Reinventing pulled-pork pizza with a promise of savory gravy goodness--Part 3

​Yes, it finally happened last night: The Hunt For Pulled Porktober came to an end.

Was that end a success or failure?

I'll allow you to decide.

And by the way, if you were one of the many who wrote, expressing your ongoing joy and delight at witnessing the culinary porcine perversity of the Pulled-Pork Pig Pie Adventure Series Part 1 and Part 2, thank you.
 
It's always nice to know there is a foodie fellow traveler, even if only in spirit and interwebs digits.


​In our last episode, you'd been left with a pizza that had a great hole torn from the middle. (A metaphor for our times, perhaps?)

Yeah, I tore a big hole in the pizza. Sorry.


Despite the structural inadequacies of that pizza, it had enough going for it that all three of us around the table concurred that it was worth pursuing.

Your faithful prototyping pizzaiolo went headlong into the next edition of that pizza with purpose and intent—and perhaps a bit too much confidence.

Using the Dan Richer method of placing gelatinized cubes of pork broth around the raw pizza, and scattering caramelized (some may call them “fried”) onions, I knew I had this baby nailed.



I came with a well-laid plan--but the pizza had other ideas.

The gelatinized swine soup method did not work as well as it had previously.

The pizza exhibited some lakes and rivers.

Floppy and saturated in places, I blame this challenge on a not-so-uniform surface on the crust.

I was also perhaps a bit too daring with products from the bottled herb garden. It seems my sage-and-thyme vision of the future was the wrong flavor for this party.

To quote the man who supplied the pork, "I liked the first one better."



Goodbye, Pig broth. Hello, garlicky gravy.

If you're a Wood-Fired fiend like Mr. Richer, launching carefully prepped pizzas of exacting specs into a 900-degree furnace of fun, using cubed-up swine soup is probably just fine.

Working in a home kitchen without quite so rigorous a program, and suffering the hidden shortcomings of tools and materials not quite as professional-grade, I decided that leaving less to chance was a master plan.



The jiggly cubes of jus jelly had to go.
 
In their place, I sautéed some chopped garlic in olive oil. Then, I added some flour and made a roux, followed by half a cup of (now un-gelatinized) pork broth.

Whisking it all up into a kind of gravy, I seasoned it with salt and some salt-free Cajun spice mix.
 
(SIDEBAR: If you’re familiar with Tony Chacherie Creole Seasoning, it’s kind of a fixture in kitchens round these Gulf Coast parts. But it’s also loaded with salt. Fortunately, they now make a salt-free version that’s damn convenient for times like these when you’re too frustrated and cranky to scrounge up all those individual bottles of granulated herbs, onions, peppers and potion. You can see what it looks like by clicking this Amazon affiliate link, but please know that I doubt you’re interested in buying six containers of Tony at over 30 bucks. The link is just for reference.)



Next, I chopped  some onions, grabbed a clean pan and caramel-frized them. (It’s not a word, but it should be.).
 
We cut up the last of the pulled pork and shredded fine the last of the Romano cheese.

Then, a secret weapon: I grabbed a ball of 3-day fermented New York-style dough made with King Arthur organic bread flour (because I'm fancy and like to name-drop my casual acquaintances from fictional medieval royalty).

I opted for New York-style because the dough contains oil, making it a bit more robust than the so-called Artisan Style dough I've been using. I figured it would more easily stand up to the pork-gravy garlic sauce.

After stretching the dough, I applied the gravy as if it were pizza sauce. Then came the onions, pork and cheese in that order.

Pig pizza beneath the broiler as anticipation in the room builds to nail-biting levels...


Launch and wonder.

Here's the good news about this process.

Pizza is.

In the end, fabulous or fail, how bad can it be? It's hot, fresh flatbread with something on it.

Cheesy, savory, exciting--even if it doesn't live up to expectations, what are your guests going to do? Gut you and put you on a spit like a pig?

Not likely.


In my house, they're likely to say, "Yef, if's okay" as they’re jamming the first slice into their mouths with one hand and grabbling the next slice with the other.

Which is exactly what happened with this pizza.

Of the three prototypes launched to date, it was the most handsome.

It was more composed and controlled.
 
The color of the crust was great.

The little bits of pulled pork had an alluring quality that beckoned with their barbecue char and melted fatty goodness.
 
(I finally asked Rich what had been rubbed on that pork before it spent a lifetime in the smoke. He said, “Butter, brown sugar and maple syrup.” I replied, "You devil." It was a text message, but I suspect he wore the beguiling smirk of Satan.)
 
And all those bits of pork on there had cooked up during their few minutes in the oven to a delightfully savory-sweet, thick-cut bacon-like texture.

It probably doesn't hurt that the pork butt is from a heritage breed Cheshire hog and cost as much as a college tuition payment. 
 
Mmmm. That pork.

XCU landscape shot of the pizza that makes you want to run barefoot through its glory.


And there was the gravy which said, "Who doesn't like gravy? Especially when there's garlic about?"

The pizza came to the table.
 
Everyone grabbed a slice. Besides Rich, whose pork has been fueling this madness, we had three interloper in-laws in attendance, all of whom have some degree of pizza chops.

There was silence as the biting and chewing began.

There was a degree of grunting.

There was nodding.

Rich, looked thoughtful.

He said, "Yes."

Success.

