Pizza Maker Shortage in Italy →

Around the corner from Corneldaniel’s Zico shop, the crust as the Foccaciaria is made by an Egyptian. Nevertheless, people anxiously wait outside for a table.

This article is interesting for a number of reasons. First, it delves into the pizza making hierarchy in Italy. It’s not surprising that this is a serious profession, but at the same time it pays poorly. After all, they’re making pizza. While it’s rewarding and emotionally enriching, it won’t make you rich. Until pizza becomes currency. 

Many Italians are hanging up their dough hooks to pursue other careers. What does a professional pizza maker do post-pizza? Maybe retire to a beet farm or get into the calzone business.

Back to the hierarchy–pizzerias employ a “Neapolitan” to train and supervise employees. An overseer with pizza sauce flowing through their veins and years of experiencing packed into their DNA. The problem is that there aren’t enough Neapolitans to keep up with demand! This can be the beginning of a failing pizza infrastructure  A downward spiral smeared with spoiled vegetables and canned sauce. Without a Neapolitan on staff it’s complete bedlam.

Secondly, many Italian pizzerias employ workers from Egypt and Bangladesh. Proving that pizza is truly the one-food to rule them all. A circular disc that welcomes all life into its delicious portal. Once you succumb to the pizza siren, you’re within its grasp for eternity. One day, pizza shall inherit the earth. 

Thanks to Justine for sending this my way. 

Also, the article tries to shame the pizza establishment for employing an Egypt native to make pizza which is just disgusting.

The .99 Cent Pizza War →

“New Yorkers can be prickly over their pizza prices. Students picketed in front of Pizza Suprema when owner Salvatore Riggio raised the price to 25 cents from 20 cents in the early 1970s, his son Joseph recalled.”

A Wall Street Journal article on new $1 pizza slice shops opening around Manhattan. Pizza is cheap to make, but if you want quality you should be paying at least $2 a slice. For $1 what could you possibly be eating? Cardboard with a sprinkle of parmesan? Watered down marinara? It doesn’t bode well for the eternally booming pizza industry. 

This isn’t new - there was a New York Times article investigating this phenomenon a year ago where pizza places were selling slices for 75 cents. One of the main players, 2 Brothers Pizza Shop, had 11 shops at the time. A year later they have 12 and are looking to open one more in the Bronx.

This reminds me of the $5 pizza in Oakland. A whole pizza for $5. Great idea when you’ve been drinking. In the light of day, it’s a circle of shame. A stale reminder that you’re cheap, pathetic, and your hunger can be sold to the lowest bidder. 

Happy Pizza Birthday to Mercurio's!

After a year of making pizzas for the hungry citizens of Pittsburgh, how is a  pizza/gelato parlor supposed to celebrate? Humbly keep their head down and their eye on the pizza prize? Or give away a ton of free pizza? Luckily for us, Mercurio’s chose the latter.

I’ll go to great lengths for pizza. In this case I went 3 miles. We took a seat, waited an extra-long time (because their oven is so small and they had to make a pizza for everyone in Pittsburgh), and got to eating.

Here I am with my Pizza Roberto. Instead of marinara sauce they lined the crust with basil. Leaves upon leaves of basil! Smothering the basil pouces of burrata. It was all too creamy - I may have just been eating ricotta by the spoonful.

Here’s Christa enjoying the free margherita pizza. She really wanted to get her money’s worth so she thought she’d eat the plate too. Poor girl. You think she’d know how to eat pizza by now?

I wish more pizza places celebrated their pizza birthday. It’s more important than ever to understand your pizza roots and measure success! Looking back and seeing pizza progress is the only way to redefine pizza and innovate. 

Law & Order: Pizza Victims Unit

We received this call late afternoon. A worried banana went to clean its windowsill like it does every other Friday at 3pm. This time was different. 

On the opposite side of the windowsill, as if the banana was looking through an alternate dimension, there laid a post-mortem slice of pizza. The slice was cut in half. The cut was neither clean nor even. It was sloppy, just like its assailant. 

Forensics think that this pizza was attacked late at night. It was leaving a bar after drinking too many High Lifes and stumbled into the wrong crowd. There’s signs of excess struggle and a wallet was found nearby. All ID was missing, save for a phone number written in lipstick that said “Call me, love." 

In the wake of this attack were drops of cheese and blood mixed with a bit of sauce (that was way too sweet to be on a pizza). If anyone has any information about this attack, please contact the Pizza Victims Unit

Went to Mercurio’s the other day with some pals. Aside from a seating debacle, it seems they’re actually getting better at serving pizzas that are fully-cooked and piping hot. 

Enjoy the photos - I’ll get back to more pizza reviews and less glamour shots of me posing with pizza soon!

I recently had the “pleasure” of visiting Roland’s in the Strip. This is face, the face I’m making at that pizza, is usually the last thing any pizza sees before meeting its maker. It’s the “I’m going to eat this whole pizza in one sitting” face.

The pizza of Roland’s must have sensed that doom was following it out of the oven and deployed a self-defense mechanism: awfulness. Thanks to some miserable sauce, soggy cheese, and a floppy crust this pizza fought me away. Like a wolf biting a porcupine, I had to turn tail and flee from my prey.

The only edible portion of this pizza were certain spots of the crust. I carefully tore off the crust like I was opening up a valuable envelope. A pull in the wrong direction and I’d have spoiled my dinner with some of that candy sweet sauce and flat as paper cheese.

