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Modernist Pizza is three hefty volumes in a stainless-steel case, plus a wire-bound kitchen book containing all recipes
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Modernist Pizza
Written by Nathan Myhrvold and Francisco Migoya Published by The Cooking Lab; First edition, October 19, 2021 Hardcover: 1708 pages, 32.7 pounds, 13.78 x 10.24 x 15.94 inches List Price: $425.00 Amazon discount price as of 03/08/23: $294.99 |
Welcome to my sprawling review of Modernist Pizza, the three-volume epic by The Cooking Lab's Nathan Mhyrvold and Francisco Migoya, about the history and making of pizza.
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As an amateur pizzamaker of 20 years, I am a geek with opinions. I also have ideas about making pizza that this book brings into question. There is no doubt that Modernist Pizza is a fantastic achievement. But is it for you? Perhaps. (Please know that this review is a work in progress. Reading Modernist Pizza is an epic journey. Reading this review is, well, a journey of sorts. It might require an adult beverage.)
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OVERVIEW
If you’re new to pizza making, and if you don’t have a comprehensive background in bread, you do not need this book.
But you're curious, aren't you?
For a lot of people, buying this book without knowing anything is a little like starting out in photography with the most expensive camera you can buy: it’s a lot more than you need, and it might just confuse you enough to make you quit.
That doesn’t mean you aren’t the right person for this book. I know plenty of experienced, scientific A-types who would love this. There are also some hard-charging business A-types out there who are perfect for this.
I doubt I’m the only person reading this book cover to cover to cover--but I bet I’m in a minority. I can see a lot of folks approaching this epic work as a reference guide to be opened to a specific page when seeking a specific answer. Not a lot of us will read it for fun.
Here’s what does happen when you read all of it: you come away a more thoughtful and informed pizza geek. You gain a better understand of the myths. You have a better comprehension of the emotional connections to pizza, both good and not so good. And you have a much greater grasp of the science of pizza even if (like me) science is not your strong suit.
Modernist Pizza is epic, an object of desire, possibly even of lust. It is a tour de force. It will look really cool sitting there on your cookbook shelf in its red stainless box.
But you're curious, aren't you?
For a lot of people, buying this book without knowing anything is a little like starting out in photography with the most expensive camera you can buy: it’s a lot more than you need, and it might just confuse you enough to make you quit.
That doesn’t mean you aren’t the right person for this book. I know plenty of experienced, scientific A-types who would love this. There are also some hard-charging business A-types out there who are perfect for this.
I doubt I’m the only person reading this book cover to cover to cover--but I bet I’m in a minority. I can see a lot of folks approaching this epic work as a reference guide to be opened to a specific page when seeking a specific answer. Not a lot of us will read it for fun.
Here’s what does happen when you read all of it: you come away a more thoughtful and informed pizza geek. You gain a better understand of the myths. You have a better comprehension of the emotional connections to pizza, both good and not so good. And you have a much greater grasp of the science of pizza even if (like me) science is not your strong suit.
Modernist Pizza is epic, an object of desire, possibly even of lust. It is a tour de force. It will look really cool sitting there on your cookbook shelf in its red stainless box.
HERE'S A WORD I DO NOT USE LIGHTLY: "AWESOME."
When saying, "Awesome," there should be some genuine awe involved. And here we are at awesome: Modernist Pizza. From the fabulous folks at Modernist Cuisine in Seattle. I hesitated for months. It has a retail price of $425. Shipping weight is 36 pounds. It comes in a stainless-steel box. This book is a Responsibility. At least you don't have to feed it.
Nonetheless, with sweaty palms, I clicked the "buy" button. And here we are. It may have given the postman a hernia. And ultimately, I'm reading it so you don't have to. I'll be reporting on it in the coming weeks, but here's something you may not want to know: When it comes to pizza, it's possible that Everything You Know Is Wrong...
Nonetheless, with sweaty palms, I clicked the "buy" button. And here we are. It may have given the postman a hernia. And ultimately, I'm reading it so you don't have to. I'll be reporting on it in the coming weeks, but here's something you may not want to know: When it comes to pizza, it's possible that Everything You Know Is Wrong...
If you'd like to know more about Modernist Pizza (or perhaps acquire your own copy for somewhat less than the list price) click here.
Cracking the spine of Modernist Pizza, Volume 1: History and Fundamentals, Chapter 1, "Pizza History"
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Word for the day: Apocrypha-- /əˈpäkrəfə/ noun, writings or reports not considered genuine.
The lesson of Modernist Pizza Chapter 1, "Pizza History," could be called: “Beware The Apocrypha,” of which there is much about pizza. The history of pizza is a complicated undertaking—in part because there is very little recorded history of pizza before the mid-1900s.
Pizza is largely undocumented in Italy. That is how there are persistent myths about its stature in Naples. Myths are just about all there is. And those myths have been exploded by the team at Modernist Cuisine.
Things historical improve somewhat after pizza’s migration to New York and New Haven. But those things you think you know about pizza’s surging popularity in the United States? They might also be wrong. (Do not credit the GIs who ostensibly experienced pizza in Italy during World War II—a time when there was no flour available.)
Modernist Pizza opens with a history of pizza pursued with a diligence that is impressive. From its roots as a food of the poor, to its disparagement by famous people who visited Italy and found it gruesome, to its evolution into a trendy food item in post-war United States, the team at Modernist Cuisine did their work here. Despite all the remaining question marks, they’ve pieced together a chronicle of everyone’s favorite food and the various styles that evolved.
The archival photography is excellent, especially if you’re interested in historical New York City. From the birth of the nation of Italy through pizza migration to, and evolution in the big pizza cities (New York, New Haven, São Paolo and Buenos Aires among them), this is an epic story stemming from a great Neapolitan diaspora.
Of course, Americans have done all kinds of things to pizza. Yes, that includes chain restaurants and frozen product. But it also includes making it better, making it gourmet, making it more desirable in Italy. (Even prohibition plays a part in pizza. No history of pizza is complete without alcohol.)
Yes, this is just the first chapter of an epic and sprawling multi-volume set. In this chapter, it’s a history book impeccably researched and illustrated. And Chapter 1, “Pizza History,” is comprehensive. It also takes up a full quarter of the entire first volume.
Modernist Pizza on food snobbery, old-timer's disease, what is pizza, and victims of Culinary Stockholm Syndrome... (Volume 1: History and Fundamentals, Chapter 2, "World of Pizza," PART I)
Stockholm syndrome: a condition in which hostages in captivity develop a psychological bond with their captors.
What does that have to do with pizza? We’ll be getting to that. It involves many beloved pizzas and their questionable veracity as a exemplars of the craft. It’s all part of Modernist Pizza’s Volume 1, Chapter 2 foray into the "World Of Pizza."
And when they say “world,” they mean it. You can get pizza in almost every country on earth. And they point out the couple of places where you just can’t. (Doesn't that contrarian inside you just want to go there and order a pizza?
The pizza crew from Modernist Cuisine went all over the world themselves, chasing pizza. They went with cameras, of course. That's part of what they do. And the resulting photography, from landscapes to pizzascapes, is phenomenal. (I've found myself reading and suddenly confronted with a photograph of pizza that makes me feel as if I've wasted my life. Some of the images are incredible.)
