Some say Pittsburgh’s Little Italy is in Bloomfield. But those people are wrong. They’ve never been to the secret best Pizza place in Pittsburgh - the backyard of a certain Dan Cardone.

I’m lucky enough to frequent this quasi-pizzeria  regularly and it never disappoints. When you get over the shock that there’s a legitimate pizza oven in the backyard (next to the Bocci court, naturally), the surreal thought thatmaybe, just maybe, you’ve been transported to Naples begins to set in. 

The oven is a magical thing. Dough, cheese, and sauce go in, and out comes a circular, bubbly, disc, that shares the same DNA as the pizzas served in the heart of Italy. The edges get a little charred during the cooking.  But because of the 900 degree temperatures, it remains fluffy and soft on the inside. It’s hard outer shell is just an evolutionary feature of pizza and, obviously, how it’s survived in the wild so long.

No matter what comes out of that oven, it’s automatically added to the list you keep in the back of your mind of the top 10 pizzas you’ve ever eaten. There’s no discussion, no discourse. It’s added onto the list and there’s nothing you can do about it. Then you spend the rest of your life wondering if you’re the type of person who builds a brick oven in your backyard. And guess what? You probably are. Start collecting those bricks.

While my Lawrenceville apartment can’t currently host a pizza oven without fear of burning down a city block, this is the next best thing. Enjoy the photos - they chronicle my latest outing there and what it takes for a pizza to go from a chunk of dough to a slice of heaven. 

Turn That Dumpy Electric Oven into a Brick Oven

Please pay no attention to that laval field in the middle of that pizza. That’s not what we’re here to discuss (I think that splotchiness is due to an excess amount of sauce, I’ll investigate more today). What is important is dat crust. Look at it! Charred yet flaky. Crunchy yet solid. It’s the outline, the pizza border signifying where this pizza’s domain begins an ends. It’s the type of barrier you see in your dreams or in a restaurant that’s home to a brick oven. But hey, I made this pizza in an electric oven thereby throwing the entire pizza-baking hierarchy out of whack. 

The pizza you see above is from Mercurio’s. I’ve included a photo of “true brick oven pizza” for crust reference. Not too far off. 

To achieve crispness, you gotta learn to embrace the broiler in your oven. Brick ovens cook pizzas between 900 and 1200 degrees Fahrenheit and most electric ovens won’t get hotter than 550 degrees. I’m sure that limit is the result of years of brick oven lobbyist in an effort to secure their domain, but those days are over. 

The broiler is the key to excess heat. Once the oven is raised to its max, you’ll need to open the door to trick the oven into thinking it is cooling off. Meanwhile, there should be a pizza stone hiding in the oven absorbing all the heat. It’ll remain piping hot while the ambient heat leaks out. Once the oven releases some heat (usually only 30 seconds) you can shut the door and turn the broiler on. I’m not sure of the science, but what you get is a pizza stone that exceeds the temperature limit.

Keeping the stone four inches from the broiler is important so that the entire production cooks in harmony. Let the pizza stone and broiler sit alone in the oven for 10 minutes, then you can put your dough/sauce/cheese/whatever in. 

It’s a novel approach to getting a different type of pizza out of your oven. You might have to mess around with the formula, but if your'e dying for that brick oven taste give this a shot. You probably won’t be disappointed. Who knows!