slipping into your dress and putting on your backwards fedora to look like what would happen if Kid Rock and Bad Bunny had a baby.
 
You have to make your sofrito (or use one that’s prepared), sauté it, and add tomatoes.
 
You have to shred some mozzarella and crumble a little queso fresco (or feta).
 
Slice the chorizo if whole. (I prefer whole to pre-sliced, as you can make thicker slices than what’s prepackaged. My pre-sliced chorizo was also had a rather wide diameter, so I quartered it in order to avoid large, floppy, hot and greasy flaps of cased meat slapping onto my chin. You can, too.)
 
Chop your roasted red peppers into small chunks, then briefly sauté them with a little salt (cooking off some of the water before baking is helpful).
 
Pluck your cilantro leaves to scatter for garnish.
 
Dress your pizza with sofrito pizza sauce, scatter the mozzarella, then top with sliced chorizo and roasted red peppers, and bake using the broiler method. (In my oven, that’s about a 5-minute bake with an extra minute or two under the broiler to finish the top of the pizza.)
 
After taking the pizza out of the oven, sprinkle the queso fresco or feta, scatter the cilantro leaves, and squeeze just a little fresh lime juice all around the pizza.
 
Cut and serve.
 
That’s the general procedure. Here now, some details…
 
 
INGREDIENTS
 
For making a 10-inch pizza…
 
A pizza dough ball, about 250 grams or so
 
Sofrito pizza sauce (details to follow)
 
Low-moisture whole-milk mozzarella cheese, about 1/3 of a cup shredded
 
Queso fresco (or feta cheese), about 3 TBSP
 
Roasted red peppers, about 1/4 cup, chopped and sautéed briefly
 
Puerto Rican or Spanish chorizo (my personal favorite alternative pepperoni), about a dozen slices (depending on the size of your pizza and your chorizo)
 
Lime for squeezing
 
Crushed red pepper for garnish
 
Cilantro leaves for garnish (optional but encouraged—it adds an herby note without being in your face)
 
 
For the sofrito pizza sauce
 
Canned crushed tomatoes, about 14 oz
 
Sofrito (details to follow)
 
Olive oil
 
Garlic powder
 
Onion powder
 
Cayenne pepper
 
White pepper
 
Black pepper
 
Salt
 
 
To make the sofrito
 
If you want to make a sofrito instead of buying one, I find that a good basic recipe (if not 100% authentically Puerto Rican) is to gather the following components:
 
One red bell pepper
 
Half a large onion
 
One whole head of garlic
 
Half a large bunch of cilantro (including stems)
 
Smoked sweet Spanish paprika, about 1/4 teaspoon 
 
Olive oil, about 2 TBSP
 
 
 
Specific Steps To Sofrito
 
I know. That makes it sound like a dance. And it kind of is.
 
Chop all the veggies into rough chunks.
 
In a food processor or a blender, pulse the onions and garlic until chopped. Add the bell pepper and blend until coarse. Add the cilantro and olive oil and pulse until mixed but not quite liquid.
 
You now have a batch of a simple sofrito that you can use for anything you want. I’ve found that I like throwing it into all kinds of stuff. (I made a sofrito rice in the rice cooker. Just added a little sofrito, Better Than Bullion chicken base, and some olive oil. After cooking the rice, I added a little finishing olive oil and good salt. It maybe wasn’t as good as doing it from scratch on the stove top, but it was far easier. Really good with pan-fried skin-on sockeye. I’m thinking about also trying the sofrito in a frittata.)
 
 
To make the pizza sauce…
 
Sofrito, about 3 TBSP
 
Crushed canned tomatoes, about 14 oz 
 
Salt
 
Olive oil
 
The way I made this, I sautéed 3 tablespoons of sofrito in olive oil until the vegetables were lightly cooked.
 
Then I added the canned crushed organic tomatoes.
 
Salt to taste
 
After simmering it a few minutes, I adjusted the seasonings as necessary. That included a little kick with a dash each of cayenne pepper and white pepper, a big pinch of black pepper, an extra slug of olive oil, and a few dashes each of garlic powder and onion powder.
 
The end product should have a nice, friendly herbal kick. This pizza sauce tastes great right from the pot.
 
 
Don’t want to make sofrito?
 
I haven’t seen it in my local supermarkets. There’s one store that might have it periodically. But on Amazon, there are various sofrito options in a jar that get good ratings.

Better Than Bouillon has a sofrito soup base. I’d be willing to try that because their products have big flavor. (They also have big salt, so take that into account.)
 
There’s even a product that’s sofrito in a bouillon cube. I can’t speak to how it tastes. But it has a bilingual package, so that means…something. I looked at one such product with the ingredients listed as simply onion, green pepper, garlic and salt.

In other word, read the labels before making a decision.
 
When making this pizza, I use a fair amount of sauce. I’m a believer that less is more when topping a pizza, but on this pizza, a little more is more.

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.

Scatter the mozzarella cheese.

​Place the slices of chorizo, but don’t crowd them. Allow them to breathe easy amongst their fellow slices.
 

​Scatter the chopped and sautéed roasted peppers.

 
Launch the pizza, and set a timer for four minutes.
 
When the timer goes off, rotate the pizza 180 degrees. Close the oven door and turn the broiler on high.
 
Set the timer for two minutes. Monitor the progress of the pizza. This is all dependent on your understanding of how your oven performs. My old oven would have taken an additional four minutes. My new oven requires only about a minute and a half.
 
Peek at the bottom of the pizza to make sure it’s light brown and has some tiny dark spots. The top of the pizza should be getting some delightful charred spots.
 
If the pizza is sufficiently browned with bits of char, remove it from the oven to a cooling rack.
 

​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. 

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