In the process of doing all this, the Modernistas were not just gorging on pizza. They were also being scientists. They were doing their best to develop what they refer to as a kind of “pizza taxonomy” for identifying and classifying what is a complex world of food.
Developing this taxonomy required things like determining what actually constitutes a style of pizza. And in that process, all roads lead not to Rome but to (where else?) Naples. If the pizza doesn’t have characteristics that clearly link back to the birthplace of pizza, it’s not pizza.
So now, you’re asking, “Dude, what about my favorite flammkuchen?!” Sorry. That particular flatbread, also known as “tart flambée,” is not pizza. Neither is your beloved Armenian lahmacun. (But man, when it’s topped with minced lamb, it sounds like it's fantastic!)
Do you enjoy scouring Sicilian bakeries for sfincione? It’s lovely—but it's not pizza. (This despite what we heard an Italian judge on a pizza competition TV show said about it recently.)
I’m not going to identify a certain Japanese "pizza" chef on that same show. But this chef was competing, and prepared pizza-wedge-shaped sheets of nori topped with rice and seafood--and called it pizza! Eegad! But the judges allowed it and loved it—and it’s surprising the contestants didn’t come to blows. Clearly nothing about it fit the Modernist taxonomy. But I digress.
In their science-driven effort to make us all feel intellectually satisfied about Pizza Truth, the mavens at Modernist have developed a list of parameters. They involve things like crumb range, rim range, and topping ratios. It’s mind boggling how much food is out there that wants to be pizza.
Modernist Pizza also declares, “Provenance is not enough.” Just for example, there are a lot of lists declaring the best “Greek diner pizza.” Sorry. Greek diner pizza is not a style. It’s just pizza.
And it’s hard to not love the Modernist explanatory metaphor for this: Thomas Keller’s famous California restaurant, French Laundry, is in Yountville. It also follows a specific culinary tradition. But they’re not making “Yountville-style cuisine.”
Here’s one of the big surprises: There is no Sicilian pizza. There is literally nothing in Sicily to be defined as such. There is also no consistent style of purported Sicilian pizza. As a case in point, they gladly show us 18 high-quality photographs of square pizzas claiming to be Sicilian. No two look the same beyond being a thick crust.
And this leads to demystifying the Sicilian pizza’s “gluey gel layer.” Ever wonder about that kinda wet, shiny layer atop the crust beneath the cheese? I have. And long before I knew anything about making pizza, I wondered why pizzerias were always baking these thick, pan pizzas in the same oven as the thin-crust pizzas that go right on the deck with no pan.
SURPRISE: They’re doing it wrong! That gluey gel layer is just uncooked dough. It's the product of baking a pan pizza in a too-hot oven. It’s removed from the oven before the top of the dough is fully baked. Otherwise, the bottom of the crust burns. Good pizza joints use another oven that’s not as hot and bake the thick-crust wannabe-Sicilian pizza all the way through.
And at the end of the day, the question remains: Why is it even called “Sicilian?” Nobody can source it with certainty.
In other assertions sure to cause fist fights:
- Jersey tomato pie is not a style.
- “Bar pizza” or “tavern pizza” is not a style.
- “Roman-style pizza” is mass confusion: Is it thin, cracker crust, al taglio, pinsa romana, or just Roman-style Neapolitan pizza made by Romans?
And just by the way, pinsa Romana (if you've even heard of it) is often claimed to not be pizza. Instead, it’s a “pizza replacement” made with a proprietary flour. Modernist defines it as fitting the definition of pizza, but is not a style of pizza.
Now, are you a Yankee who loves the New York slice-shop model? Get this: Pizza by the slice is virtually unheard of in major pizza cities like Naples, Chicago and São Paulo. The only other major pizza city besides New York that offers slice pizza is Buenos Aires. Who knew Buenos Aires loved pizza?!
Conversely, as slices go, the Roman-style al taglio pizza is almost never sold as a whole pie. Notable domestic exception here: Honey Parker and I interviewed the couplepreneurs behind Philadelphia’s Rione, a pizzeria which is mentioned in this chapter of Modernist Pizza. Rione is happy to sell whole pizzas and often do—especially during football season. If you’d like to hear the CoupleCo interview in which we eat entirely too much of their excellent pizza while talking to them, you can find part 1 here.
Anyway, there is no true Roman style pizza. Rome has a range of styles and lots of hype. Modernist finds calling a pizza “Roman style” unfair to Rome’s culinary tradition. So it goes.
And in an effort to not be overwhelming, this concludes Part 1 of "World Of Pizza" conversation. It's rich and fascinating for such a short chapter. Part 2 will come around to haunt you next week--and we get around to explaining food snobbery, old-timers disease, more about what is pizza, and victims of Culinary Stockholm Syndrome...
If you'd like to see the entire epic, 30-something pounds of Modernist Pizza on Amazon, click here.
Modernist Pizza on food snobbery, old-timer's disease, what is pizza, and victims of Culinary Stockholm Syndrome... (Volume 1: History and Fundamentals, Chapter 2, "World of Pizza," PART II)
When we left you last time, we promised to explain Culinary Stockholm Syndrome, among other things. And shortly, we’ll be doing exactly that—and we’ll be speaking of some important philosophy from the Modernist camp. We just have to do a little more business before getting there.
So, our last “World Of Pizza” observation is that there is no true “Roman style pizza.” Roman “style” actually covers range of styles and lots of hype. The Modernistas believe this is unfair to Rome’s rich culinary tradition. So it goes.
One of the interesting developments here in the land of Modernist Pizza is something that I believe explains a lot of vitriol. There’s a widespread and vocal hatred of Chicago deep-dish pizza exhibited by many. For me, Chicago deep-dish is simply uninteresting. I’ve certainly never said, “I could eat a doorstop right now, but there aren’t any nearby. Where’s the nearest Pizzeria Uno?
But the folks at Modernist take Chicago pizza seriously. Here’s the factoid about it that they deliver to us: Across the board, no matter what the pizzeria, Chicago pizza is undersalted. And I’m going to bet, in part, it’s this lack of salt that creates such animosity. You buy this heavy thing which defies pizza as you know it, and there’s something about it that just tastes wrong. You can’t put your finger on it, so you decry it as a casserole and not a pizza.
But it’s really just undersalted. How much better would the reception be if it were tastier? And this cultural phenomenon is nothing new. Apparently, the “awful” bread of Tuscany has been chronically undersalted going on 700 years. And the myths justifying it aside, nobody can explain why in a way that makes actual sense.
Here’s the frightening thing about Modernist Pizza: There were unpleasant things said about the pizza in New Haven. Yes, the legendary land of Sally’s and Pepe’s was some of the worst pizza they ate on their pizza world tour. I’ve eaten at Pepe’s once. I know people who are so staunchly committed to it that they’ve had pizza airlifted to them across the country, where they stash it in their freezer.
