While the dough continues to rise in the fridge, I turn my attention to Mr. Steingarten’s Tomato Sauce, and will make an attempt to be more concise, as describing this simple pizza is turning into a very long, very dull encyclopedia of my rambling thoughts.
Problem: Mr. S’s recipe makes a quart of sauce. The pizza requires a “heaping” ¼ cup of sauce. By doing math with my brain, I deduce that this is enough sauce for 15 pizzas. (4 cups per quart means 16 quarter-cup servings. If they’re “heaping”, that wouldn’t stretch to 16. I have thought this through.) Well I cut the dough recipe in half, so let’s do the same. Maybe the sauce will be delicious enough to enjoy over pasta tomorrow night.
Here are his measurements:
¼ Cup Olive Oil
1 3-inch onion, finely chopped
4 cans (28 oz.) whole plum tomatoes
1 head garlic, cut in half crosswise (a whole head?!?)
2 tbsp. fresh or dried herbs (basil, oregano, marjoram)
2 tsp. salt
Sprinkle of freshly ground black pepper
Four large cans of tomatoes seems like WAY too much. Let’s cut this down into fourths maybe? I now have an onion problem. My grocery does not sell 3-inch onions. If you buy a 5-lb. bag, you can get reasonably sized ones, but the singles are monstrously large, softball-sized Sasquatches. I estimate that his 3-inch onion would give him around ¾ cups if finely chopped, so I’m aiming for around ¼ cup? Just under? I am not a mathematician. Mr. Dishes actually IS a mathematician, but has little interest in my onion dilemma.
Let’s just move on, shall we? Boring blah blah about sauteing Sasquatch onions. We’ve covered this. Low gentle heat, cook until just translucent. I also question the inclusion of an entire head of garlic with “any loose papery outer skin removed”. That still leaves a lot of papery inner skin, doesn’t it? There is also no further cutting, blending, or mincing, meaning there will be large chunks of garlic bopping around on my pizza. This is unappetizing for most, so I go with three cloves, sliced.
Empty the tomatoes into a strainer set over a bowl. “Squish them with your hands until no large pieces remain. This should be quite enjoyable.“ It is. It always is. Take that! And that! I think to myself as the hearts of my enemies explode in my fists. (Maybe I am a psychopath? Will Google online psychopathy tests later.)
Add the tomato solids into the saucepan with the onions, ½ cup of the tomato liquids, and all the other ingredients (except pepper). “Bring to a snappy simmer.” I like that terminology. My simmer gets snappy, and I let it snap for 20 minutes. He then advises to add “16 grindings” of pepper. (How much is a grinding? What kind of grinder does he have? Is my grinder adequate? Suddenly I have pepper grinder performance anxiety.) “When it cools, the sauce should be very thick. It is! Success!
Now finally, FINALLY we get on to actually making this damn pizza. The oven has preheated to 550 (as high as it goes), and my pizza stone is on the lowest oven rack. Dust your pizza peel liberally with cornmeal to prevent stickage. Somehow an Edvard Munch face appears through no effort on my part. Pizza Ghost?
Using well-floured hands, on a well-floured surface, pat the well-floured dough ball into a well-floured, neat 8-inch circle. I have no pictures of this process, because my hands were covered well, in flour and sticky dough. Stretch the dough until the diameter is roughly 12 inches across, and carefully drape it onto your peel. This did not go well, involved much cursing, and eventually an entire dough ball went into the trash. The second one? Well it’s okay. Not great. Here it is topped with a heaping ¼ cup of thick sauce. Very thick. This is a concern.
Top with fresh sliced mozzarella, a handful of Parmesan, and drizzle with a good olive oil and sprinkle of salt. Now it’s ready to bake. Here are Mr. Steingarten’s directions:
“Shake the peel back and forth to see that the pizza is not sticking to the peel. Bake immediately: Open the oven door, place the leading edge of the peel just short of the far edge of the baking stone and at about a 45 degree angle to it, and by a combination of jerking and pulling the peel toward you, evenly slide the pizza onto the stone. This will be difficult at first, child’s play with practice.”
This is where something hilarious or disastrous would generally happen, but under the watchful eye of Pizza Ghost, these weird directions actually work. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes until the crust is golden brown and the cheese is bubbly. I top with a pinch of chiffonade-d basil for decoration, and voila!
It looks gorgeous. Maybe not as flat and even as I’d like. It’s a bit lumpy and misshapen, but hey – aren’t we all? (I certainly am.) And the verdict? Well I have to say, I hate this sauce. It’s far too oniony and chunky. The marjoram gives it a deep, lively flavor, but there are too many chunks of garlic and onions. It’s not saucy enough. The crust is excellent, though – Mr. Dishes compares it to his favorite pizza parlor here in town, so that’s something. I would make this again with my standard sauce, but I can see where extra toppings would be extraneous. Good bread, good tomatoes, and good cheese – what else do you need? So maybe next time I keep it simpler.
I love you, Mr. Steingarten, but you can keep your sauce.
illdothedisheslater 