Guest Columns
The Farmer Across the Road
Bruce Vetter

Note from Peter:  I've been corresponding recently with a fascinating guy name Bruce Vetter, a retired motorcycle builder who is now a passionate whole grain bread baker. I asked him if he'd be willing to share some of his unique personal story with our viewers and he sent me this photo essay. I'm hoping he'll keep sending us contributions like this -- he represents a rare breed of good old fashioned non-conformists who make life interesting for everyone around them. Enjoy!

 

When I was 14 I began to lead my life with a process of continual learning.  I've always had great passion for whatever I may be learning and being 68 now I have a lifetime of learning under my belt.  These last 2-3 years I've turned my attention to learning to bake whole wheat bread, which is far more difficult than I expected.  I have 6 grand children and I want them to understand that processed food is not normal.  I want them to know there is a better way to eat.

My goal is to bake 100% whole wheat bread that would be the bread of choice of my entire family.  Using store bought whole wheat flour was a convenient option but I wanted more control over the type of wheat used, the methods of farming and processing, and the length of storage before I get it.

Initially I started ordering winter hard white and red wheat berries from Idaho, shipped in on pallets. The wheat was packaged for the long term in 6 gallon buckets.  I also needed to be able to grind my own grain in large volume while limiting the amount of heat imparted to the flour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The above 2 grinding mills operate either independently, or, the top one delivers it’s coarse product through the maroon conduit to the lower mill for final milling.  This limits and controls the amount of heat delivered to the final flour.  Each mill will produce 6-8 lbs of flour per hour.  (shown with belt guards removed)

The farmer across the road grows wheat and I asked him if I could purchase a full grain wagon. This amounted to 200 bushels (the product of 5 acres) weighing 14,000 lbs.  The cost was $0.10/pound or $1,400.  It was a lot of wheat and I was excited.  I wanted to get my grain from as close to the grower as possible.  The wheat from Idaho, by the way, cost $0.75/lb counting shipping.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have  several local friends that think like me, so we shared this wheat by packaging it in my shop purged with Nitrogen and sealed in Mylar bags with Oxygen absorbers all within 5-6 gallon plastic buckets.  In total we packed 344 buckets of wheat .

To test if there is sufficient Nitrogen, we use a flame over the bag.  If the flame goes out we have enough Nitrogen and the bag is sealed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Counting everything but my labor, the cost of a bucket full of wheat is 8-9 dollars.  This is 1/3 of what I kept, the rest being distributed among other local home bakers.  Each bucket will take me 1-2 weeks to use up, from baking bread to rolling wheat for cereal and pancakes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Until I read Peter's book "Whole Grain Breads" every loaf I would bake was like a dense brick.  Using his pre-fermenting process of soakers and bigas, now it looks the way proper bread should look: And the flavor and taste is my families favorite.

 

 

 

My grand children are being taught what’s required to bake the loaf of bread they eat for dinner. They grind the grain too and when they do I call them my “Grain Children”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I bake bread in a wood burning oven during the winters and a gas oven when the weather is warm.  I store about 13 cords of sawmill sawed deciduous wood, mostly oak measuring 6" X 8", stored in 40 large stackable wire metal baskets; each basket holds 800-1,000 lbs of wood with a volume of 1/3 cord.  Each basket is color coded with a tag delineating the harvest date so I can better judge the seasoning.  I have found that from when it is green until it is seasoned the wood will loose 17% of it's mass through moisture loss.   I like this method of storage because the wood continues to air dry, does not rot, and with a forklift I can "plug" a basket into a slot right next to my stove just like an audio cassette.  I have limited handling, the biggest chore involving

 
Uncrowned Champions
John Arena

Most of you have probably read Brad English’s superb coverage of this years Pizza Expo. The Expo is certainly the premier event for pizza pros and is, quite simply, the “must see” event for anyone who is serious about a career in pizza. With that being said, this year I overheard something that at once disturbed me and got me thinking about where pizza is headed. While standing at the entrance to Expo on the first morning I overheard two executives from one of the "Big Three" chains chatting about their product. One of them asked: “ How do you like the new Original Recipe Dough?”   The other replied without a trace of irony “Oh, I like it much better than the old Original Recipe Dough”

Well, this may sound funny at first but to old school pizza makers it’s really kind of sad and here’s why: You could tell that neither of these guys had any sense of pride in what they sell. For them pizza was just a product. Next year they may be selling shoes.

