05/27/09: Flour + Water + Head gash + Novocaine

While Flour + Water’s pizza dough may have been augmented tonight by the effects of a morning head injury and novocaine from the dentist, I don’t think that should detract from the truth of the experience. Here my friends, is the co-most impressive pizza I’ve had in the Bay Area next to Rosso Pizzeria in Santa Rosa. I’d like to try them again side by side. But then again, I wouldn’t. Two fantastic pizzas upon which I could think of absolutely nothing to improve. We had a Margherita with Mozzarella di Bufala. The dough is as faithful to the Neopolitan style as I could imagine. Wonderful salt factor. Wonderful tenderness and lightness with a subtle crisp on the outside. A fresh, simple tomato sauce on top. Basil used as a garnish and not as a topping. Sparingly cheesed so as to offer an ideal dance partner for the gallant crust. Bravo.

05/03/09: Home on the Range

One of the profound lessons I’ve learned from baking pizzas over the past 5 years is the uglier the pizza, the prettier it is. It’s the char. It’s the earthiness, it’s the absence of pattern. When you create a pizza, you are, in some fashion, controlling something. But at the same time, you’re relenting to the awesomeness of the universe…its elements. Your degree of control lies not within what’s presently in your hands, rather what’s been in your hands before. And therein lies the art of it all. You are at best, the conductor of a splendid orchestra with whom you cannot communicate in words. Only with thy memory and thy hand.

Now, when I say uglier, I mean uglier to the majority of Western culture. Because of industrial food advertising and big business restaurant chains, most Americans have been conditioned to respond favorably to food that’s groomed, smooth, shiny and camera-ready. This is of course not an epidemic for those who understand food, but unfortunately they are the few.

This pizza right here, about 8 days its dough having matured in the fridge, was quite nice. If you look at the charred handle, you might think it was a rather tough crust. On the contrary. This crust had a crisp outer shell, yet delicate to the touch and bounced back after effortless finger depression. The charring is a result of my broiling method. It’s about a 6-7 minute bake time, applying sauce-only for the first 3.5 minutes then quickly going in and adding the remainder of the toppings. This method is highly intense, as you risk burning the center of the pizza while it’s dressed only with sauce. But via careful turning and sub-flame navigation, one can render a wonderfully charred, yet tender crust.

The more you do pizza, the less you appreciate the perfect-looking pies with those even handles, solid topping coverage, consistent color/tone, etc. Instead, you grow to love the surprises you find along the way: from making the dough, to proofing the dough, to stretching the dough and the wonderful things that hopefully arise during and after you bake it. Even if the surprises are subtle, they still represent little doorways to a new world. I once equated a well-baked pizza to the planet Earth itself. It is round yet vast. It has a crust. It’s fabric is wrought with a host of tiny organisms. Its topography is random and dynamic. Volcanic peaks occur occasionally, they are beautiful, and those peaks erupt. By humankind, the landscape is divided up into slices or regions. But as I’ve pointed out to be pizza’s noble differentiator, its regions love and complement one another. Never do they fight.

04/27/09: Battle Gialina; Glen Park

It was a windy Saturday afternoon in San Francisco. Chantal and I skipped lunch knowing we had our battle ships set due south from our Mission Dolores home via BART to Glen Park Station; point of attack for a brief 2 block walk to Gialina Pizzeria. We arrived shortly after 5 and managed to land a two-top corner spot in the window. We called immediately for 2 Proseccos and an order of Polpette. Delicious stuff and it set a pompous stage for the will-it-be-worthy pizza pie just moments away.

We ordered the ‘Atomica’. Tomato, mushroom, spicy chiles, red onion. And to cut right to the chase, if I were ever in a dark alley at 3 a.m. with 3 guys coming at me, I’d want a slice of Gialina Pizza in my left hand. This pizza crust, if wielded with the blunt end toward the opponent, could very well knock out Joe Frazier in a single blow. 10 minutes of our dinner was exhausted marveling at the crust’s armor-like shell. Jabbing at it with our pointer fingers. With most pizzas we eat, we try and evaluate a dough’s buoyancy by poking the handle (rim) with our index finger. If it offers minimal resistance, yet allows the digit to depress its piped structure in an elegant crackle of surrender, then springs back into shape, you’ve got yourself a winner. But since the penetration of Gialina’s crust presented my teeth a mighty challenge in and of itself… the finger test became completely irrelevant.

