LUCCA
When my wife, Julie, and I got married, we knew there was only one place to go for our honeymoon: Italy. I was excited to take her to Gombitelli, the tiny town in the mountains near Lucca where my dad's side of the family came from. My great-grandparents, Angelo and Olimpia Gemignani, had left Gombitelli for America at the turn of the last century, and my Grandpa Frank was born right after they got off the boat. We meandered through the Tuscan countryside, following increasingly sketchy gravel roads and finally ending up on a narrow donkey trail that wound up the side of a steep mountain. I remembered this road from a visit I'd made seven years earlier. Since then, it seemed to have eroded and gotten even narrower. It was barely wide enough for a car, with a sheer drop along one side and, naturally, no guardrail. We came to a dead end, the front of the car facing a deep ravine, and an old man came out of his house, waving violently and screaming at us in Italian. I rolled down the window and said "Gemignani?" His expression changed from rage to joy as he motioned to follow him and raced off, back down the road, yelling "Gemignani! Gemignani!" I made the most terrifying U-turn of my life and followed him. The minute I saw the little house and farm, I had the same overwhelming feeling I'd had the first time I'd been there. It was like stepping into my grandpa's farm in California. Although he'd never even been to Italy, he had the blood of a Tuscan _contadino_-and there in front of me was his backyard in every detail: the same flowers, the lemon tree, the dogwood, the fava beans, the big wine jugs wrapped in straw, the rusty tools scattered around. That California farm and my grandpa are long gone, but in that moment, I was home again. My cousins had decided there was one thing they absolutely had to serve us for our welcome meal: pizza, of course. And this is the one they made. It was quite thin, almost like a toasted flatbread, and I've replicated that in this recipe by rolling the dough out and docking it, so you get a light, crisp crust that's just right with the gutsy _puttanesca_-style combination of crushed tomatoes, olives, garlic, and anchovies.
Provided by Tony Gemignani
Yield Makes one 13-inch pizza; 6 slices
Number Of Ingredients 11
Steps:
- Remove the dough ball from the refrigerator and leave wrapped at room temperature until the dough warms to 60°F to 65°F. Meanwhile, set up the oven with two pizza stones or baking steels and preheat to 500°F for 1 hour.
- In a bowl, mix together the tomatoes, olives, anchovies, and garlic and set aside.
- Dust the work surface with the dusting mixture, then move the dough to the surface and dust the top.
- Sprinkle a wooden peel with the dusting mixture.
- Roll out the dough into a round 14 to 15 inches in diameter. Using a pizza wheel, trim the dough to a 13-inch round. Brush the surface of the dough with oil, flatten the edge, then dock the surface.
- Move the dough to the peel. As you work, shake the peel forward and backward to ensure the dough isn't sticking.
- Mound the mozzarella in the center of the dough and use your fingertips to spread it out evenly over the surface, leaving a 3/4-inch border. Drizzle more oil over the top.
- Slide the pizza onto the top stone. Bake for 4 minutes. Lift the pizza onto the peel, remove it from the oven, and scatter the tomato mixture over the top. Rotate the pizza 180 degrees and transfer it to the bottom stone. Bake for 5 minutes, until the bottom is browned and crisp and the top is golden brown.
- If you would like the top of the pizza darker, transfer it to the top stone for 30 seconds.
- Transfer the pizza to a cutting board and cut into 6 wedges. Scatter the basil over the top and finish with a dusting of oregano and a drizzle of oil.
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