Posts tagged ‘pizza’

A friend of mine just moved to New York City (Queens) from Chicago. While he likes the city, he really misses Chicago-style deep-dish pizza. We’ve been forbidden to even talk about pizza around him! Is there a pocket of Chicago natives anywhere in New York where a man can get a slice of pizza like they make back home?

You may not want to hear this, but no. As crazy as it might seem, there is no truly authentic Chicago deep-dish in New York. Even the pizza completists at Slice say there’s no real comparison (and of course, we all are pretending that the Pizzeria Uno on 6th Avenue in the Village doesn’t exist.) If you’re looking for an overwhelming load of cheese underneath a layer of sauce on a quiche-like crust, it’s just not going to happen. However, if you are willing to play fast and loose with New York’s options, you might be able to find something that satisfies the deep dish need until your next trip to Lou Malnati’s.

There are two slice styles found in New York that may help: the Sicilian, better known as the “square slice” in many local pizza joints, and a little something called the “grandma slice.” Less doughy than its Sicilian cousin, the grandma usually features a square, pan-baked crust with the mozzarella cheese residing underneath a diced tomato sauce. The cheese-under-sauce falls more into the deep-dish category, but you’re still not going to get it an inch thick like you would in Chicago. Here are the two best slices I found:

Maffei (686 Sixth Ave. at 22nd St., 212-929-0949) has the best grandma slice in the city, according to Ed Levine (a man who knows —he wrote an entire book on the subject, <Pizza: A Slice of Heaven). The tomatoes on the grandma are freshly crushed, which is an excellent touch, and the crust is thin and crisp. But the Sicilian comes closer to a deep-dish; it’s a little more substantial, with a thicker, more buttery crust and rounds of fresh mozzarella. If you like Giordano’s, these could be the slices for you.

It’s hard to do a pizza roundup in this city without including Di Fara (1424 Avenue J, Midwood, Brooklyn; 718-258-1367), the undisputed champion of New York artisanal pizza. The square slice comes with the same cheese mix as the round, thin-crust pies (two kinds of mozzarella and Grana Padano), but with a bouncier, chewier crust and nicely burnt edges. There’s no real one-on-one Chicago comparison, but it’s outstanding. Maybe you should just give up the idea of approximating deep-dish and just join the hordes of followers. Note that DiFara is only open Wednesday-Sunday, and even then only from noon to 4:30 pm and 6:00-9:00 pm. When you’re as critically lauded as owner Dom DeMarco, you get to make those kind of rules.

Finally, though I haven’t sampled it myself, word from the Chowhound contingent is that Nino’s (9110 3rd Avenue, Bay Ridge, Brooklyn) also makes a mean grandma slice. Plus, Tony Sirico apparently lives in the neighborhood, so if you see him, please ask what kind of ‘za he prefers. It would be a public service!

Readers, I now turn to you. Ignore the Neapolitan blistered thin-crust pizza for a second! Forget your Motorinos, your Lucalis, your Gruppos, and tell me: what’s your favorite pizza out of a pan?

Freaking out about holiday baking? Unlike my co-editor, I have never set a stand mixer on fire and am more than happy to help. (Sorry, D!) Send your irrational questions to Ask Casey at caseyATgoodfoodstoriesDOTcom.

I bet that many of you have an unfair prejudice against anchovies. I lay blame for this at the door of ’80s sitcoms.  “Hold the anchovies” was a frequent and unfortunate punch line each time some study-hall-fatigued-teen or dad-left-to-his-own-devices decided to give in and order the pizza with everything on it. But, wait!! Hold the anchovies!!!! (Cue laugh track.) I grew up loving anchovies, never realizing that they were the same instrument of horror that Charles would never allow on his pizza while he was in charge. In my house, we ordered pizza with alici, or aleech, to be true to our Neaopolitan accent.  At some point, my brother took to calling them hairy fish, but only as a greater term of endearment.