There’s a fantastic documentary about New Haven called Pizza: A Love Story. I recommend it highly. There are big stars and notable people as well as pizzeria owners and longtime aficionados of New Haven pizza. It’s streaming on Amazon and I highly recommend it. But it’s also open to interpretation as an example of a cult phenomenon. (Lyle Lovett loves it, and his appearance alone is worth the price of admission. This little film also gives me new appreciation for Michael Bolton—a performer who I saw so long ago, he was still playing heavy rock under the name Michael Boloton. And no, that extra “o” is not a typo. But I digress.)
And this leads us to one of the most important philosophical underpinnings of Modernist Pizza and the people who make it possible. They had to experience a crisis of introspection and debate about food snobbery. They recognize the intensely personal nature of food, and don’t believe they have any right to tell anyone they can’t like something.
That said, it leads us to a sad reality: “Some styles are so deeply flawed that even the best executed examples are terrible.” That is a direct quote from the book, and I believe it is a courageous statement to make. And it lead us to my favorite new concept, to wit…
Culinary Stockholm syndrome. In the context of our beloved pizza, they say, “If you grow up held hostage to bad food (specifically pizza) you might develop a taste for it and to the point that you love it and defend it against heretical fools like us who point out its flaws.”
Cue applause. It’s satisfying and reassuring to know that the Modernistas have a sense of perspective and humor about all this. (In my own writing, I’ve called myself a heretic, and I am clearly foolish beyond measure by comparison to these genuine geniuses. In fact, why are you even still here? Do you identify with your captor? Yay!)
They also mention an article from Vice.com called, “The pain and sorrow of learning that your beloved childhood pizza is trash.” In that article (which I had to look up so you don’t have to watch the train wreck yourself), writer Peter Rugg describes the “legendarily bad” pizza of the Quad Cities region of Iowa and Illinois. It’s made of a “dough with malt for sweetness, a spartan smear of spicy red sauce, one pound of crumbled pork sausage seasoned with fennel, and a chunked, regionally-made mozzarella. The cheese is shelved over the toppings thick as the rubber on an all-terrain tire.” Wow. I’ve had some bad pizza, but that sounds so epic that I’m not sure what to make of it. And it leads us to…
An Emperor’s new clothes quality to pizza culture. They’ve noted a couple of times in the book that nostalgia sells pizza. Just because something is being made the way your great grandfather made it doesn’t mean it’s good. The Modernist Pizza narrative tell us, for instance, that if you want the best pizza in Naples, you have to go to one owned by a living pizzaiolo.
It’s “the storytelling power of Old-school disease.” And here, they’ve deemed that Portland is the best pizza city. That’s “because there’s no Portland style pizza to muck it up. The best Detroit style pizza is not in Detroit.”
This is where we have to start looking at the known history of pizza for perspective. Yes, Modernist Pizza’s taxonomy says that despite what its detractors say, deep dish really is a pizza and not a casserole. “True Neapolitan pizza” as per the AVPN (the governing body of pizza in Naples) is an invention of the late 20th century. And many AVPN-sanctioned Naples pizzerias don’t even follow strict AVPN guidelines.
Is it wrong that some of the finest Neapolitan pizza is in Tokyo? I think not, but I also think it’s telling. I also think some knucklehead somewhere is screaming “Cultural appropriation!” Feh. But this fact does tell us that a) the Japanese are doing what they do so well with so many inventions from elsewhere: looking at it and improving on it. The finest Neapolitan pizza is half a world away from Naples—and of the two pizzerias that tied for world’s best pizzeria in a recent judgement by The Top 50 Pizza organization, one is in Naples and the other is in New York.
Believe what you want—but it’s possible that everything we know is wrong. That includes apocryphal pizza.
More Emperor’s new clothes: Italians are obsessed with digestion and the digestibility of pizza. This despite the fact there is zero scientific evidence supporting various claims made about what makes it so and not. Also…
AVPN demands true Neapolitan pizza have a soft crust. But research has shown that people prefer the crunch of a crisper crust. So...wherefore, AVPN?
Let’s not harp on this. The undeniable fact is that, at some level, pizza is what you want it to be. Modernist Pizza is not here to tell you that anything is wrong or right. It is here merely to offer facts and let you make decisions.
For me, a key decision was that I don’t like Neapolitan pizza as much as American style "NEOpolitan" pizza and artisan pizza. I made this decision long before I went to Naples, but that trip merely confirmed it. The more memorable pizzas I’ve had in Italy were much more like the best pizzas I’ve had in the States. And that’s the kind of pizza I aim for in Free The Pizza!
And in their objective effort to cover all pizzas for all people, you get to discover some pizzas you may never have heard of. There’s Pizza Gourmet, canotto pizza, kebab pizza, and the forementioned al taglio.
They even recognize chain pizza—not as a style, of course. They do recognize it as “a driver of commerce and innovation” and give it props for its willingness to adapt to local tastes. This latter nod is interesting. Several years ago, Honey Parker and I worked with a fellow who helped open Domino’s in India. It was a colossal failure—until they dumped the US menu and made pizzas that were recognizably Indian in their toppings.
Anyway, “World Of Pizza” is a big and important chapter for the pizza fan. And it paints an objective portrait to inform the variations of the science to follow. But first, it’s boots on the ground in Volume One, Chapter 3: “Pizza Travels.” And yes, they go everywhere that matters—even the Quad Cities for some “legendarily bad pizza…”
If you'd like to see the entire epic, 30-something pounds of Modernist Pizza on Amazon, click here.
Traveling the world to eat the best pizza, getting paid for it AND collecting frequent flier miles? How do you get THAT gig? (Volume 1: History and Fundamentals, Chapter 3, "Pizza Travels," PART I)
In the pantheon of Modernist Cuisine cookbooks, it seems that Modernist Pizza is the first one with a travelogue. And an engaging, tasty, myth-busting travelogue it is.
In an effort to find the best pizzas on earth, the Modernistas hit what they refer to as the first-generation pizza cities: New York, New Haven, Naples, Buenos Aires and São Paolo. They also ventured to the style-related cities like Chicago, California and Rome. The visited a lot of pizzerias—yet the journey covered only about one one-thousandth of a percent of the world’s total pizza joints.
And once again, there is the potential for fistfights. But it’s hard to argue with such a team of smart people with mad skills making the trek so we don’t have to. Even though we kinda wish we could.
Did you know that pizza is one of the world’s most widely eaten foods? And most people eating it are getting it from a pizzeria.
Since it’s one of the most widely eaten foods, it stands to reason it’s one of the world’s most widely made foods. And most people who make it are learning by doing. There aren’t a lot of schools teaching pizza. So most people are learning from the people they work with—or they’re figuring it out the same way you do when you read my silly little book.
Research for “Pizza Travels” involved a lot of local guidebooks. They came up with a curated selection of pizza places to visit. And traveling there involved bringing camera gear—and lots of it. One can only imagine getting all those Pelican cases through customs when they’re covered with pizza sauce and stinking of garlic.
Some of the realities of pizza that we’re confronting here run the gamut:
One of the ways they vetted pizzerias in Italy was via The Gambero Rossi guide. Seems it’s like the Michelin guide to pizza. It contains reviews of 643 pizzerias, and Cambero Rossi reviewers visited to every single one of them.
