There is a coal-oven pizza place in Farmington Hills, Michigan, called Tomatoes Apizza. It recently added the coal oven. The owner learned his art in New Haven, Connecticut.
—P. J.
From last week's New York Times Travel section—Mario Batali and family kickin' it Michigan style. Naturally, the pizza-oven bits caught my eye. (That's Batali's imported wood-burner at right.)
Watching Mario Batali shovel a pizza topped with chopped tomatoes, wet chunks of fresh mozzarella and grilled artichokes into his crackling outdoor pizza oven, it is easy to imagine you are in a hill town outside Bologna, perhaps even in Borgo Capanne, where Mr. Batali apprenticed for three years at a trattoria. The surrounding spruce trees and the wind off the lake only add to the air of authenticity, as does the wood smoke that plumes out from the top of the brick oven and the smell of baking bread.
But, dude, get this: He's in Michigan. I know, right?
From top: Fricano's EBA (Everything But Anchovies) pie and a pie from Mr. Scrib's, with the same toppings—sausage, pepperoni, green peppers, and mushrooms.
Let’s get one thing out of the way: Yes, the state of Michigan is responsible for producing both Domino’s and Little Caesars pizza. But even though the products of these two chains are readily available all over both the lower and upper peninsulas—indeed, one can purchase a “Pizza! Pizza!” within the sacred grounds of Comerica Park itself, home of the Detroit Tigers—there is evidence that Michiganders can get pizza right, too. Very right.
On the west side of the state, there are two pizzerias that render the notions of “meat lover’s” and “Brooklyn-style” little more than bad memories. One, called Fricano’s, calls itself Michigan’s first pizzeria and is based in Grand Haven, an affluent beach hamlet with trolley tours. The other, Mr. Scrib’s, has its headquarters in Muskegon, another beach town noted more for its paper mill than its pizzaiolos. Both Mr. Scrib’s and Fricano’s produce crusts no thicker than Saltines, covered with a minimum of sauce and a generous scattering of toppings and sharp cheese—plain Margherita pies are not necessarily popular here. At both places, the ordering of a “deluxe,” or, in the case of Fricano’s, an “EBA” (Everything But Anchovies), is essential.
Over the Thanksgiving weekend, I grabbed a few pies from both Fricano’s and Mr. Scrib’s and brought them home to a panel of taste-testers: my family, and my friend, Scott, all of whom had somehow never tried these pizzas before. I picked up three EBA’s (sausage, pepperoni, green peppers, and mushrooms) from Fricano’s, which makes only 12-inch pies that are cut with scissors, and two larges with the same ingredients from Mr. Scrib’s, which cuts its circular pies in square grids.
Slice is part of the Foodblog Ad Network. To advertise on this site or across a network of food-related weblogs, click here.
Slice is also part of the New York City Blogad Network, which allows advertisers to target an audience of smart and savvy Gothamites. To place an ad on Slice or on the NYC Blogad Network, click here.
