It happened the way Hemingway described bankruptcy: gradually and then suddenly.
Then I was married, pregnant, living upstate, ignorant of the changing nature of American pizza.
Such ignorance may seem trivial in your line of work.
GOTTA HAVE ITPizza is everywhere—but cultish takes by America’s most inventive chefs have come to define the national food scene.
In mine, its fatal.
Pizza is the defining food of our country, the key to the American gestalt.
Meanwhile, I was making baby food.
PIES HAVE ITPizzas from No Saint in Portland, Oregon.Photo: No Saint / Thomas Teal
My sons now eight.
Hes (basically) asking for the car keys and heading out for the evening.
And Im determined to scour the country for the bleeding edge of pizza.
POUR IT ONA trash pie at Shuggies in San Francisco.
I took his stunned countenance as comprehension, and bought a plane ticket to Oregon.
He now works as a pizza consultant.
Portland is a perfect storm for great pizza, he affirmed.
IN THE ROUNDNew York’s Una Pizza Napoletana holds the title of best in the U.S.—bestowed by the Italian organization 50 Top Pizza.Photo: Una Pizza Napoletana / Mako Barmon
They have an amazing Mediterranean climate, great ingredients.
And a community that values real food.
Sitting at a long wood communal table, I inquire about their theory of pizza.
On a tour of the open kitchen, Siccardi points out a cook making mozzarella from fresh curd.
The prosciutto cotto and sausage are also made in-house.
Asked what inspires No Saints pizza, Casabianca replies: Where we are.
The growing season here is incredible, the small farms are just amazing.
Were this mixture between a West Coast and East Coast pizzeria.
It looksand smellslike the platonic ideal of pizza: like pizza drawn in childrens books.
I take a bite.
Its as though each flavor has been amplified, even the dough tasting nuttier and sweeter than Id expected.
Dough inspired by bread baking is her answer.
Obviously its not one thing, Minnick says.
But at Apizza Schollsone of two older Portland pizzerias local chefs emulatetheres a three-day dough process.
I resettle myself in the booth.
The crowd streams in.
Im joined by my pizza-connoisseur friendssmug at my report of No Saints perfection.
Then, were stunned.
It is entirely sui generis.
Im drunk on sheep cheese, making pronouncements like: Now, this is pizza!
Its followed by a mad scientist concoction of roasted sunchokes and watercress, bizarre and faultless.
The dough is crisp and chewy, with sour, bran-y flavor.
The pizzas are generally unsauced.
I think tomato overwhelms other flavors.
Minnick laughs when I call this heresy.
We have our own standards.
We dont have to have East Coast standards.
I arrive in San Francisco the following day.
San Francisco is also on the West Coastwhich you likely know.
But what could be more modish than trash pie?
It makes a weird Frankenstein dough that we use for grandma-style pies.
These are thin-crusted square-pan pizzasthe kind you eat, Murphy explains, at a bar knocking back a beer.
POUR IT ONA trash pie at Shuggies in San Francisco.
There, he guides me in the architecture of a trash pie.
The Frankenstein dough is stretched into pans, the edges torn haphazardly, and all drizzled with oil.
I love a thin, wispy edge on a tavern pizza, he says.
We have this killer little crunchy, nonexistent edge.
Its, like, there, but its, like, not.
I attempt the tear, preciously.
We dont fuss, he says.
We just slap these suckers out, you know?
For toppings, Murphy suggests a white-cheese sauce made from last nights ricotta.
Perhaps also a green pureemade from wilting greens and the restaurants herb stems.
We have tons of cauliflower leaves right now.
One pie on the menu is topped with grape must from local wineries.
I sit in a green plastic chair molded to look like a butt-cradling palm to eat my handiwork.
The flavor of the dough is slightly lactic and tangy.
Upcycled whey gives the Shuggies pie a similar acidity and stretch.
Crisped cauliflower leaves do belong on pizza.
Orange wine and trash pie is a pairing nonpareil.
I fly east, pondering how to complete my reeducation.
An exemplary sourdough Margherita at Middle Brow in Chicago?
A slice at the Lower East Sides Scarrs?
Theres really only one answer:Una Pizza Napoletana.
(On my flight home, I read that pizza isntactuallyfrom Naples.
Its from Gaeta, which is 100 km to the northwest.
Its all naturally leavened.
Kind of like a biga.
He shakes his head.
My dough changes every day.
Im always changing the flour, changing the proofing time.
The pizza cooks for an instant.
(Fine: two minutes.)
The dough is stretchy, salty, bouncy, spottily singed to black.
My pizzas been evolving for so long, its not Neapolitan.
He continues: Even naming the place Napoletana was out of innocence.
I would never do that now.
All that remains is for me to synthesize what Ive learned.
I call John out of retirement to help me make a pizza of the moment.
Instead of whey, I add liquid from a tub of burrata.
I puree a can of datterini tomatoesas small and juicy as grapeswith olive oil.
But perhaps to feel inspired by cauliflower scraps on pizza, one needs black light.
We make our pies, which have a relevance Im not used to sensing.
What do I now know about pizza?
That its never more closely reflected what we care about, and what weve learned.
And that its never been better.