The Atomica flavor combo worked pretty well, although I was surprised to learn they use aged mozzarella on some pizzas. Hmmm. And I think the pizza was somewhat nice to look at. Very interesting character. So not bad relative to most pizzerias out there, but in terms of the ones we go to, it scores low. As we say in the world of pizzaficionados, we grade on a scale of 8-10 rather than 1-10. Meaning, the drunk slices, the chains, the ristorantes and trattorias that ‘oh, by the way, I want to make pizza’… simply don’t make the cut. Why? Because you can be a great athlete, like Michael Jordan… but what happens when a Michael Jordan tries to play baseball? He’s pretty good. But he’s not as good as a ball player.

04/23/09: B Gets a C+

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb’st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What, may it be that even in heavenly place.
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries?

Well, let’s leave that alone, that poem by Sir Philip Sidney of Ennnnnnngland. Nonetheless, that’s how I feel about a nice pizza pie. I’m an archer. That pizza pie is the moon. And whether it’s baked with folly or with deftness, perfection rests in the eye of the lovestruck eater before that first bite. It’s after that first bite where the truth is told. And the truth can sometimes be oily…

A lovely night in Oakland, we had, as we visited Mike, my business partner and longtime friend, around his new home in the historic downtown area. Accompanying him to the restaurant B—an Italian restaurant and bar—was our friend Jim, an unsung prodigy on the saxophone since age 14.

We started off crooked with a misfire order of margaritas (the kind you drink) by yours truly… for a moment I’d thought we were at a Mexican restaurant. Nobody’s fault but my own as I’d had a couple too many glasses of sparkling wine prior to. Once the pizzas came — one, a Pepperoni & Burrata, the other a Mushroom & Thyme w/Fromage Blanc — I was dumbstruck by the unctuosity — both in the dough and on the canvas. Alien to what I’d typically make at home, I felt it incumbent upon me to ask the waiter about the dough. While I will not disclose the ratio of flour, water, yeast, salt, and olive oil in the dough recipe that B’s staff was so kind to share with me, I’ll conclude that olive oil was a major factor in the dough’s performance. While many may like this kind of pizza crust (it’s actually quite tasty) I’m of the no-oil school. Why? Well, if you think of young dough in terms of a seed or sprout, you want to give them healthy water and proper incubation in order to prosper. If I were a sprouting angst-ridden thing, the last thing I’d hope for is a cup of olive oil poured on my head. Know what I’m sayin’? Long story short, the pizza at B was a little oily for me and it doesn’t seem they’re fully exploiting their wood-fired oven. I think with a better-handled, lighter dough, they’ve got the facility to rip a phat blistering moon over there. Positives, though… great contorni dishes and they had and a beautiful decor. I’d like to go there again… next time sober and with my target set on that Artichoke and Fulton Valley chicken.

04/17/09: Camping Season Means… Dutch Oven Pizza?

When we think of baking pizza, doing it at 8,000 feet in a dutch oven somewhere in the 50° deserted woods of Mt. Shasta isn’t the first idea that comes to mind. But the destiny of this pizza dough, made earlier in the morning in San Francisco, was that of high altitude cast iron divinity. I knew that Chantal loved me before this night. But at 9pm, after I engineered a campfire dutch oven Margherita so tender it’d make a black bear cry, I finally saw true love in Chantal’s eyes.

Technically, this wasn’t the pizza a pizzaiolo would be proud of on a typical night in the pizzeria. Overly charred on the bottom and slightly undercooked on the top, it was a very different experience than we’re used to. But irrespective of ‘camping stomach’ (indiscriminate taste buds) there was something both angelic and devilish about this pizza crust. It was as though we were biting into heaven and hell at the same time. Puffy clouds and burned forest. Air and earth. It was majestic. And it was accompanied by a bottle of Chianti we’d bought from Bi-Rite that’d turned colder than the coldest Sauvignon Blanc I’ve ever had. Our tiny flashlights and the dying light from the campfire lighted our way through the two pizzas fired this night. Although a bit rough on the tongue was the charred bottom, never have I baked a pizza this tender… could it be attributed to the altitude? I’d say, yes.

