Margherita Pizza
Those pizzas…They go very fast! [Photo Credit: Alex Paternostro]
Recipe by Seth Paternostro
Introduction by Alex Paternostro
December 18, 2021
Nonna Rossa was not always a Nonna, of course. She was Bella Rossa first, and her backstory remains a head-turner…
Hot as Hell, the asphalt of “Sponsor” Speedway was no place for pedestrians. Only cars and serving girls were allowed on the track. Even the pit crews stayed in their lane, so the freedom of Bella Rossa’s gig was exhilarating. At first, rollerskating between the racecars was a bit unnerving, but Bella Rossa got the hang of it fast. It was Week 3, and she looked both ways—Rule No. 1 for all new hires—before gliding on her cute four-wheelers through burnt rubber and past the wake of a flaming crumple.
Her crisp pink top and short white skirt floated like the pizza she held above her head, which caught the eye of many a hungry mechanic. Bella Rossa noticed one in particular. His gleaming biceps bulged as he lifted the rear of a nearby auto, switched to one arm, and replaced a bolt with his free hand. He glanced briefly at the svelte lady who was sailing towards him but immediately returned his gaze to firming the fastening.
“Hey, gear boy, stop hitting on the ladies, and get on with the job!” shouted “The American,” Rocket Johnson. He showed his big teeth and waved over Bella Rossa. As she was just about to deliver his order, he grabbed her whole platter through the window, shoving the pizza beside him. It sloped down his dash and onto the passenger seat as he picked up a slice, folded it in half, and scarfed down a bite, greasing his leather gloves.
“Thanks, pretty lady!” he exclaimed, grinning, then he tossed the half-eaten piece atop the rest, stared out the windshield, focused, and slammed on the gas. He shot in reverse with a neck-craning jolt as his wheel team scrambled and cursed him. The pizza had flopped to the floor mat as he stopped the vehicle and drove it slowly back to where Bella Rossa was laughing at him. He told her directly, “I meant to do that. Sometimes my boys need a good ramming with the tailpipe to show ‘em who’s boss, he-he,” and he blasted forwards.
The sun was bright as day on “Sponsor” Speedway as Rocket’s car rounded the bend. With a gun of his engine and a burst of brown exhaust, he soon joined the mass puttering along. Behind the steamy fences, the breast-beating audience watched the action and drank with abandon. It was “Championship Tournament,” and the crowds were ecstatic. Men and women crushed their plastic cups and wiped their shades clean. Fat children jumped from row to row, teenagers smoked Pall Malls, and attendants crawled here and there with lobby brooms and dustpans to collect what trash they could. Coins smacked their heads, but they were used to it and passed most to keg-carrying barkeeps. The mood was right.
Big-Biceped Man was bashful, but he walked up to Bella Rossa nevertheless. She smiled at him. He wrung his hands, and looking at her laces, he said quickly, “I’m Benno, and, I, uh…I like your tires. They are very small. Uh, like me. O, stupido, stupido!” and Benno smacked his forehead, leaving a streak of motor oil.
“Nice to meet you, Benno,” replied Bella Rossa, and she continued, “I don’t mind that you’re small,” chuckling. She liked his way with words and flashed her wheels, twirling around to run her next order.
Benno stumbled away.
“Hey, Benno! Don’t spill your oil!” yelled Jack, a pit-hand toweling down his wrench.
“I never do!” and Benno crossed himself as he returned to his corner.
Bella Rossa, meanwhile, had rolled back to the “Food Dispensary.” She slid past the lithe and wobbly, the pretty and drop-dead winning, to fetch a new tray topped with a pizza and a ring of energy drinks. Bella Rossa balanced her charge well. She bent sideways and ducked, respectively, to avoid the other servers. Away from the din of the kitchen, she safely crossed the road, and not a moment too soon!