So here is the thing: before we were business men, or restaurateurs, or executives, or chefs, or celebrities we called ourselves Pie Men. I don’t mean that to be sexist, there just weren’t many women making pizzas in the old days. We were Pie Men and we earned the right to be a part of that group by standing in front of a hot oven for 14 hours a day, 6 days a week, year after year. We told the world who we were by staying true to the craft that was gifted to us by those who came before. Everything that a Pie Man wanted to say was communicated through the pie. That’s why every classic pizzeria is named after the founding Pie Man. In a famous interview, Genarro Lombardi patted his coal fired oven and stated, “This is what made me a man.”  No one had a certificate, no one had won any medals, we didn’t insist on being called “Chef” or any other title. In fact no self respecting Pie Man would be caught dead wearing a chefs coat.  Joe Timpone the great Pie Man at Santarpios in Boston famously wore a brown paper bag for a hat while he tended the oven in an undershirt. Most Pie Men probably didn’t own a pair of shoes that weren’t caked with flour.

To have your peers refer to you as a “good Pie Man” was the ultimate compliment. Sure we were competitors, but there was a code of honor that can only be understood by people who are connected through a common struggle. To become a Pie Man was hard work, forged through a long and sometimes painful apprenticeship. Words like “artisan” “authentic” “certified” or the collection of high sounding initials that we now attach to products and methods would mean nothing to a Pie Man. For a Pie Man only two things were important, does it taste good and am I proud of it?  The two chain guys discussing their “Original Recipe” dough that was probably created by a focus group in a lab would most likely be thrown onto the street if they ventured into Totonno’s 50 years ago.

So are there any Pie Men left out there? Yes, and some great Pie Women too. You can find them if you search hard enough. I promise you, it’s worth the effort.  Al Santillo, in Elizabeth New Jersey, is a Pie Man; so is Lou Abatte in New Haven. These kind of people usually live near or above their pizzeria. They’re covered in flour. They have old burn stripes on their arms. They look very tired, but you will see something else too…Pride.

 

 

 
Delicious Slime -- A Breakthrough!
Jenn Burns

Note from Peter:  Jenn Burns, who last appeared here following her coffee farm adventure in Central America picking beans on a steep mountain slope, is back. Jenn just graduated Magna cum Laude from Davidson College, a few miles north of Charlotte, with a degree in Food and Environmental Studies. During her four years at Davidson I've been following her career through her writings as she transitioned through the many universal rites of passage into adulthood. The following is a recounting of one such recent adventure and Jenn gave me permission to share it with all of you. Her final legacy at the university is that she was able to help guide the administration in bringing locally raised products into the school's food service operation, thus supporting local farmers and food producers. Her next big adventure will be as an American delegate to the Slow Food Terra Madre/Salone del Gusto gathering in Italy this fall.  Hopefully, the following will not be the last we hear from her. Enjoy!

In an independent study project for my Food Literature and Writing course at Davidson College this past semester, oysters somehow became pervasive in many of the readings.  Of course, the ubiquitous nature of oysters in the artisan food world should have come as no surprise since there are over 200 varieties in North America alone, and the flavor of an oyster is almost entirely determined by its terroir.  I also learned that oysters are an easily accessible food that can set a serious foodie apart from a mere food aficionado, and I realized that I had some serious catching up to do.  My only previous experience with oysters began and ended one fateful night when I was about seven years old and not yet experienced enough to be discerning about such things. Neither of my parents would ever let a slimy grey sea creature pass through their own lips, but they agreed that it would be great entertainment to see how their adventurous, fearless kiddo would react. Not knowing any better, I slurped up the small pile of slimy goop, juice and all, and began to chew. I continued to chew and chew and chew. After I became visibly more distressed, my dad suggested I just go ahead and swallow the now even goopier substance that I had collected in my mouth. I tried, but my esophagus simply refused to let it go down so there, in the middle of one of Indianapolis’ finest dining establishments, I barfed the oyster. Needless to say, I tried for years to block this experience and everything to do with oysters from my memory.