Yes, there will be tweaks.
​

Extreme closeup of the final slice, which everyone pretends they don't want, demonstrating the caramelized, near bacon-like goodness of the little piggy bits that sing a siren sing of pork-filled desire.


But this atypical pulled pork pizza meets with approval.

Fundamentally, the barbecue-sauce alternative pulled pork pizza is this: garlic gravy sauce, fried onions, Romano cheese, and chunks of pork. (Recipe to follow.)

This silly pizza project began as a request for pulled pork pizza.
 
And the simple request for pizza became a complex quest for different and better.

Instead of saying, "I hate pulled pork pizza," I decided to follow my own evergreen advice about doing pizza with purpose and intent, and of keeping an open mind.
 
 
Instead of “No,” I decided to say, "As long as you're okay if we do it different."

Not a fan of barbecue sauce on pizza, I needed to think about what I'd really want here.

I took inspiration from the Great Dan Richer’s The Joy Of Pizza (yes, that’s an Amazon affiliate link) and the recipe inside it for Pork Pie, going so far is to make my own pork broth from pig's feet as per Mr. Richer’s recipe.

Lesson learned there. It’s a simple job, but it takes hours and can become an annoyance of meat picking. And the meat yield is meager. (For my pigs feet, it was a yield of 40:1 waste to meat. I could have made a small taco.)
 
If you're in a rush, go buy pork bone broth. 
 
In a pinch, use chicken or beef.
 
But the good news is, when making your own pork broth from big ol’ piggy feet, you get a near lifetime broth supply. I still have more than two pounds of grandmother’s own swine-flu remedy in the freezer. It tastes excellent and makes a great conversation piece. “Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I made pork broth from pig’s trotters and lived to tell about it? Check this out…”
 
Souvenirs from the journey down Pig Pizza Lane. Be brave and remember to pizza with purpose and intent, and you too can have a long, boring tale to tell your grandchildren before you allow them to dine upon the slices.
 

THE OTHER PULLED-PORK PIZZA RECIPE
 
This pizza is recommended for someone with experience making pizza. If you have no experience making pizza, I recommend trying some simpler pizzas (like cheese, then maybe pepperoni) before tackling this one, as it requires some finesse and instinct.
 
This recipe is for a 15-inch pizza. Downscale it (or upscale it) as necessary using your best judgment.

Ingredients
 
- 1 x 365g dough ball. (That’s 13 ounces for all you statute-measure civilians.) Preferably New York-style, but any pizza dough will do. For this recipe, it’ll be stretched to about 15 inches, yielding a crust of substance.
 
- 40 grams (1.5 ounces) finely shredded Pecorino Romano cheese
 
- 170 grams (6 ounces) of pulled pork, cut into chunks and shreds about the size of your fingertip. (Be certain there are no actual fingertips involved.)
 
- 120 ml (1/2 cup) garlic gravy (recipe to follow)
 
- 3 tbsp caramelized onions
 
- Good olive oil for drizzling

NOTE: The above amounts are a guideline. Use your own best judgment. Or just wing it.  
 

The Gravy 

Finely chop about one tablespoon of garlic. Using a teaspoon of oil, sautée the garlic in a small pan for about a minute. (Don’t brown it.)
 
Add a teaspoon of flour and stir it up until it’s combined with the oil.
 
Add a half cup of broth (pork or otherwise) and cook, stirring, until it’s thick enough to coat a spoon. Put it into a small bowl and let it cool down.
 
 
The Onions
 
Chop up half a medium onion into small dice.
 
Heat about two tablespoons of oil in a pan.

Cook the diced onions over low heat until they brown and become caramelized. (Some people in other contexts might call this “frying.” I’m not sure why. But my wife doesn’t like caramelized onions. She really enjoys fried onions. It’s up to me to discern the line of demarcation. Either way, the onions taste pretty good. They sing their own siren song. Try to not eat them all. Or make extra just in case.)
 
 
Making The Pizza 
​
Preheat your oven as you normally do for a pizza. (NOTE: My pizzas are baked on steel in a 550-degree oven that has preheated for one hour. The steel is positioned about 6 inches beneath the broiler. A pizza is launched, the broiler is switched on to high, and the pizza is baked for about 6 minutes, give or take. Your method and mileage may vary.)
 
Stretch the dough on a floured surface. It should look neat and round like a full moon in the Dean Martin song.
 
Transfer the stretched dough to a wooden peel dusted with semolina, using all the casual pizzaiolo confidence you can muster. Reorganize it from an amoeba back into a moon.
 
Using a big spoon, spread the gravy around the dough as you would spread a pizza sauce.
 
Sprinkle the cooked onions evenly around the pizza. Be prepared for them to clump up. Try separating them, and then convince yourself whatever, that’s good enough.
 
Sprinkle the shredded cheese evenly around the pizza. Eat a bite of the leftovers to make sure you still approve of the cheese.
 
Place the cut-up pork evenly around the pizza.

Drizzle the good olive oil around the pizza.
 
Jiggle the peel to make sure the pizza is still free and is not suddenly clinging to the peel for dear life.
 
Launch the pizza onto the baking surface and close the door.
 
After four minutes, turn the pizza 180 degrees.
 
Keep an eye on it, and remove it when it has achieved an acceptable degree of char on the crust.
 
Place the pizza on a cooling rack and allow it to set. Slice and serve.
 
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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. ​ ​