Rocket Johnson’s front tire exploded Pop! and his car hooked in a cloud of rubber smoke—Screech!—until it flipped. With its hood crumpling and the crowds gasping, the car ejected Rocket Johnson out of the shattered windshield to crash into Benno’s corner. The car landed on its wheels, where it usually rested.
After watching the accident, the pit crew rushed over to their source of low-income. Benno was squatting beside “The American” and rolled him over.
“Oh, no!” Benno cried, “He broke his, uh, face.”
The team had mixed emotions but were mainly uncertain about what to do. Jack stuck his fingers in his mouth, then whistled, which caught the attention of the medics. In orange jumpsuits fitted with reflectors, several EMTs strapped an oxygen mask where they believed was appropriate, the area emitting gruff gurgles and incoherent swears. They wheeled Rocket Johnson away on a gurney, and a choice had to be made: Who would take the place of the man expected to win the Big Money?
In the hubbub, Benno had taken a look at the car. It was in better shape than expected. The engine still hummed, purred even, and the body had only suffered flesh wounds. It was structurally intact. Benno changed the tire, brushed glass off the dash, and sat inside to test the steering. It was good to go. He even cleaned up the remnants of that mangled pizza and wiped both seats clean. Twice.
“Who wants to finish the race?” Benno asked, leaning out of the open-air windshield.
Bella Rossa sped up to him, “Why don’t you do it, Benno? You fixed the car. You should drive it, too.”
“No! That’s like cannoli dipped in chocolate. Too much for me!”
“It’s not too much, Benno. Just do it for me!”
“I don’t even know you, Bella Rossa, but OK. I drive, for you!”
Benno flooded the engine and flipped the car around. The line of cars zipped by, and in an instant, Benno was weaving in and out between them. He took his place at the front and waved at Bella Rossa. He honked the first time he passed. The flags, wielded by tanned and thonged men, rippled, and the race was nearly over. Benno had to catch up a whole lap if he was going to win anything. With a Beep! Beep! and a wave every time he passed Bella Rossa, Benno drove like he never drove before. The other drivers could not believe what they were seeing as Benno, that unfamiliar mechanic’s face, passed them all. No one could beat him as he crossed the finish line to chants and cheers.
When he got out of the car, Bella Rossa was the first to reach him.
“Benno! Benno!” she cried with joy, “You won! You made history! Driving backwards!”
He flailed his arms, “No, I don’t deserve it!”
“Yes, you do! You came in first place! Like Ricky Bobby!” and champagne showered them both.
“O,” Benno replied, “I cannot believe it. It goes very fast. A beep, beep!” and the race reporters surrounded him. They asked him how he learned to maneuver like that. They had never seen anything so daring, so sexy.
Tears streamed down Benno’s cheeks, which touched the cameras’ hearts, and he explained, “I never learned how to drive forwards. My parents always told me, ‘Benno, you’re too dumb to drive the car,’ so I only ever backed it out the driveway, and everybody tell me, ‘You never go forward in life, just beep, beep with the drill.’ But maybe life gives purpose, gives meaning and talent to those who seem funny to others. I love my job. I love fixing cars, but I was always expected to be nothing.”
“Benno, you are so eloquent,” Bella Rossa exclaimed, shocked, and she gave him a warm, crisp slice of her favorite pizza. Benno looked at the luscious, white rounds of mozzarella atop the Margherita Pizza, the curving sides, the redness of the sauce, and he ate with utter joy. He finished eating, and as bulbs flashed, confetti flew, and the crowd around the couple mushroomed with the onlookers surging onto the track, Benno smiled at the beautiful Bella Rossa.
“One day,” he beamed, “I’ll oil your tires. For free!”