When we become pizza fanatics, we learn all about the AVPN and its iron fist for all things Neapolitan pizza. Except that, the reality is that all of the AVPN-certified pizzerias in Naples are deviating from the rules in one way or another.
Unsurprisingly, perhaps, some of the most famous Italian pizzaioli have been making pizza most of their lives. Some of them started when they were kids. One guy started making pizza at 18. Another one has been cooking since age 5. One Neapolitan pizzaiolo is even a professional musician who makes records of Neapolitan music from the 7th to 10th centuries.
There’s a fascinating range of pizzamakers and pizzeria surprises. One pizza guy who sounds like he started making pizza the way I did. He’s not a trained chef or pizzaioli. He just loves food and good quality. But unlike me, he went pro. His joint makes 1,000 pizzas a day.
The famous Naples pizzeria La Masardona has a line forming every morning for breakfast pizza fritta. That’s a pizza folded in half like a calzone and deep fried. (But no, it’s not a calzone. To be a calzone is must be baked.)
Another Naples pizzeria that uses two tons of dough daily. With that kind of volume, you’d think we’re talking about sacrificing quality for quantity. But it produces one of the best pizzas the Modernistas had on their expedition. Yes, quantity AND quality.
Trivia: The only top-ranked female pizzaiola in the Gambero Rosso is from Poland. Some staffers in these ranked pizzerias have training in Michelin star kitchens.
I admit, by the time I was halfway through reading this section, I was convinced I blew my one day in Naples. I have pizzeria remorse.
What’s interesting here is how the Italian pizzaioli who are “experimenting” with “unusual toppings” aren’t doing anything very different than you or I might—at least in theory. Obviously, they’re better at pizza and have a more refined palettes and better skills. But one topping here they’ve defined as “unusual” is shrimp.
I’ve been putting shrimp on pizza for years. People also think I‘m “crazy.” (Wow.) By that measure of unusual, I saw all kinds of “unusual toppings” on seafood pizzas in the south ofr France 30 years ago.
Seriously, think about what a pizza pêcheur or “fisherman’s pizza” is going to look like. Mussels, clams, langouste, squid—it doesn’t seem all that avant garde in a pizzeria that sits a hundred yards from a harbor filled with little, rustic old fisherman’s boats that go out with a couple of gnarly old guys In it every day before sunrise.
As for other so-called “unusual” toppings, I admit that there’s one reason I haven’t put foie gras on a pizza: It’s because I can’t find it here. The Mississippi Gulf Coast isn’t exactly a hotbed of gourmet comestibles. But there is shrimp galore, crab, oyster, crawfish—an “experimental” pizzaiolo would have a field day here. (Do the Italians have field days?)
Meanwhile, back in “Pizza Travels,” the northern Italians are doing some very edgy things. While we’re not talking molecular gastronomy (which is debatably an annoyance), there’s still some elevation going on here that makes you ask, “Is that really pizza?”
For instance, imagine a pizza dough that’s been steamed and is white like a Chinese bao. This pale white thing comes to your table topped sauced with a smoked oyster cream, and topped with beef tartare, bone marrow and caviar. Literally, some of these pizza places are acquiring patents and trademarks for unique things they’re doing. (Can you imagine patent trolling the pizza space? But I digress.)
One of the biggest surprises for Americans who have a hard time understanding favorite foods and greatness beyond their own borders will be Brazil. São Paolo suffers from pizza madness. The city has 6,000 pizzerias in a city of 21 million inhabitants. By contrast, New York City has only 1,600 pizzerias to its 8.5 million people. And a lot of the pizzamakers are actual Italians who are not afraid to deviate from their Italian norms to use local ingredients.
Is that not freaky enough? Get ready for this, oh habitual street pizza slice clutcher: many of São Paolo’s pizzerias are fancy, sit-down joints with high end service. You’re highly likely to eat pizza (dinner only) in a white-linen joint with impeccable table service.
In São Paolo you’ll find pizza is light on the sauce and heavy on the toppings. There are also dessert pizzas. Plus, São Paolo is an arty city, vibrant with explosions of color. This sensibility and flair carries through into their pizza culture.
And, of course, the bone of contention. Paulistanos will tell you that São Paolo is the pizza capital of the world. The Modernistas aren’t sure they agree with that level of ascendancy, but they do identify São Paolo as a high-quality pizza city.
São Paolo also has of share of traditional Neapolitan pizza. If you’re that person, it seems you can find your favored, floppy and wet Neapolitan style pizza there. And really, any kind of pizza. Getting a Chicago deep-dish jones in São Paolo? No problem. They’ve got it.
Here’s a puzzler: “golf sauce.” This is something that Brazilians put on their pizza? What is golf sauce? Hello, mayo and ketchup! The mayo & ketchup mixture is something that in my world as a juvenile was called “Russian dressing.” It appeared on salads on my our dinner table when I was a kid. When I moved to Utah, it became clear that Utahns are mad for “fry sauce,” which is (you guessed it) little more than mayo & ketchup.
SIDEBAR: What is the fixation on saucing pizza? It’s a thing here in the south (usually bottled French or Catalina dressing). It’s a thing in college towns. There’s a national subculture of ranch dressing dippers. Because hey—there’s not enough saturated fat in pizza to begin with. But…WHY? Especially in a white-linen dining culture like Sāo Paolo pizza? [End sidebar.]
Here comes the environmental angle. Ready? There’s a lot of biodiesel fuel in use in Sāo Paolo, yet air quality remains poor. The blame gets thrown at Sāo Paolo’s pizza habit. Those pizzerias burn a lot of wood.
At this point is where I came to the unsurprising realization that Modernist Pizza pushes you out of your comfort zone. If you’re one of those people who likes to say, “That’s not pizza!”, their taxonomy will disagree. You’ll say, “That’s not a pizza restaurant!” But clearly, it sells something that’s pizza—despite it being a while linen joint with formal service or a fast-food joint selling a high end product.
From pickles on pizza to squid ink crust to Chinese dumpling dough, pizza might be many things you don’t want it to be. Too bad. If you’re that person. If not, if you’re open to pushing the boundaries on your personal definition, buying this book is cheaper than flying around the world to encounter all of these creations—and it is a stunning visual feast.
Here’s another shocker for the American pizza freak: Buenos Aires is mythologized like New York or New Haven. And in contrast to Sāo Paolo, theirs is a slice culture. The pizza joint proprietors are reportedly a lot more like New Yorkers in their demeanor—and even in their suspicion of anyone wanting to do what the Modernist Cuisiners are doing.
And now, in order to not overwhelm you, we’re going to take a breather. Next time, we’ll be back to continue our global pizza jaunt with layovers in Buenos Aires, Tokyo (big surprises there), New York and New Haven (which also brings its surprises, though maybe not the kind you were hoping for).
If you'd like to see what Modernist Pizza looks like on Amazon, click here.
In an effort to find the best pizzas on earth, the Modernistas hit what they refer to as the first-generation pizza cities: New York, New Haven, Naples, Buenos Aires and São Paolo. They also ventured to the style-related cities like Chicago, California and Rome. The visited a lot of pizzerias—yet the journey covered only about one one-thousandth of a percent of the world’s total pizza joints.
