The 20-Minute, Homemade, No-Knead, Tomato Madness Skillet Pizza Promise: You'll love it. If not, it was only 20 minutes.

Does it seem unfair that people who don’t make pizza at home do not get to enjoy the tomato madness that we are embracing here?
 
Here we are on the third episode of tomato mania.

​This was never supposed to be a series.
 
But what began as Tomato Ridiculous Part I and then accidental Part II has given way to accidental Total Tomato Madness because the Tomato On Pizza Lovers are coming out of the woodwork.
​

Clint, a fellow former seafaring Yankee (now living in Hawaii) sent a photo of his first fresh tomato pie.
 
He says, “The marinated tomatoes were the flavor winner. They would taste good on a stale saltine cracker. Both pizzas were gone in a very short time. No leftovers.”
 
He is entering the marinated tomatoes into his regular rotation to keep his household on an aromatic, sweet & sour umami high.

ABOVE: Clinton Ferrara's Fresh Tomato Pie based on the recipe in last week's story. 


​I also had a text message from Peter Reinhart.

I didn’t see this coming.
 
I was waiting for him to say, “What’s wrong with you?”
 
But he’s too nice a guy for that.
 
Instead, he called the tomato series, “Terrific” and “Full of great ideas.” I don’t usually get props of that caliber.  

I am humbled. 
 
 
At the same time, Dutch at Tribeca Allie Café reached out to me on an unrelated topic.
 
I’ve been doing some consulting for him (yes, way above my pay grade) and showed him a photo of the fresh tomato pie.
 
He replied, “Looks good. Excellent and very doable.”

ABOVE: The traditional pan pizza that inspired the award-winning Dutch Van Oostendorp to say, "Excellent and very doable.”


He’s probably thrilled that I’m not suggesting yet another weird, labor-intensive pizza that he doesn’t feel like tackling on a Friday night when tickets are spitting out of the printer until he’s knee-deep at the oven.
 
 
Even Dr. Chef Junnie Lai chimed in.
 
Everyone’s favorite consulting chef and PhD author in Natural Medicine sent a photo of her tomato pie.
 
She's in the Garden State just outside Philly and said, “After reading your last article, of course I had to create my own.”
 
Her picture shows what looks like a Philly Tomato Pie on steroids, with “San Marzano diced tomato, and fresh basil and oregano from our garden.”
 
I will share her photo once I have more info to explain it. I suspect there’s a Malaysian bread influence afoot.

ABOVE: The new, quick & crazy tomato pie that may induce guilt and self loathing. 


​Free The Pizza’s social media maniacs have lined up as well.

Hardcore David Hering who says of this week’s pizza photo (above), “Looking forward to [the recipe] because that’s a good looking pie.”
 
Chef Tuan Tran (whom we interviewed back in 2022) shared the statement, “I must have it!”
 
A bunch of foodie friends have applauded, including the legendary pizza blogger, Albert Grande of Pizza Therapy.
 
Who knew that simple, fresh tomatoes on a pizza could inspire such a widespread bout of enthusiasm?
 
Last week's recipe was for a traditional pan pizza as an homage to world-famous New Haven apizza at Pepe's Pizzeria Napoletana.  

How disappointed will they be when they learn the truth of this forthcoming recipe?
 
 
Here now, I prepare you for the crime to come with an explanation of my guilt.
 
All of this tomato love that’s been flowing from the pizza-committed masses, and I was thinking about how sad it is.
 
The sadness is that people who love tomatoes—and love pizza—but don’t make pizza at home for various reasons.
 
Like they don’t cook much.
 
Or they’re scared of breads.
 
 
Or as one friend says, “I’m too impatient.“
 
Since I now live in the American South, The Land of Quick Breads, I was wondering about the viability of a quick-bread fresh tomato pie.
 
We already have the Southern Tomato Pie in a traditional pie crust (which may have been a Sicilian-influenced recipe by immigrants in the late 19th century).
 
But what would happen if the quick bread were to fraternize with the pizza-loving curious?
 
If it were viable, it would solve a lot of problems.
 
 
Non-pizza makers could enjoy a quick & easy, pizza-like canvas for homemade marinated tomato artistry.
 
Of course, there are pizza fundamentalists who would argue that I’m proposing a sacrilege—that I’m on a race to the bottom.
 
I counter that by proposing this: I’m providing a gateway for the race to the top.
 
It would be Baby’s First Homemade Pizza.
 
A base camp from which to begin an ascent of the cheesy slopes of Tomato Pie Mountain in an effort to fulfill the intrinsic promise in our name: Free The Pizza.
 
Anyone can make an artisanal-grade pizza at home in a home oven. All it takes is the right tools and a little practice.
 
