The Quest for the Perfect Pizza

Real Chicago Deep Dish Pizza

If you grew up in Chicago and Uno's was your favorite restaurant, you will immediately recognize the object in the photo to the right. Otherwise, a brief explanation is necessary.

In 1943, two Chicago entrepreneurs named Ric Riccardo and Ike Sewell opened a restaurant at Ohio Street and Wabash on the busy North Side, and called it Pizzeria Uno. They decided to cash in on the newly acquired taste for an exotic, hitherto unheard-of Italian delicacy called "pizza" experienced by many of the GI's who were returning from World War II. By 1955, they were so successful, they opened a second restaurant, Pizzeria Due, only a block away. To get more of the story, go to www.unos.com

One of their first employees was bartender and manager Rudy Malnati, who was brought in from Riccardo's existing restaurant. (See Footnote) Between the three of them, they came up with what has now become a Chicago tradition: deep dish pan pizza. Many people who live in, or once lived in Chicago regard this as the Food of the Gods, the epitome of all that is sacred in the halls of pizzadom. This is not your wimpy, one-quarter inch thick East Coast pizza, not your West Coast Thai chicken designer pizza: no, this is real, industrial strength pizza on steroids, befitting of its association with the City of Broad Shoulders.

It is only fair to say that many others, usually not from Chicago, consider this pizza to be an outrageous travesty. They claim that real Italian pizza looks nothing like this stuff, and that it isn't even pizza if you have to eat it with a knife and fork. According to Jeff Ruby, author of the book Everybody Loves Pizza, " When you talk to pizza aficionados around the country, deep-dish really takes a beating. They think it's an aberration, a casserole, or worse." Only by personal taste can you really decide, but suffice it to say that there are many Chicagoans who will fight bitterly over the last piece, and it is shipped worldwide by at least one Chicago pizzeria.

Ever since my first eye-opening introduction to Uno's pizza back in High School, I have always had a secret desire to make the stuff myself. For years I tried to find out the secrets of their recipe and how they put it together. I shamelessly rifled through the garbage cans behind the restaurant, and tried to spy on the mysterious goings-on in their kitchen. I learned much about the basics of how it was made. For example, while most pizza is assembled by putting sauce on top of the dough, adding ingredients like pepperoni, and then some cheese, Uno's did theirs in the opposite direction. They started by putting the cheese drectly on the dough, then the other ingredients, and finally the sauce. Why? Who knows how this got started, but the result is a unique consistency and flavor never duplicated elsewhere.

My quest for the perfect pizza started in the 1960's and continued on and off until I moved to California in 1978. At one point my reputation as a pizza maker, or "pizzaiaolo" as they say in Italy, was so widespread that friends begged me to quit my job and open a pizzeria. But I knew that, as good as my pizza was, it didn't have the subtle nuances of the real thing: it was only a crude "ersatz" copy. But other priorities intervened and for the next 28 years or so the pizza quest was on the back burner.

Doug, wife and sister at Lou Malnati's

Then a strange set of coincidences brought the quest back to life. In October of 2005, my wife and I went to see my family in Chicago. It turns out that my sister and brother-in-law at whose house we stayed, live about a mile from one of Lou Malnati's restaurants. Wanting to show my wife what real Chicago pizza was like, I took her and my sister there for lunch. As we ate the delicious pizza, I thought to myself "I need to do this again!"

Then in February 2006, the Food TV Network had a week of pizza-related programming, including coverage of the World Pizza Championship in Salsomaggiore, Italy, and a rare interview with Marc Malnati, the grandson of Rudy Malnati. The Malnati interview was particularly exciting, because in it, Marc actually demonstrated how they make their pizza, and revealed several "trade secrets" about their techniques.

Then, a close friend who was planning to have a big party decided that he needed to do something spectacular for his party. He asked me for suggestions, and almost as a joke, I suggested that he build a wood-fired pizza oven in his back yard, and I would make pizzas. When he told me that he was seriously thinking about doing this, I was really surprised. Well, whether the oven actually happens remains to be seen, but at that point I decided that after all those years, I'd better see if I can still make a pizza. So, armed with my trusty old American Metalcraft pizza pan, I went to work.