And once again, there is the potential for fistfights. But it’s hard to argue with such a team of smart people with mad skills making the trek so we don’t have to. Even though we kinda wish we could.
Did you know that pizza is one of the world’s most widely eaten foods? And most people eating it are getting it from a pizzeria.
Since it’s one of the most widely eaten foods, it stands to reason it’s one of the world’s most widely made foods. And most people who make it are learning by doing. There aren’t a lot of schools teaching pizza. So most people are learning from the people they work with—or they’re figuring it out the same way you do when you read my silly little book.
Research for “Pizza Travels” involved a lot of local guidebooks. They came up with a curated selection of pizza places to visit. And traveling there involved bringing camera gear—and lots of it. One can only imagine getting all those Pelican cases through customs when they’re covered with pizza sauce and stinking of garlic.
Some of the realities of pizza that we’re confronting here run the gamut:
- As discussed previously, Sicilian pizza doesn’t exist in the “real world”;
- A lot of pizzerias are sold less on pizza quality than on their story value;
- “The pathologies of ‘best’ pizza lists” is that most of them are just made up—you can usually tell if there’s no discussion of methodology; the list is merely culled from existing content;
- The problem of unregulated reader poll lists which lead to pizza popularity contests—you have no idea who voted.
One of the ways they vetted pizzerias in Italy was via The Gambero Rossi guide. Seems it’s like the Michelin guide to pizza. It contains reviews of 643 pizzerias, and Cambero Rossi reviewers visited to every single one of them.
When we become pizza fanatics, we learn all about the AVPN and its iron fist for all things Neapolitan pizza. Except that, the reality is that all of the AVPN-certified pizzerias in Naples are deviating from the rules in one way or another.
Unsurprisingly, perhaps, some of the most famous Italian pizzaioli have been making pizza most of their lives. Some of them started when they were kids. One guy started making pizza at 18. Another one has been cooking since age 5. One Neapolitan pizzaiolo is even a professional musician who makes records of Neapolitan music from the 7th to 10th centuries.
There’s a fascinating range of pizzamakers and pizzeria surprises. One pizza guy who sounds like he started making pizza the way I did. He’s not a trained chef or pizzaioli. He just loves food and good quality. But unlike me, he went pro. His joint makes 1,000 pizzas a day.
The famous Naples pizzeria La Masardona has a line forming every morning for breakfast pizza fritta. That’s a pizza folded in half like a calzone and deep fried. (But no, it’s not a calzone. To be a calzone is must be baked.)
Another Naples pizzeria that uses two tons of dough daily. With that kind of volume, you’d think we’re talking about sacrificing quality for quantity. But it produces one of the best pizzas the Modernistas had on their expedition. Yes, quantity AND quality.
Trivia: The only top-ranked female pizzaiola in the Gambero Rosso is from Poland. Some staffers in these ranked pizzerias have training in Michelin star kitchens.
I admit, by the time I was halfway through reading this section, I was convinced I blew my one day in Naples. I have pizzeria remorse.
What’s interesting here is how the Italian pizzaioli who are “experimenting” with “unusual toppings” aren’t doing anything very different than you or I might—at least in theory. Obviously, they’re better at pizza and have a more refined palettes and better skills. But one topping here they’ve defined as “unusual” is shrimp.
I’ve been putting shrimp on pizza for years. People also think I‘m “crazy.” (Wow.) By that measure of unusual, I saw all kinds of “unusual toppings” on seafood pizzas in the south ofr France 30 years ago.
Seriously, think about what a pizza pêcheur or “fisherman’s pizza” is going to look like. Mussels, clams, langouste, squid—it doesn’t seem all that avant garde in a pizzeria that sits a hundred yards from a harbor filled with little, rustic old fisherman’s boats that go out with a couple of gnarly old guys In it every day before sunrise.
As for other so-called “unusual” toppings, I admit that there’s one reason I haven’t put foie gras on a pizza: It’s because I can’t find it here. The Mississippi Gulf Coast isn’t exactly a hotbed of gourmet comestibles. But there is shrimp galore, crab, oyster, crawfish—an “experimental” pizzaiolo would have a field day here. (Do the Italians have field days?)
Meanwhile, back in “Pizza Travels,” the northern Italians are doing some very edgy things. While we’re not talking molecular gastronomy (which is debatably an annoyance), there’s still some elevation going on here that makes you ask, “Is that really pizza?”
For instance, imagine a pizza dough that’s been steamed and is white like a Chinese bao. This pale white thing comes to your table topped sauced with a smoked oyster cream, and topped with beef tartare, bone marrow and caviar. Literally, some of these pizza places are acquiring patents and trademarks for unique things they’re doing. (Can you imagine patent trolling the pizza space? But I digress.)
One of the biggest surprises for Americans who have a hard time understanding favorite foods and greatness beyond their own borders will be Brazil. São Paolo suffers from pizza madness. The city has 6,000 pizzerias in a city of 21 million inhabitants. By contrast, New York City has only 1,600 pizzerias to its 8.5 million people. And a lot of the pizzamakers are actual Italians who are not afraid to deviate from their Italian norms to use local ingredients.
Is that not freaky enough? Get ready for this, oh habitual street pizza slice clutcher: many of São Paolo’s pizzerias are fancy, sit-down joints with high end service. You’re highly likely to eat pizza (dinner only) in a white-linen joint with impeccable table service.
In São Paolo you’ll find pizza is light on the sauce and heavy on the toppings. There are also dessert pizzas. Plus, São Paolo is an arty city, vibrant with explosions of color. This sensibility and flair carries through into their pizza culture.
And, of course, the bone of contention. Paulistanos will tell you that São Paolo is the pizza capital of the world. The Modernistas aren’t sure they agree with that level of ascendancy, but they do identify São Paolo as a high-quality pizza city.
São Paolo also has of share of traditional Neapolitan pizza. If you’re that person, it seems you can find your favored, floppy and wet Neapolitan style pizza there. And really, any kind of pizza. Getting a Chicago deep-dish jones in São Paolo? No problem. They’ve got it.
Here’s a puzzler: “golf sauce.” This is something that Brazilians put on their pizza? What is golf sauce? Hello, mayo and ketchup! The mayo & ketchup mixture is something that in my world as a juvenile was called “Russian dressing.” It appeared on salads on my our dinner table when I was a kid. When I moved to Utah, it became clear that Utahns are mad for “fry sauce,” which is (you guessed it) little more than mayo & ketchup.
SIDEBAR: What is the fixation on saucing pizza? It’s a thing here in the south (usually bottled French or Catalina dressing). It’s a thing in college towns. There’s a national subculture of ranch dressing dippers. Because hey—there’s not enough saturated fat in pizza to begin with. But…WHY? Especially in a white-linen dining culture like Sāo Paolo pizza? [End sidebar.]
Here comes the environmental angle. Ready? There’s a lot of biodiesel fuel in use in Sāo Paolo, yet air quality remains poor. The blame gets thrown at Sāo Paolo’s pizza habit. Those pizzerias burn a lot of wood.