Since we’re approaching good camping season, I thought it in order to resurrect this pizza from about 2 years ago. I’d strongly encourage the pursuit of a campfire pizza because the effort is minimal and the reward…profound: 1) Make your dough in the morning. 2) Drive 3-6 hours to your camp spot with your dough well-protected in a cooler. 3) Have an easily-impressed love interest with you. 4) Start your campfire beneath a camp grill and let the flames roar. 5) Place dutch oven and lid on the grill and pre-heat for 20 min. 6) Drop in your stretched & topped pizza precariously from above, put a lid on it, go have a glass of wine then dethrone the pizza. Lather, rinse, repeat.

04/16/09: Flying off the handle

I generally pull the dough out of the fridge about 1-1.5 hours prior to baking. This is because I’ll typically get home from work at, say, 6pm, and we’ll fire it up at about 7:30-8. This isn’t really enough time for the dough to acclimate to room temp so I tend to get better results on weekends… when I have the luxury to do a long rise. Today, I pulled the dough out at 4pm and we baked at 7pm. The 3-hour rise, in my kitchen, makes a big difference. Because of the amount of air trapped in the dough from the risen-ness, the baking time was a few minutes less than usual. And what I attained was quite close to 3-min wood fired pizza… see that the handle is lighter/white and with charred blisters. This is what I strive for. And I get this with proper dough handling and with the broil method.

Broiling? Well, most recipes you find online don’t address this. I’m not sure why. Perhaps because it’s riskier and more high maintenance. But this is how to best simulate a wood or coal-fired pizza (fired at 700°-1000°) with a conventional oven pizza (fired at 500°-550°). If your stone is at least 6 inches away from the gas flames and you babysit the pie as it bakes, you can get some great results. Assuming, of course, you’re using fresh mozzarella, you can’t put the cheese on right away. You’ve got to start with stretched dough and sauce (if desired). The cheese hits the canvas about halfway through because the last thing you want to do is overcook a good mozz. The trick is, however, whilst you have no cheese on the baking pie you don’t burn the middle. So you have to watch it closely and make adjustments (by turning and moving) as needed. After about a total of 7 minutes baking time, here I have a pizza that even Chris Bianco might honor with a bite if he’d fasted for 7 days.

Soppressata on the surface here of a profoundly tender pizza crust. A couple of rosés in the background as pretty as the setting sun.

04/14/09: Bob’s Red Mill on Linda

Tonight… Bob’s Red Mill four to make the dough. I like it because it’s a high-gluten flour milled in Oregon. A 48-hour-old dough we have here. Flour, water, salt, packaged yeast. Never any olive oil in the dough here on Linda. At least not for the last couple years. Not sure what it really does. Can somebody shed some light? For me, it’s just resulted in a heavier, stickier dough.

Pizzetta with Mozzarella, simple tomato sauce, Pecorino, Prosciutto, Oregano. Oh, Dear. This one’s pretty good. This pizza is rendered from a batch of dough to make 7 pies. The pizzas will likely improve in flavor through the week, as Chantal and I knock the balls off, one by one. When I make pizza dough, I’ll do enough for about 6-8 pies… refrigerating individual 8oz balls in separate containers… firing one per night.

This pizza had a nose (tip of triangle after cut) that was sturdy, yet ever so delicate. If a butterfly landed on the pizza nose as I drew it to my face, the tip would surely break south. The first bite of a good pizza pie, if aimed at the nose, is much like the first song in a concert hall… the first pitch at a ballgame… the first Arabesque in Swan Lake. This is why I think people curl the pizza slice (the flatbush fold) to, in essence, double the pleasure.

This wasn’t one of my best pies, but it charred well on the handle and remained tender on the inside. I’ll get into the conventional oven charring method toot sweet.