 
I admit: I make a damn good pizza—to the exclusion of doing anything else well.
 
I’ve evolved into a pizza obsessive who can steer any conversation about politics, economics, art, film, travel, muffins, pumpkins, wax paper, mahogany, elbows, toll booths or men’s hosiery to pizza.
 
“Nice socks.“
 
“Thanks. I’ve got some socks with pizza on them, ya know.“
 
OK, that’s a stretch.
 
I’ve never spilled pizza on my socks.
 
But I did once give a birthday gift to a pizza geek friend that was a pizza box containing seven different pairs of pizza-print socks. I think he wonders what’s wrong with me.
 
Anyway. I digress.
 
 
“Pizza for the people” sounds like some kind of Soviet era propaganda lie to misdirect everyone in the spirit of Bread & Circus.
 
Not that anyone in 21st Century US Culture would understand anything about that.
 
But the truth is, sharing the skill of pizza with people gets them excited, makes them feel a sense of accomplishment, and it makes the world seem just a little bit better.
 
If I can give the newbie a way to make a pizza in under an hour and enjoy the flavor blast of fresh tomato celebration in a new and hairstyle-changing way, what’s wrong with that?
 
 
Pizza is a gateway to all kinds of STEAM competency that doesn’t get taught in our schools anymore.
 
Pizza is also a drug.
 
It’s a dopamine rush on a plate.
 
Wouldn’t a quick-bread pizza dough that’s worthy of your mouth would be a fantastic thing?
 
It would. I know.
 
How do I know?
 
Because I did it.
 
Yes, I have committed the heresy.

ABOVE: A slice of the culprit pizza...


I have made a pizza with a 20-minute dough and the angels sang, “Swing Low, Sweet Pizza-Wheeled Chariot.”
 
No, I’m not hallucinating through an Ozempic haze.
 
I made a three-ingredient dough with self-rising flour.
 
I topped it with marinated tomatoes (from last week’s recipe) on mozzarella.
 
And I knew we were onto something when The Fabulous Honey Parker (who has an excellent palate and will tell me when I've insulted it) stops what she’s doing to do a taste test—and it evolves into scarfing down an entire pizza.
 
Granted, the pizza was only 8 inches in diameter. And I ate half.
 
Why am I sharing this?
 
 
You should know it because it’s too tasty and too simple and too enjoyable to eschew purely on principle.
 
It is a joy-inducing journey into a head-spinningly simple bread with something on it.
 
I swear. I swear on a stack of Tony Gemingani Pizza Bibles.
 
On a whim, I made a batch of dough with self-rising flour, Greek yogurt, and salt.
 
I let it rest for 20 minutes, pressed it into a pan, topped it with cheese and marinated tomatoes, baked it for 12 minutes, cut into slices, and next thing you know…
 
 
Our heads exploded.
 
Yes, we do feel unclean.
 
I went to Peter Reinhart and asked him about this. (Only as a theoretical query. I did not confess my sin.)
 
I wrote, “Since you define pizza as bread with something on it, what about a quick bread with something on it?
 
“Is that still a pizza?“
 
He replied, “A thin, crispy biscuit, which is really a variation of pie dough, seems quite viable. Should it be called pizza? That depends on whether you’re itching for a fight with the purists. But why not?“
 
Why not, indeed.
 
 
This thing that looks and tastes like a pizza that has consumed my kitchen during the past week with its crispy, crunchy, oily (in the best way), cheesy and umami magnificence?
 
 
I’ve made it in expensive pizza pans and old, cast-iron skillets.
 
I’ve covered it with cheese and marinated tomatoes, and experienced umami ‘mato mania in a new, guilt-inducing way.
 
My wife was pretty clear about it.
 
“Your New York Style 2.0 or whatever you call it is my favorite pizza.
 
“The Lazy Way pan pizza is the pizza I didn’t know I was missing.
 
“But this,” she said as she held a tiny slice of Sacrilege Biscuit Dough Tomato Pie, “This is so good. Who wouldn’t want to eat this?“
 
 
Next week: a heretical recipe.
 
Sorry for the lengthy tee-up to a tease, but I’m still dialing it in.
 
I don’t want to share until I’m sure of a fool-proof formula with some necessary alternatives.
 
But you’re gonna love it.
 
Especially if you’re too impatient to make pizza.
 
Meanwhile, if you want to share any of your own tomato-laden lovelies, feel free to send them here—photos are great, or even just lurid memories.
 
Also, please send a message if you understood the veiled Frank Zappa reference. I need to convince my wife I'm not the only person who finds such arcane nonsense amusing. 
 
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