Reinventing pulled-pork pizza with a promise of savory gravy goodness--Part 1

I’m doing something crazy ridiculous. I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out yet. In the meantime, can I interest you in some used pig parts?
 
As you may know (if you’ve been paying attention here instead of doing something productive and useful), I’ve been on a kick I’m calling “Pizza Like A Local.”
 
That’s an effort to devise more ways to represent your hometown’s signature foods on pizza.
 
Well, yesterday, I was confronted with one of my least favorite pizza toppings: Pulled pork.
 
In an effort to confront this probable porcine beastie pizza, I’ve learned a couple of useful tactics. They include remembering that a) there’s always another way to use a familiar ingredient, b) there are simple tricks that are applicable in places way beyond pizza, and c) you know nothing about what kinda craziness your friends are willing to try.

This story includes supermarket condescension, frightening pig parts, and a promise of savory, gravy-like deliciousness to come.
 
Here on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, seafood aside, we live in a land of barbecue.

Pig parts are very big here. And a good friend has an enormous pile of slow-smoked leftovers from a recent house party and barbecue orgy.
 
He has asked if I’d be willing to make a pulled-pork pizza.
 
My first thought: I do not like pulled-pork pizza. I am like Sam I Am in the green eggs & ham aisle.

 
I’ve dabbled in pulled-pork pizza, and never been happy with the results. For me, it’s one of the many pizzas you could serve in a place called the Disappointment Pizzeria.
 
That menu includes every attempt I’ve made to elevate the concept of the Hawaiian Pizza, and every pizza I’ve made topped with dill pickles.
 
In the case of pulled-pork pizza, I’ve dabbled and despaired. I dislike throwing away pizza, but sometimes you just gotta slice and run.
 
But this time, I thought, “No, we need to give this guy a genuine effort at using his leftover pig pieces.”
 
I started digging.
 
The interwebs is flooded with recipes for pulled-pork pizzas. Most of them start with barbecue sauce laid down on the dough, and that’s a non-starter in this kitchen. Barbecue sauce was not meant to be used that way, and it’s a huge fail in my book.
 
Cooked to caramelized on grilled chicken, this style of sauce is sweet and spicy and savory and exceptional.


Spread on bread and baked quickly, it’s cloying and repulsive.

(No offense if it’s one of your faves. I will not judge you. Pizza is very much about personal preferences.)
 
I suspect I’m not alone in this. As far as I can tell, there’s not a single major pizza author whose book contains a recipe for pulled-pork pizza. That even includes Peter Reinhart’s Pizza Quest, which shares recipes from a couple dozen of the nation’s most important pizzaioli.
 
No pulled pork.
 
I cruised around the internet, and found some interesting ideas that included mango, pepperoncini, and even non-abusive uses of fresh pineapple in Hawaiian pizza alternatives.
 
But nothing was blowing up my grass skirt.
 

I turned to what seemed an unlikely place: Dan Richer’s epic and exacting book, The Joy Of Pizza.

Mr. Richer is the obsessive and fanatic pizzaiolo behind Razza in Jersey City, considered by some to be the finest pizzeria in the nation. (I have not been there yet. Every time I'm in the area, Razza is closed. Are they trying to tell me something?)
 
Deep inside Mr. Richer's dazzling book filled with pizza-making rubrics and worksheets and simple advice about things like developing a relationship with your local flour miller, I found his recipe for Pork Pie.
 

“Pork Pie.” Such a simple, two-word title.
 
That little name belies both umami promise and extra hours of passive prep. I’m in!
 
In addition to the dough for a 12-inch pie, here’s what the recipe calls for:
 
     - 1/4 cup caramelized onions
 
     - 1 ounce finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, plus more for dusting
 
     - Extra-virgin olive oil
 
And, the best part of that ingredients list: 1/4 cup Pork Broth, chilled, gelatinized, and cut into half-inch cubes, plus 2 ounces cooked pork, cut into 3/4 inch cubes.
 

He also provides the recipe for Pork Broth: “2 pig’s feet, or 3 to 4 pounds of any bone-in, skin-on pork product."
 
OK, I read this, my head explodes with possibilities.
 
Finally, a way to use pulled pork that doesn’t call for sugary tomato nonsense sauce.
 
I thought about a savory broth emulsifying on hot pizza crust with tender chunks of juicy, smoky pork.
 