Anchovies are a small saltwater fish related to herring. While they can be bought fresh, they are most usually found brined, packed in sea salt, and cured. They are cheap and easy to find. A good place to start is with the nicer jarred anchovy fillets in gourmet markets like Fairway or Whole Foods.  If you’re a committed anchovy lover, you should buy the imported ones that come in large vats of salted, umami goodness. My pantry is always stocked with a few tins of anchovy fillets in olive oil, found in any grocery store or bodega, usually next to the canned tuna. If you’re still a little hesitant, consider a few of these ideas:

• Anchovies and greens. Sautee broccoli rabe, kale, or chard with a few fillets. I start my pan with a splash of olive oil, red pepper flakes, and two fillets. They disappear into the oil and leave their flavor behind. Throw in your greens, still wet from being washed to make a little steam, stir, cover, and let them cook down. If you already love the flavor, add a few more anchovies toward the end of cooking and let them fall apart all over your greens. Escarole, nutmeg and anchovies are a heavenly combination as I learned while in Anchovies and pasta sauce. Anchovies create a fantastic base for an al’ olio pasta sauce. Get the olive oil, pepper flakes, and ‘chovies going in the same way as you would for your greens. After your pasta is cooked, throw it in to your pan along with a cup of the pasta water and let it all cook together on low heat for 3-5 minutes. You can also throw in a small can of chickpeas, white beans, or a bunch of spinach leaves. Puttanesca sauce—tomatoes, hot pepper, anchovies, and capers—couldn’t be simpler. As the legend goes, prostitutes throw it together quickly because they don’t have much time in between customers.
• Anchovies and chicken sausage. Once again, anchovies serve as your flavorful base. Chicken sausage is low-fat, inexpensive, but kinda eh in flavor. Brown the sausages in a base of olive oil and anchovies and you’ll have something altogether different and wonderful. Add in chopped white cabbage, a dry white wine, salt, pepper, and you’ll have a hearty, satisfying dinner that will be an even better lunch tomorrow.
• Anchovies and pizza. If I’m ordering a good ol’ New York pie from your average pizzeria, I’ll put my own anchovies on top. I don’t like how the pizza oven dries out the oil. Yet, some like them drier. On most pizza menus in Italy, a pizza napoletana has anchovies, black olives, and blobs of mozzarella cheese.
• Anchovy paste and toast. Warning: this is for severe salt fiends like myself. Anchovy paste is sold in tubes in most grocery stores. Often it’s near the pasta sauces, rather than with the canned anchovies. My favorite light breakfast is two slices of rye toast with light layer of butter, and a light layer of anchovy paste. Breakfast of champions!

Dearest Casey, I had a disaster of a dinner party a few weeks ago when my gorgeous mini pizzas (butternut squash, manchego and pancetta; arugula, mozarella and roasted tomatoes; and caramelized onions and goat cheese) were completely ruined by a less-than-mediocre store-bought dough. Is there an easy and delicious dough recipe you can share, and even better, one that doesn’t require yeast and lots of time and attention?

Unfortunately, yeast is a fact of life when it comes to pizza dough. You can make a flatbread imitation to get around it, but if you want to be authentic, you’re going to have to deal with the gassy little buggers every time. Luckily, I am in possession of a fantastic recipe that requires only 15 minutes of active duty and is a wonderfully simple introduction to the world of yeasted doughs.

Pizza Dough
(makes one big pizza or two personal pizzas, if you prefer not to share toppings)

• 2 cups flour — if you have it around, you can mix 2/3 cup cake flour with 1 1/3 cups all-purpose for a more tender crust, but I’ve done this with regular flour so many times and it’s completely fine. Don’t get bogged down with the minutiae of 00 flour, bread flour, semolina, etc. unless you are pizza-obsessed!
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• 1 package (or 2 1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast
• water
• olive oil

Combine the sugar and yeast in one large bowl – if you’ll be using your stand mixer to knead the dough, just combine in its mixing bowl to eliminate extra dishwashing. In another large bowl, combine the flour and salt.

Add just under 1 cup of warm water (the technical temperature is 105-110 degrees, but I’ve never gauged it specifically; I just put my finger under the tap until it feels like nice hot bathwater and it has always worked) to the yeast/sugar bowl, stir gently with a fork, and wait five minutes for the yeast to bloom. It’s fun to watch; you’ll truly be able to see the transformation happening as the yeast munches on those tasty sugars and starts burping out the gases to make the bread rise.

Add the contents of the flour bowl to the yeast bowl and stir with a fork until a ragged dough forms. Either turn out onto a floured surface and knead by hand for five minutes, or use the dough hook on your stand mixer. You’ll know the dough is ready when the ball is smooth, firm and pliable.

Take the empty bowl that once contained the flour, coat lightly with olive oil, and place the dough ball back inside. Roll it around gently to make sure it’s fully oiled, cover with plastic wrap or a damp towel, and let sit in a warm place to rise for an hour and a half.