At this point is where I came to the unsurprising realization that Modernist Pizza pushes you out of your comfort zone. If you’re one of those people who likes to say, “That’s not pizza!”, their taxonomy will disagree. You’ll say, “That’s not a pizza restaurant!” But clearly, it sells something that’s pizza—despite it being a while linen joint with formal service or a fast-food joint selling a high end product.
From pickles on pizza to squid ink crust to Chinese dumpling dough, pizza might be many things you don’t want it to be. Too bad. If you’re that person. If not, if you’re open to pushing the boundaries on your personal definition, buying this book is cheaper than flying around the world to encounter all of these creations—and it is a stunning visual feast.
Here’s another shocker for the American pizza freak: Buenos Aires is mythologized like New York or New Haven. And in contrast to Sāo Paolo, theirs is a slice culture. The pizza joint proprietors are reportedly a lot more like New Yorkers in their demeanor—and even in their suspicion of anyone wanting to do what the Modernist Cuisiners are doing.
And now, in order to not overwhelm you, we’re going to take a breather. Next time, we’ll be back to continue our global pizza jaunt with layovers in Buenos Aires, Tokyo (big surprises there), New York and New Haven (which also brings its surprises, though maybe not the kind you were hoping for).
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Traveling the world to eat the best pizza, getting paid for it AND collecting frequent flier miles? How do you get THAT gig? (Volume 1: History and Fundamentals, Chapter 3, "Pizza Travels," PART II)
When we left you last time, we’d been diving into pizza in São Paolo. As one of the world’s major pizza cities, it has a unique and vibrant pizza culture with a per-capita incidence of pizza restaurants that makes it outweigh the 900-pound pizza gorilla of New York City. As much of a shocker as that was, get ready for this little slice of pizza madness…
The city of Buenos Aires is equally as mythologized as New York or New Haven. And in contrast to Sāo Paolo’s sit-down, fine-dining pizza culture, Buenos Aires is a slice culture like New York’s. The pizza joint proprietors are reportedly a lot more like New Yorkers in their demeanor—and even in their suspicion of anyone wanting to do what the Modernist Cuisiners are doing.
Pizza in Buenos Aires is eaten mostly while standing at a counter. The slices are thick and heavy and “smothered with cheese.” The Modernist crew actually decided that it is possible to have too much cheese. They referred to the slices there as “weighty” and said they’d like the volume “dialed back.” I admit, it does make me wonder whether there’s a cholesterol problem in Buenos Aires.
Fainá is a thing there in Buenos Aires. This is a polenta-like pancake made with chickpea flour that’s often stacked on top of a pizza to make pizza a caballo. (That’s “pizza on horseback” for all you non-Spanish-speaking civilians.)
And be ready to be triggered. Buenos Aires loves their pineapple on pizza. Go figure. In another odd and possibly triggering circumstance for a certain kind of person, there’s a Buenos Aires pizzeria named Hell’s Pizza. They serve pizzas named for Abe Lincoln, MLK, Hilary Clinton, and Herbert Hoover. Explain that, Americans. Moreover, can you name a single Argentinian political or historical figure? If you come up with anything, you probably come up with Juan Perón. What’s on that pizza, anyway? Organized violence with a side of dictatorial rule? But I digres…
In Buenos Aires, you apparently see see clear evolutions from Neapolitan pizza. But these are evolutions you’d be unlikely to see in the US. There’s something called canchera. They say that this pizza is so is so simple it’s a challenge to execute well. “There aren’t any fancy toppings to hide behind; it’s just sauce, oregano, olive oil, and dough.” They even show a photo from THE one place that does canchera as it should be done.
At 6:28 am over my coffee, I’m looking at the canchera photo and thinking, “Ooh, that looks great. I need to try that.” The place is Pizzeria Angelin, and its pizza canchera became famous after Angelin’s owner began baking piles of pizza canchera and selling them cold from a table outside soccer games. And yes, if you know your pizza history, that sounds exactly like how pizza used to be sold on the streets of Naples. And just by the way, for all you pizza historians who like to crow about the longevity of places like Lombardi’s or Pepe’s or Regina, Pizzeria Angelin was established 1938. In fact, Buenos Aires seems to have a lot of pizzerias dating to the 1930s. Pizza here is entrenched. But would you expect it to be entrenched in Tokyo?
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Tokyo is a serious pizza city. There are chain pizzas with American style toppings. The more Japanese toppings are things like wasabi and daikon. The Tokyoites are apparently obsessed with “pizza toast,” which is exactly what it sounds like. And yes, let’s not forget: Tokyo also loves its Chicago deep dish.
In another unsurprising turn, Japanese chefs began going to Naples to learn pizza—and began winning awards in competition. AVPN now has a branch in Japan and has certified more than 80 pizzerias. Seems the Japanese have approached pizza with a typical zeal, discipline and philosophy.
There is no Tokyo-style pizza. But it seems they do have a unique marinara pizza. It goes light on the sauce and fresh garlic, and heavy on olive oil. The Modernistas say it’s one of the best marinara pizzas they had. And it had so much oil, in fact, that in the oven it became a fire hazard.
In a nod to sumo wrestlers, who toss salt into the ring before each match, Japanese pizzaioli toss salt into the oven before each pizza. The Modernist observation is that it flares up and provides “entertainment value.”
Here comes your next triggering pizza moment! (Sorry, no pineapple.) The pizzeria Savoy, which has nine locations, is known for it pizza topped with Japanese mayo and raw tuna. And the marinara pizza at Savory was so good, it inspired Modernist to include their own version of it in the recipe section.
The cross cultural cooperation between Italian pizzaioli and aspiring Japanese chefs is very much a story of earning respect, gaining trust and proving oneself. Sometimes. Other times, the Italians are not so cooperative with the Japanese. Neapolitan-style pizzaiolo Susumu Kakinuma was rebuffed by Italian pizzaioli. So, the way he learned was by eating Italian pizzas. Then, back in Tokyo, he began doing pizza his own way.
There’s something poetic about Susumu using a blend of Italian and Japanese tomatoes. He also uses a wood-fired oven—but not a traditional Italian oven. His pizzas sound very Japanese in their balance and the philosophy behind them. They’re described as “spare and lovely.” Modernist calls his place one of the two best pizzerias they visited in Tokyo.
If you’re the squeamish-about-sushi type, you’ll have a problem with The Kitchen Salvatore Cuomo Ginza’s pizza. It’s topped with Iwanori and nama shirasu (respectively, a green river algae and a tiny raw fish). The chef owner behind the algae-and-tiny-raw-fish pie at The Kitchen Salvatore is Salvatore Cuomo. He was born of an Italian father and Japanese mother, and he is an Italian food icon in Japan with about 80 restaurants around Asia.
And the biggest surprise of a city in Modernist Pizza’s pizza travels? New York. The city that never sleeps surprised them, and they were not expecting that.
As you’d expect, there was plenty of cheap commodity pizza at 99 cents s slice. As you might not expect, the historic pizzas were perhaps not as good as they were just historic.