This sounds potentially epic.

It's possible that I am in pig-pizza love. 

 
I put on shirt and shoes and dashed over to the nearby discount supermarket. I was certain they have pigs feet.

This is, after all, Mississippi.

There’s a section in this store's meat case called “Pick 5!” You buy five of any of the specially marked meats, and you get the entire lot for one low price.
 
But I didn’t require 10 pounds of pigs feet, so went to the register with a paltry two packs of trotters. The cashier looked at me sadly, as if I was too stupid to understand what an amazing deal I was passing up. I said, “I don’t need five.” I shrugged.
 
She replied and addressed me as one might a slow child, “So you know, you don’t have to buy five of the same thing. You can mix and match.”
 
“I know.” I wasn’t going to get into how I don’t need any more freezer meats or low-grade chicken parts. She just shook her head as I paid perhaps 5% more than necessary  for my little piggy feets.

I snagged my bag and went “Wee, wee, wee!” all the way home.
 
But not before the bagger told the tale of how as a child, much to her chagrin, she used to watch her grandmother savagely devour pig's feet as if she were a crazed lupine beast.
 
I thought that was fun.
 
​
Anyway, I threw those tootsies into a stock pot with a carrot, an onion, salt and water and lit that baby up. Visions of porky jus were dancing in my head.
 
Five hours later, I was straining the liquid and putting aside the feet from which, as per the detailed instructions by chef Richer, I should be extracting the meat.
 
Have you ever cooked pigs feet?
 
It is perhaps the least muscular part of the animal. It’s all skin, fat, bone and cartilage. I’m looking at this gluey pile of bone and blech, wondering if there really is anything to salvage.
 
And finally, I did what any smart person would do at that late hour: put it all in a Tupperware container and closed it behind the refrigerator door. I’d deal with it tomorrow. (Which is today, as soon as I’m done shoveling words at you.)
 

ABOVE: Cooked bits of pig feet awaiting attention. (Salad fork shown for scale.)

​
So this is where we are now: with a pile of de-boned feet, and a bucket of savory delicious pig broth which, when chilled, is just a lotta jelly hidden beneath a layer of fat.
 
The fat will be skimmed. The feet will be picked over for any possible meat. The rest will be assigned to the appropriate trash bin and delivered to a landfill near me. (I’d compost if we had a garden. But we don’t. Hence, we are compostless cretins.)

ABOVE: Jellied pork broth, savory and delicious and waiting to be prepared for pig pie pizza.

​
If you don’t enjoy getting deep into your cooking, this may sound revolting. I get it.
 
I also know that one of the things I encourage people to do is face the reality about their food, and learn to get more hands-on.

It helps to provide a better understanding of how cooking and agriculture and kitchen skills and everything fits together--even if all you came here for was to figure out how to make a decent pepperoni pizza in your home oven. 
 

And if you ever want to try making this pizza I'm making here, you can always buy pork bone broth in a jar and be done with it. But where’s the comedy in that?
 
Especially for a guy who’s going on about homemade pizza?
 
Anyway, this is part one of the Pulled-Pork Pig Pie Adventure Series. We’ll be back next week with a tale of how we all survived this madness and how that pizza tasted going down into the pie hole.
 
I’m expecting to deliver fantastic news about a great new pig-product pizza you can make yourself—no getting elbow-deep into the pork broth yourself if you don’t wish to.

Wish me luck! 

P.S. We've made a trial run at this pizza. Despite some technical issues, it's a piggy little pizza with promise. More to come!

(And yes, there are Amazon affiliate links above and below. In a perfect world, those paltry commissions keep this comedy coming at no additional cost to you.)

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Making a cheese pizza requires no crazy, pig-soaked pork trotter madness—just a simple set of steps to get you from here to there on your own two feet. You'll find all those simple steps to pizza magic right inside my weird and award-winning pizzamaker’s manual, Free The Pizza: A Simple System For Making Great Pizza Whenever You Want With The Oven You Already Have. If you’re just beginning your pizza-making journey, this book is a convenient place to start because it doesn’t force you to make any decisions beyond making a pizza. It’s simply a step-by-step guide for getting from zero to pizza and amazing your friends and family. And really, yourself as well. That first fabulous pizza is a glorious moment. And you'll have your own story of "My First Pizza." Learn more right here. ​ ​​