You can then use the dough immediately or put into an oiled gallon Ziploc for fridge or freezer storage, depending on how quickly you’re going to need it. I’ll keep mine for one or two days in the fridge and in the freezer for up to three months. Let any stored dough warm up to room temperature before rolling out for the pizza crust; if the dough is too cold, it will “bounce” back on itself and the additional work to re-stretch it will make the dough tougher than you want.

All pizza aficionados who are faint of heart should ignore the next statement, but I like to stretch my dough out on a well-floured surface with the assistance of a rolling pin (I know, I know! Maybe I should take a pizza class) to get the crust well on its way to being wafer-thin, then let it rest for a few minutes. Top with your choice of tasty morsels, then throw into a 500-degree oven until bubbling and golden. I’ve been grilling my pizzas ever since I broke my pizza stone in a freak accident, but if you don’t have a grill or a stone, you can use a baking sheet that’s been sprinkled with cornmeal as a substitute.

My favorite way to top it comes from the rightfully famous Pizzeria Bianco in Phoenix, where Chris Bianco serves a white pie called the Rosa. Brush olive oil onto the crust, liberally dust with finely grated parmesan cheese liberally, and dot with chopped pistachios, translucently thin slices of red onion, and my favorite of all herbs, rosemary.

Ask Casey if she wants a free trip back to Pizzeria Bianco (hint: the answer is always yes) or send her any other culinary questions at caseyATgoodfoodstories.com. I’m here to help every Thursday!

Perhaps it’s a little arrogant of me to come out of the gate with such a statement about a New York Times food critic. Yet I must, because his recent article about Neapolitan style pizza incorrectly dismissed Arthur Avenue’s Zero, Otto, Nove calling their pizza insipid. Insipid?! Frank, (if I may?), we need to talk.

First a little background. Both the New York Times and New York recently profiled the major New York city trend of pizza restaurants doing it Naples style. While I think this is pretty fabulous, I’m not lovin’ the rarefied, precious approach to making one of the simplest, most satisfying foods on Planet Earth. Una Pizza Napoletana was charging $21 schcaroles for a pizza. (I do love Anthony Mangieri’s ornery nature though. And his tattoos.) Kesté hosts pizza making classes underneath the restaurant that cost four THOUSAND dollars. Call me crazy, but there’s something a little insipid about that.

Naples is a city very dear to my heart. It’s dirty, loud, and filled with impatient people zooming all over the place. The chaos is frequently punctuated by the smell of woodsmoke coming from the burning pizza ovens. Pizza in Naples is simple. San Marzano tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella are the ingredients of choice because they’re local. (Hey, there are some benefits to living underneath an overdue volcano.) People on their lunch break and on their way home from school often stop to have a pizza. Neapolitans consider the best pizza joints in town to be Da Michele and Da Matteo where you can have your own crispy, chewy, delicious pizza (reminiscent of naan bread) for just 5 or 6 euros. There’s fluorescent lighting buzzing over your head, the walls are covered in white tile, and your annoyed server will be wearing his undershirt. Suddenly, the classic NYC slice joint makes sense! In Naples, New Yorkers, not just Italians, have a chance to find out where they come from.

So back to Bruni and his opinion of Zero, Otto, Nove and the fact that he is WRONG. First of all, it’s is in the Bronx. (Loud, dirty, filled with impatient people zooming all over the place.) The ingredients, while not necessarily grown locally, all come from the amazing shops and markets on and around Arthur Avenue. The spicy sopressata on the appropriately named pizza diavola is from Bianciardi’s right across the street. Not only does the wood burning pizza oven crank out pies that taste every bit as good as the pizza at Da Michele and Da Matteo in Naples, you get the wonderful chance to feel like you are in Italy. It’s just an added bonus that Zero, Otto, Nove’s pizzaiolo, Giuseppe Paciullo, is from Salerno, and just like so many restaurants in Italy, the waiters are Albanian. There’s nothing precious and rarefied—or insipid—about the food, or the experience.

The rest of the menu is nothing to sneeze at either. None of the Arthur Avenue regulars need me or anyone else to convince them to eat a calzone stuffed with escarole, anchovies, and olives. They appreciate a meatball that is small and made fluffy with milk soaked bread before being fried to crispy perfection. They’ll make sure the kitchen continues doing it right and for a good price.