Makes 4 pizzas
Total time
3 hours
Equipment:
cutting board, chef’s knife or cleaver, cast-iron or other heavy metal baking sheet, large and small mixing bowls, whisk, digital scale, digital thermometer, measuring cups and spoons, stand mixer if desired, silicone spatula, plastic wrap, clean kitchen towels, can opener, fine mesh strainer, scissors, rolling pin, tasting spoon, large metal spatula or pizza peel, kitchen tongs, wire drying rack, oven mitts
Tableware:
hands
Ingredients
For the dough:
4 cups bread flour (620 grams)
1½ cups water, at about 90°F
1 tsp sugar (or about 4 grams)
1 tsp fine sea salt (or about 7 grams)
2½ tsps instant yeast
2 tbsps extra virgin olive oil, plus as needed
For the toppings:
2 x 28 oz cans San Marzano tomatoes
2 lbs buffalo mozzarella
Thai basil, as needed
Extra virgin olive oil, as needed
Medium-course ground black pepper, as needed
Kosher salt, as needed
Instructions
Set out the dough ingredients and the equipment.
Whisk together the flour, yeast, sugar, and salt in a large mixing bowl.
Combine the water and the extra virgin olive oil in another bowl or a stand mixer.
Pour the flour mixture on top of the liquids, and mix until homogeneous.
Let rest, covered, for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, clean the empty mixing bowl, and coat lightly with olive oil.
After resting, knead the dough until soft, smooth, and elastic, or for about 15 minutes. Shape into a ball.
Place in the oiled bowl, turn to coat, then cover with plastic wrap and a clean towel.
Let proof in a warm place for 1½ hours, or until the dough has doubled in volume and springs back halfway when pressed with a finger.
Fold the dough into thirds, return to the bowl with the crease down, and proof until it, again, springs back halfway.
While waiting for the dough to proof, prepare the toppings, and preheat the oven to 525°F with a heavy baking sheet on a rack in the middle.
Open the tomato cans, pour them into a strainer set over a mixing bowl, then split each fruit in half with scissors, and squeeze out the seeds.
Place the de-seeded flesh into the mixing bowl, tap the strainer on the bowl, and stir the seeds with a spatula until any remaining juices flow through.
Taste, and adjust the tomatoes with salt if necessary.
Slice the mozzarella ½-inch thick, and pick the basil leaves from their stems.
When the dough is ready, lightly oil a work surface, and divide the dough into 4 pieces.
Roll 1 piece of dough out to ¼-inch thick in a shape of your choosing, then let it rest for about 10 minutes. Keep the other pieces covered in the bowl.
Remove the preheated baking sheet from the oven.
Carefully lay the dough onto the blazing hot surface, evenly spread a few teaspoons of extra virgin olive oil on the pizza, then spread the tomatoes, mozzarella rounds, and a sprinkling of black pepper, in that order.
Bake for about 8 minutes, rolling out the next pizza in the meantime.
Remove the finished pizza to the wire drying rack, and decorate with the basil leaves.
Grasp a wet kitchen towel with tongs, wipe any leftover cheese or toppings off the baking sheet before reheating it for a minute, then repeat the cooking process as needed.
Eat, and be merry.
Note: To produce an even more flavorful dough, refrigerate it overnight after folding into thirds, warm to room temperature, then continue with the remaining steps.
NUTRITION FACTS:
Calories 308 Total Fat 5.4g (7%) Saturated Fat 1.4g (7%) Cholesterol 4mg (1%) Sodium 298mg (13%) Total Carbohydrate 54g (20%) Dietary Fiber 4g (14%) Total Sugars 4.6g Protein 9.9g Vitamin D 0mcg (0%) Calcium 35mg (3%) Iron 5mg (25%) Potassium 92mg (2%) - Note: Please read our Nutrition Disclaimer.
Seth Paternostro is a writer and recipe developer based in Chicago. He is a co-founder of Our American Cuisine and graduated summa cum laude from Princeton University with an A.B. in East Asian Studies. You can learn more about him here.
Alex Paternostro is a writer and food photographer based in Chicago. He is a co-founder of Our American Cuisine and graduated with honors in English from Princeton University. You can learn more about him here.
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