Pucker up, babycakes: This stupidly simple ingredient makes for a mouthwatering pizza—literally, Part II.

I got up at 4:30 this morning to make you a pizza.
 
OK, that’s a lie.
 
I got up at 4:30 this morning and began the process of making you a pizza so I could write this questionable Pizza Post.
 
This is happening because I’m all fired up from last week’s convo regarding the way acid can change everything. (On a pizza, that is.)
 
And therein, I proposed the silly idea of taking one pizza you already enjoy and elevating it with one acidic element.
 
So of course, I became so obsessed I had to try it out.

Remember our motto: I try these things so you don’t have to.
 
Is this pizza going to be any good—and will I screw it up with even more stuff?
 

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.

ABOVE: The initial, 8-inch pizza of Serrano and quartered slices of pepperoni. 


That would be it for toppings baked on the test pizza.
 
Then, we'll add an after-bake dusting of dried oregano for that whole New York groove thing, a little lemon zest fresh from a microplane, and a scattering of diced pickled jalapeños.
 
Why diced jalapeños? Same as with the quartered pepperoni slices: better coverage and distribution on a small pie.
 
Then additionally, on the other half of the pizza, a drizzle of Crema, and no oregano--but a dusting of dried cilantro instead.
 

SIDEBAR: And just a note for all used cilantro soap flavor haters out there.

Dried cilantro does not impart the Ivory-soap note of fresh cilantro.
 
Also, if you’d like to get past the soapy-note problem and wave to it in the rearview mirror, it is possible to do.

All it requires is a simple regimen of fresh cilantro until you train your brain to understand.
 
I know this because I too taste the soap and I learned to love cilantro.

But I digress.
 
 
Since this experiment is going sideways and down a hole to Mexico, cilantro seemed like a no-brainer parallel to the New York groove of dried oregano.
 
I’ve tried it before, and it gives a slight, citrusy, herbal note that lurks beneath the bolder flavors in the pizza profile.
 
So, to recap: we’re talking about baking one small cheese pizza with pepperoni and fresh Serrano chilis, then garnishing it with pickled jalapeños and lemon zest.
 
Half of that pizza will get hit with dried oregano.

​The other half gets dried cilantro and crema.
 
Let the bake begin!
 
It all went into the oven about 7:45 AM

ABOVE, TOP: A closeup of the original vision, with just lemon zest, dried oregano and pickled jalapeños. Mighty fine.  ABOVE, BOTTOM: The Mexican-style version with crema and dried cilantro added. Not quite as mighty. Chalk it up to excessive ambition. 


The pie baked for 14 minutes. (Pan pizzas take longer, but wow, is that oily, crunchy crust worth the wait.)
 
The pizza was removed and dressed as per the test protocols
 
And…

​How did it work out?
 
The Mexican crema version of this pizza was overkill.
 
A little muddled and overly busy, it didn’t need the jazz hands of crema and cilantro.
 
The original vision that inspired this experiment—pepperoni and fresh jalapeño pizza augmented with pickled jalapeños—was changed to fresh Serranos instead, plus dried oregano and lemon zest.
 
And that pizza was really, really good.
 
I did side-by-side comparisons of that pizza with and without zest.
 
 
I tell ya, that pizza became juicy in the best way possible.
 
And granted, it’s already a juicy pizza just by virtue of the quantities of sauce and cheese.
 
But with pickled jalapeños and lemon zest, the pizza became a thrill in the same way as a juicy Sauvignon Blanc. It’s vibrant and zesty, but with a little capsicum explosion in every bite
 
One pizza. Two small, acidic changes.
 
One great tasting pizza made better.

One other experiment requiring further investigation. 
 
 
Further proof that evolution is often better than revolution.
 
It’s David Brailsford and the science of small changes in action.
 
If you don’t know, Sir David is the man who turned British cycling into a force in the racing world by initiating one-percent changes across every part of the team’s training and riding regimen.
 
That’s why I wrote a piece about him, his victories, and how the philosophy is easily applied to making good pizza into great pizza.
 
We’re going to experiment more with this pizza.
 
That said, acid and now lemon zest belong in the Free The Pizza Compendium of Tiny Tips.
 
Maybe a book?

It could happen.
 
In the meantime, The Lazy Way to Pizza—from which the no-knead pan-pizza dough recipe in this experiment originated—will be coming soon…
 
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