This pizza made me crave texture. It flopped down my throat like I was swallowing a dead fish whole. Which is too bad because it looks nice. The roasted red peppers are spread throughout and the cheese covers the dough like a blanket on a freshly made bed. But looks can be deceiving. 

I’d stick to the fish at Roland’s. 

The Pizza Witching Hour

The pizza witching hour is the hour before the pizza you plan to eat arrives. Here’s what typically happens during such a time:

• Any sound that enters your ear drums turns into a doorbell ringing. 
• You are constantly disappointed that everything in your field of vision is not pizza.
• You calculate your actions and behavior with the delivery person in your head over and over.
• You check the time you called to place your pizza order to see how much time has passed.
• You feel like you’re dying from hunger, but putting anything in your stomach would be a pizza sin.
• You spend 20 minutes organizing the money and tip for the pizza person.

Great News for Pizza and Mayonnaise Lovers

Mayonnaise has become pretty popular lately and has been quite the hit on sandwiches. Jimmy John’s subs come with mayonnaise on default and Subway has a buffet of mayonnaise variants to choose from. You can’t swing a dead cat without it hitting a vat of mayonnaise. Despite this I’ve yet to dive head first into the world of mayonnaise. But now I finally have a reason.

Japan is a pioneer of trends and I look to them to show me the food of tomorrow. This week, that food is pizza with a grid of mayonnaise. According to an on-the-street report from Rocket News 24, mayonnaise is a staple on pizza. I guess Domino’s adopting the creamy gunk for its own pies just makes sense in that region. 

How does mayonnaise complement a buttery crust, soggy vegetables, and canned sauce? We may never know without visiting Japan.

If this story has taught me anything it’s how to properly spell mayonnaise. 

Pizza Review: Fiori's Pizzaria in Brookline

Fiori’s Pizzaria was founded in 1979 out in Brookline, Pennsylvania. It’s a few miles outside the city of Pittsburgh, but some would say it’s the top 99 of the top 100 reasons to drive through the a tunnel. Here’s a portion of the list right here:

1. Fiori’s Pizzaria
2. Fiori’s Pizzaria
3. Leaving to greet the Pirates at the airport as they return from a World Series victory
4. Fiori’s Pizzaria
5. Fiori’s Pizzaria
6. Fiori’s Pizzaria

It’s been hyped up to me since I started this blog. “Have you had Fiori’s? You’re not a pizza journalist if you haven’t.” Okay, maybe, but that’s not what my associates degree in Pizza Journalism says. The other day I recruited my pizza pal Adam to escort me into the greasy, bustling, cheesy den of Fiori’s Pizzaria.

There’s Adam with our prized pizza. Doesn’t it look like an angel? It emits a golden glow. The cheese is perfectly melted and the crust is perfectly browned as if spray painted by a top-tier food artist. Even at a slant the pizza grips to the pan with a sense of purpose. As if to say, “Only the chosen pizza eater can pull a slice from this ancient metal.” We must’ve been the chosen ones because when we were done there wasn’t a slice of pizza left behind to tell the tale of the Fiori’s Pizza Massacre.

So the pizza begins like you’d expect. You lift a slice into the air and gravity pulls down on the slice hungry for a piping hot meal. Not today gravity. Despite some cheese dripping off to the the side, the rest of the package is solid. There’s some give to the crust, but not enough that leads to a complete pizza breakdown. You could build a house on this crust except you’d have to worry about a sinking foundation in about three years. Which, all things considered, isn’t that bad. You know, for pizza. 

The cheese steals the show here. It’s goopy, delicious, and a bit sweet. The sauce is humble. It seems to exists only to keep the crust separated from cheese. Are they mortal enemies? Will the pizza implode if it weren’t for the sauce? Possibly (Sauceibly?). 

I spent a lot of time chewing through the cheese. If you’re familiar with Mineo’s then you have an idea of what Fiori’s taste like. I’d say that Fiori’s is more of a focused pizza; there isn’t a pool of grease and the cheese is easier to handle than a handful of ice cubes covered in olive oil. It’s a delightful experience.

But then you get to the crust and you begin to wonder what is it you’ve just put into your mouth. Your tastebuds feel betrayed. Was the rest of the slice just an illusion? How could 9/10ths of a pizza be near perfection but the handle taste like literally nothing. The crust has no flavor. At all. It’s just chewy matter. A simple handle so you don’t get cheese and grease on your hands. It’s better off being tossed to the side or recycled. It spoils a delicious pizza. Perhaps Fiori should work to build a pizza home out of the crust instead of having customers eat it?

The motto at Fiori’s is “We fix you up” and it’s certainly true. It’s some of the best pizza I’ve had (aside from the crust) and it’s the perfect pizza environment. There’s a pinball machine and a friendly staff. There’s a large window in the pizza-making area so you can watch the dough mature from flour and water into a pizza being. It’s a grand pizza experience and if you’re in the area you’d be a fool to not check it out. 

I made a short video with my thoughts of Fiori’s Pizzaria. It’s not incredibly comprehensive, but it gets a few of my trifles out on the table. Also, there’s plenty of pizza shots to salivate over. 

Everyone and their pizza delivery driver has told me to go to Fiori’s to eat their pizza. I haven’t had “pizza” until I’ve eaten Fiori’s pizza. I went. I ate. And I ate. And now I’m a pizza piñata. I’ll have some more later. For now, here’s some photos!