04/13/09: Pizzaiolo, Oakland

Strikingly similar in flavor to the pie I make at home, is the pizza from Pizzaiolo in Oakland. We had little time to squander this night because we were hot on a trail to the Paramount to hear the sage melodic words of Leonard Cohen… a far greater treat than any pizza pie could ever deliver (Well, Leonard’s never made me pizza). Anyway, surprising it is to me that Pizzaiolo’s crust resembles mine because they’re probably firing at a difference of 200°. At home, I’m operating at a maximum temp. of 550°. Suffice it to say I’m not terribly impressed with the pizza at Pizzaiolo, but it’s still quite good. Notice the golden brown crust here. This is an absolutely heavenly color to suburbanites across America. To achieve gold is to achieve success. An age-old ideal that post 19th Century America will hopefully shed someday. The Gold Rush, the Golden Nugget, Goldie Locks, golden suntans, Golden Crust Pizza… if it’s gold, it’s got to be good. But that’s neither here nor there. I know Pizzaiolo wasn’t going for the gold, I’m just putting that out there for the folks that see perfection in this photo. It ain’t what to go for. Reason: if it’s gold, the crust is tougher. More cardboardy. More dry.

Since we ate right when the joint just opened, I’m guessing the oven wasn’t quite at optimum heat yet. We had pizza here about a year ago and I recall it being much more ‘on’… the blisters, the blondness, the tenderness, the moist-factor of the interior crust were all dialed in at the time. I think Pizzaiolo is a great restaurant. The side dishes were phenomenal. The topping allocation was on the money. My only legitimate complaint was the girl sitting across the aisle from me. You just don’t need to talk that loud.

04/11/09: An afternoon at Picco

After a nice hike on the Dipsea, we kept tradition alive and slid over to Pizzeria Picco for hike-cap. Unsung to the many, although sung by those who make the trek, Pizzeria Picco is probably in my top 3 pizzerias in the Bay Area. This pizza crust I find similar to A16 in San Francisco, but without the overpowering smoky flavor typical of A16. No knock on A16 at all, it’s beautiful pie, but I’ve never been able to get my head around the near ‘popcorny’ taste in their pizza crust. Which I believe is due to smoking the pie high up in the oven at the finish.

Anyway, so we order a Margherita and a “Seven” (oyster mushroom pie), Baby Greens, 2 Cavas and 2 Rosés. Perfect. Note the blondness on the crust ‘handle’ as I call it, combined with the char-factor. I’ll probably be talking more about this down the line, but this is a key indicator of a pie fired at high temperature. The crust doesn’t have time to become golden because we’re talking about a baking time of anywhere from 1.5-3 minutes depending on temps.

My guess is that Picco fires their pies at 750°-850° and this results is a very tender crust — a thin crisp external layer, but locking in a super tender/moist crumb on the inside. My only criticism today is that they’re a little heavy on the toppings. Although you may not see it in this pic, the mozz is a bit heavy-handed on the Margherita and the shroom pie was loaded up like the 14 Mission at 8:30 in the morning. Hey, when you’ve got a dough working as well as this, a little marinara with oregano just might be all we need.

03/21/09: Repurposing Broccoli Raab

The tomato thing is tough this time of year if you don’t ‘can’. I think we’re going to try to can tomatoes this year if the motivation is right. It’ll certainly save us a lot of concern with how to approach the tomato sauce issue. Should we buy tomatoes from Mexico or is it better to buy Muir Glen canned tomatoes from the San Joaquin Valley? Anyway… another tomato-less night on Linda St. tonight but we managed to punch out a pie with 5-day dough and a broccoli raab pesto w/pepperoni. This here pizza is certainly not one of my more beautiful… but I like the resourcefulness. I’m a purist, at heart, generally just sticking to a Margherita or a secret Marinara I do… but experimentation is fun sometimes, especially when it’s practical. The big idea of the evening was to use what was left in the refrigerator and I think we did pretty well here. The oven and stone were a little cool when the dough hit because I got home from work late. So you’ll see a golden crust vs the nice blister that we strive for. Anyway, for the pesto, it was simply par-boiled broccoli raab, olive oil, garlic, salt. Very nice.