They preferred the “modern pizzerias trying to act like they’re old school.” Among those were Best Pizza and Paulie Gee’s Slice Shop. They also found that the best New York pizzas were in Brooklyn—but the single best pizza of the New York leg was actually in Jersey City at Dan Richer’s Razza. (I’ve been reading Dan Richer’s book, The Joy Of Pizza. It should be called The Intensity Of Pizza. Dan Richer is fastidious and geeky like there’s no tomorrow.)
New York delivers a plethora of pizza. They had great Neapolitan style, artisan pizza, Detroit pan pizza, and ultra-thin crust pizza. What they say they never had much of? There was no “strikingly good, New York-style pizza.” And the quest for Sicilian pizza didn’t pan out. (Yes, I said that.) All the Sicilians had the dreaded gummy-gel layer. And there was no diversity of sauces.
The New York pizzaioli are collegial. (Well, “collegial” is my word. Maybe it’s too fancy, but I like the idea of collegian pizzaioli.) They hang out together, and they eat at each other’s joints. But they were also more cagey with the Modernist Cuisine crew, and not forthcoming about their recipes.
The old-school pizzeria winner seems to be Joe’s Pizza on Carmine Street in the Village. Pro tip: Don’t ask for toppings, or everyone in the joint will know you’re from out of town. Joe’s now has five locations in New York and one in Shanghai. Each location is run by a family member.
Williamsburg Pizza and Brooklyn Pizza Crew get big thumbs up. Proprietor Nino Coniglio has won Chopped, and is a Pizza Maker Of The Year at the big annual Pizza Expo in Vegas. Modernist thought is NY slices were legit.
Here now, a different kind of triggering moment. No, we’re once again not going all pineapple on ya here. You might find this at a different end of the eye-rolling spectrum. But here it comes: Modernist Pizza writes that at the vaunted Lucali, Mark Iacono “makes superb pizza at a candlelit marble table as diners watch in reverence ‘as if sitting in church…in the presence of a kind of sacrament’ The New York Times’s Sam Sifton wrote.”
Lucali has the quintessential oven theater. They’re using a gas oven, but it has compartment for wood. Customers like to see the flames.
Want to try and argue that pizza isn’t emotional? Good luck with that. And speaking of emotional, my long suffering wife will rue my use of the phrase here, but the pictures of some of the pizzas are (yes) drool-worthy.
Their choices for best pizza in NYC run the gamut. We’re talking Detroit style. There’s São Paolo style, but the joint calls it Roman style. There’s artisan pizza, and old-school New York style. There’s canotto-style Neapolitan (“cannotto” being Italian vernacular for an inflatable life raft). There’s great pizza that’s “somewhere between artisan and Rest-Of-Italy Neapolitan, with a little bit of New York vernacular thrown in by virtue of the fact that they focus on takeaway slices” a a joint called L’Industrie. (Why the French name? It was already on the sign and they couldn’t afford to change it.)
Overall, reading this chapter confronts one with a global, head-spinning constellation of pizza styles. Because of that, you might begin to understand why my advice to the pizza-making newbie is to pick one style of pizza you like, then focus on making that. Trying to make all kinds of pizza means you’re going to have a hard time ever getting good at any of it. And really, you might just get frustrated and quit.
This chapter blows a lot of holes in a lot of reputations that are more mythical than factual. There’s more evidence about the emotional power of pizza nostalgia. And this power might be more truthful to the reality of nostalgia’s Greek etymology. (If you’re a Mad Men fan, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about if you ever saw Don Draper’s pitch for the Kodak Carousel slide projector.) Nostalgia, in its literal translation, represents pain from an old wound.
And once again, this takes us to the conclusion of today’s pizza travels. We’ll be back with third and final installment about this epic chapter next time. And, as always, if you’d like to see this awesome 3-volume set in its 36-pound discounted glory at Amazon, click here. If you’d rather just have a quick, easy and fun guide to making great pizza in your home oven, you can see Free The Pizza! right here.
Traveling the world to eat the best pizza, getting paid for it AND collecting frequent flier miles? How do you get THAT gig? (Volume 1: History and Fundamentals, Chapter 3, "Pizza Travels," PART III)
Legendary pizza can lead to legendary disappointment. As Modernist Pizza notes in a specific case: a crust that is “Dry and dense, almost like hardtack,” “charred to the point of being burnt,” “very low on salt,” “lackluster sauce," "toppings tossed on haphazardly, and a paltry grating of Pecorino.”
Welcome back to Pizza Travels with the Modernist Pizza crew. When we saw you last time, we were reviewing Modernist Pizza's take on the challenges of nostalgia. Such challenges infect certain objects of New York-style pizza love. But perhaps nowhere did the Modernistas experience the dangerous challenges of nostalgia as they did in New Haven.
The list of shortcomings in the first paragraph above were leveled at some of the most beloved pizza in the United States: That of the legendary New Haven. Their research took them to all the big, important icons of New Haven pizza. And their report? Talk about a slap in the face with a wet slice.
This chapter left me wondering if maybe New Haven is like the pizza equivalent of the Chicago Cubs. That's because Modernist went on to say, “We see the love of pizza as something akin to the love a die-hard sports fan has for his or her favorite team. The passion is always there, whether they’re winning the World Series or deep into a losing streak.” And it’s also very clear they were aware of the peril in which they’re placing themselves…
“We’re pretty sure some are going to be outraged by our view.” But like Modernist says, they’ve “promised to tell it like it is, no matter what.”
Nonetheless, there’s also something fantastic about New Haven pizza. It may be the most historically authentic pizza anywhere. After all, the New Haven pizza culture was established by a specific demographic of the Italian diaspora.
At the turn of the 20th century, New Haven business was aggressively courting Neapolitan immigrants as laborers. Says Modernist Pizza, “The connection back to Naples is both strong and deep. We have come to believe that the pizza here may be the closest in style to the ancestral pizza sold on Naples’s cobblestone streets 150 years ago. Which is actually pretty cool.”
Here now, some more ridiculous pizza mythology. Apparently, some people are absolutely certain Frank Pepe invented pizza in New Haven. One can only imagine how bent out of shape those people are going to be about a Tokyo pizza topped with algae and raw fish. (If you missed that pizza, it’s discussed here.)
The Big Two Pizzerias in New Haven are Frank Pepe’s and Sally’s. But the Modernistas feel there is better pizza in New Haven. They mention one place whose name isn’t on everybody’s lips. They also list a couple that I’ve already heard about and am curious to try.
But if we want to get into pizza love and hate, there is probably no better fish-in-a-barrel location than Chicago. In Chicago, the Modernistas didn’t love Chicago pizza—whether thick or thin. As mentioned previously in these review installments, the chronically undersalted condition of Chicago pie is a big problem. They found the best pizzas in Chicago ended up being Neapolitan style, Detroit style, and the al taglio style at Bonci Pizzeria. (Gabriele Bonci is the Roman celebrity chef who started by-the-cut sheet-pan pies in Rome’s Pizzarium, and who was greatly championed by Anthony Bourdain.)
What they did seem to like about Chicago was the attitude. They found that the restaurateurs spoke highly of their competitors. This is apparently not common in the restaurant business.