The first thing I did was to hit the books. About 20 years ago I was in a gift shop in San Francisco, and spotted a book called "The Great Chicago Style Pizza Cookbook" by Pasquale Bruno, Jr. At $6.95 it was too good to pass up, but after a half-hearted attempt to recreate some of the recipes, it sat on my bookshelf. But this time I decided I would really try to make a go of it! The book's recipe for dough was pretty good, but never really worked that well - the dough always seemed tough and leathery. But watching the World Pizza Championship, I had caught an interesting comment by one of the contestants. He said that the best pizza dough should have"sixty baker's percent water."

This really puzzled me - first of all, what the heck is a "baker's percent?" After some research, I discovered that baker's percent is simply the ratio of an ingredient to the weight of the flour in the recipe. So if you have a pound of flour, then 60 baker's percent water would require six-tenths of a pound of water. Since "a pint's a pound" the amount of water would be about 2-1/2 cups. When I went back and looked at the recipe in the book, I noticed that there was slightly less water. Aha! And Malnati ages his dough. He said that they do not use dough right away, but "let it sit for a couple of days," obviously in the refrigerator. What this does or helps is unclear, but whatever the reason, it must work.

And there are several other things I discovered that go into making the best deep dish pizza. Tomato sauce: Uno's used an imported brand that I have never found in any store, labelled: "Pomedoro Pelati con Basilico." So I have stuck with plain crushed tomatoes with basil added. Sausage: Only in Chicago have I ever found what is called "sweet" sausage. As best I can tell, the main difference is that it has a lot of garlic and fennel seed compared with what you get elsewhere. So I buy mild Italian sausage and add those igredients.

Finally, there's the oven. I believe that most home ovens, particularly electric, just don't have what it takes. Most pizzerias run their ovens at around 600 degrees F, and a normal home oven is hard pressed to maintain 500 degrees when filled with food. Back in Chicago, I had an old gas oven in my basement that could actually get up to 550 with two deep dish pizzas in it, although a scary acrid smell came out of the vent on top. I'm sure Malnati's ovens are running in this general area, and he said that they bake a pizza for 20 minutes. By the way, this was the whole reason why my friend wanted to build his own pizza oven.

So the preparation work began. A day ahead, I mixed up a modified-recipe dough, kneaded it thoroughly, let it rise, and put it in he fridge to age. The sausage was doctored up appropriately, as the meat needs time to absorb the flavors of the garlic and fennel seed. Just before assembling the pizza, I flattened the sausage and fried it lightly on one side, as I didn't think my oven had quite enough "oomph" to cook it all the way through.

What was left!

Time to put it all together! The dough went in first, pressed and shaped up the sides of the two inch deep pan. Then sliced Mozzarella. I don't believe that the pizzerias used the imported buffalo milk variety, but I may try it some time. Next the sausage, followed by a generous ladle of tomatoes, and finally, per Marc Malnati, a sprinkle of grated Romano and Parmesan. This resulted in a pizza that came close to the top of the two inch deep pan. And into the oven!

Twenty minutes later, I knew I had a winner. The crust had just a hint of golden brown, the tomatoes had united with the meat, and the whole thing looked perfect. Now for the taste test. In true Uno's tradition, we started with a salad of lettuce, tomatoes and sweet onions, with a light vinaigrette. Then on to the pizza. Nervously, I served what to me appeared to be a perfect specimen of "pizzacus deep-dishicus." Everyone from my six year old granddaughter on up loved it! I should add that my wife claims to hate deep dish pizza, but polished off two large pieces of this baby! We had a guest, a friend of my wife's who was from Milwaukee, who actually seemed familiar with this genre of pizza. She gave it the nod of approval and asked for seconds. To the right, you will see what was left after dinner.

So it appears that after close to forty years, I have finally accomplished one of my life's goals: to make the perfect pizza. Hmm, maybe that pizzeria isn't such a bad idea after all...