And maybe the best quote about Chicago pizza: “So. Much. Sausage.” A deep dish pizza can have as much as two pounds of dough, two pounds of cheese, two pounds of sausage, plus cheese and other toppings. Woof!
There are two basic kinds of Chicago deep dish pizza. There’s UNO’s yellow, high-fat dough that they say seems inspired by biscuit dough. Then, there’s a white, pillowy, bread dough similar to what they found in Argentina.
Sadly: Gooey gel layers are common. But all is not lost. As mentioned, they loved Bonci Pizzeria. Other Chicago faves include: Spacca Napoli, a Neapolitan joint that does tribute pizzas to A16, a landmark San Francisco restaurant; and Lampi ala Mozza, a nod to Nancy Silverton of Mozza and La Brea Bakery fame.
The big mystery of the Chicago pizza scene is thin-crust bar-style or tavern-style pizzas—sauced to the edge, and often cat into party squares. Many different bars call it their own. And the Modernistas never found much pizza like this that was very good to eat.
SIDEBAR: At this stage in the game, I’m suddenly wondering how much time these global pizza seekers spent in hotel fitness centers during their travels. Heck, I’m doing New York pizza experiments several times a week, and I’m pudged up beyond reason. But I digress. Moving on!
Modernist Pizza next gives a nod to the weird Quad Cities pizza of Illinois and Iowa. It includes malt in the crust, a tomato sauce that’s made with cayenne pepper or chili flakes, and the toppings are all placed beneath the cheese. When the pizza arrives at your table, it has been cut into strips instead of triangular slices. The strips are floppy and difficult to handle.
And then there’s Old Forge, Pennsylvania—self-proclaimed “pizza capital of the world.” 40% of the Old Forge population claims Italian heritage. And the white-bread, cafeteria-style pan pizza could not sound less Italian. But all the pizzerias are very congenial and they support each other.
“In the end, maybe the story of Old Forge isn’t so much about pizza as it is about a struggling small town creating a shared identity with the tools they had at their disposal.” Now, THAT seems so very Italian: the struggle and the cooperation. Additionally, hats off to Modernist Pizza for recognizing that culture matters, too.
Detroit pizza. Yes, they went to Detroit. Ready? The best Detroit-style pizzas are in Los Angeles, Brooklyn and Chicago.
The next Modernist declaration: Portland is best pizza city in America if not the world. They suspect it’s because of a lack of pizza tradition. Portlandians have been free to experiment. The result is a few excellent pizzaioli who get very cheffy about things and support each other.
I’m so ready to head off to Portland. I was even before cracking this book. But Modernist Pizza’s descriptions of the pizzerias there are inspiring. They portray an eclectic Portland nature, to say the least. You also have to wonder how so many people can spend so much time doing so many unusual and complex things to such a simple food—but it seems they pull it off to great effect.
Ultimately, it seems that pizza is as much about the people who make it as the product itself. With that in mind, this volume of Modernist Pizza is about so many pizzas and so many people.
That’s also why it’s so satisfying finding this gem buried so deep within such a huge book: “We tried hundreds of pizzas while researching this book. Yet there’s one we all continued to talk about even months after our tasting tour was over. It wasn’t the fanciest pizza we tried; it wasn’t even the best. But everything about this place, and this particular pizza, felt so satisfying that it struck exactly the right chord for us. Shardell Dues, a firecracker who’s funny, genuine, and swears like a sailor, opened Red Sauce Pizza in 2015…If Red Sauce was in our neighborhood, we’d be there all the time.”
Just for fun, I went to find Shardell Dues online. Her pizzas look fantastic. They look like pizza, not so much like art as some do. They’re browned really nicely. They’re just irregular enough (nobody here is using calipers, apparently). They look like they taste great and are made with love.
Pizza really is about the people. Witness some of the things the Modernistas have said about places like Portland’s Sizzle Pie: “They weren’t pizzaioli; they were heavy-metal heads.” And “They envisioned a late-night joint that served stoner food, including pizza, waffles and nachos.”
You realize after reading the brief stories about these pizzerias that this massive volume is only scratching the surface. There are a hundred other books that could be done—one book about each of these pizzerias and the people who make them possible.
And by the way, their favorite New York Slice from across the country? It’s in Portland at Scottie’s Pizza Parlor.
Now, about the rest of the country… In California, they give a nod to San Francisco, where the pizza scene never really gelled the way it did in the northeast. Alice Waters gets her due, as does Tony Gemingnani. They also tip their hats to Los Angeles and Nancy Silverton and Wolfgang Puck for their clear and present contributions, as well as Justin DeLeon at Appolonia. Philly gets its due for three great pizzerias in Fishtown. Oh, and hello, Phoenix and Chris Bianco.
Modernist stopped in at Spago and had the famous pizza with house-cured smoked salmon, dill, creme fraiche, and salmon roe. They call it “the original cheffy pizza.” They also had a pizza with wild morels, asparagus and goat cheese. This is where it all started, folks. And you can thank the late Ed LaDou for making it so. (He went on to develop the menu at California Pizza Kitchen. His own little place, Caiote Cafe, is still turning out pizzas in Studio City. I admit that I ate there once at lunch, and was underwhelmed.)
Tony Gemignani: What is there to say? The first American to win the top prize at the World Pizza Cup in Naples. A total of 13 pizza championships. Named US Ambassador of Pizza by the city of Naples. He has 30 restaurants and his own (now defunct) International School of Pizza. His motto is “respect the craft.” He is legend.
Joe Beddia from Philly went to Japan and was floored by what he saw in the dedication of the pizzaioli. When Joe Beddia called Chris Bianco, the latter said, “Find your voice. Your pizza voice.” Joe Beddia did that in a funky little joint with no phone ordering, no seats, and a daily limit of 40 pizzas. He became the best pizza in America as per Bon Appetit. Then he closed it and opened a “grown up” restaurant.
Brooklyn native Chris Bianco began making mozzarella out of his apartment in Phoenix and selling it to restaurants. In one of the book’s best quotes, they say of Chris, “While the operation wasn’t exactly government approved, he figured, ‘How much time can you do for mozzarella?’” They also refer to it as “the underground cheese gig.”
Like so many other critics and pundits, the Modernistas call Bianco’s Pizza Rossa one of their favorite artisanal pizzas. The Rossa is a white pizza with Parmigiano Reggiano, rosemary, slivered red onions, and Arizona pistachios. There’s a reason social media is filled with home pizzamakers making their own versions of it. It seems to be the white pizza du jour.
I’m going to admit ignorance of the rest of the book at this stage, but: This may end up being my favorite chapter. It’s huge, it’s sprawling, it’s epic—much like the entirety of Modernist Pizza. But when you consider how much travel, jet lag and indigestion must have been involved, you can’t ignore the already significant contribution to pizza anthropology. And for most of us, this chapter alone is an extraordinary education about pizza and is worth the price of admission by itself.
Next time, we move on to Chapter 4, covering pizza dough ingredients. Who knew there was so much to consider relative to four simple components: water, flour, salt and yeast?
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