But, nearly 15 years later, oysters are everywhere in my life. A few weeks ago I read perhaps the best food memoir ever written, The Gastronomical Me, in which M.F.K. Fisher relays a story of two lesbian lovers sensually feeding one another oysters. I later learned, through research, that oysters are often thought to be an aphrodisiac because they are high in zinc, which controls progesterone and, as a result, sexual drive. Furthermore, since sexual appetite often starts in the mind, and an oyster is reminiscent of the female sex organ, oysters may encourage a psychological effect on the libido. More recently I read A Short History of the American Stomach, which, surprisingly, concludes with the history of oysters!  I learned oysters were once a staple food for colonists until they ate the native American oysters to extinction; indeed oysters were the country’s first indigenous species eradicated by humans. Now, scientists are furiously working to create a triploid oyster that could be farmed, but would not be able to reproduce in case an oyster were to escape, which would decimate local ecosystems. But, another reason is to also ensure that all the oysters’ energies go towards growing big and delicious for human consumption, and that no energy goes into such frivolous tasks as reproduction. Another interesting factoid is that all oysters are born male; then, upon reaching sexual maturity, and every year for the rest of their lives, each oyster decides whether to remain male, become female, or to be a hermaphrodite (about 1 in 50), yet it is still unknown why oysters change sex. Simultaneously, I was reading a collection on the history of various foods called, What Caesar Did for My Salad, and learned that Oysters Rockefeller was invented in New Orleans at Antoine’s in 1840 and that the recipe has remained a closely guarded secret ever since. The sauce for this dish is bright green, resembling a dollar bill; thus, it was named after the richest man in the world, John D. Rockefeller. Meanwhile, I am about to graduate from college and have been told on numerous occasions to celebrate because “the world is my oyster.”

All of these readings transformed my opinions of oysters to the degree that I, the previously traumatized oyster-phobe, suggested to our class that we go out for oysters. Despite studying and teaching about food for almost two decades, my professor, who I nicknamed "The Goddess of Food," had never eaten raw oysters either, so, she fully supported the adventure and agreed to join us. I found a list of the ten best places for seafood in the Charlotte area and selected one located conveniently close to Davidson College. I found myself  thinking about the pending dining experience days before the actual event; I was worried that my uncontrollable gag reflex would spring into action. I realized that I didn’t know how to properly eat an oyster and I was concerned that the oyster would taste revolting. I imagined myself with shell to lips, yet unable to take the leap. It would be the food equivalent of having toes curled over the edge of the diving board but unable to flip into the pool.

Three of us -- the professor and two brave students -- made the trek to Vinnie’s Raw Bar. It was, quite possibly, the worse place imaginable to go with one’s professor. This was the Hooters of seafood shacks. Well-endowed waitresses were wearing tight shirts and tighter booty shorts that revealed many tattoos and piercings. A party of firemen blasted hard rock. Posters, signs, and graffiti sure to offend every profession, race, and gender covered the walls. Having read Margaret Vissers’ treatise on table manners, The Rituals of Dinner, that week for the class, I could only imagine what she and Emily Post would have to say about this dive.

We tentatively ordered a half dozen raws. Thanks to the guidance of our waitress, who herself refuses to eat oysters, we put the mollusk on a cracker and added a dollop of cocktail sauce and a squeeze of lemon. Inspired by the "Goddess of Food’s" confident lead, I popped my little tartine too. It tasted like lemon and the dominating cocktail sauce and it felt like a cracker and, you know, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was good. Vinnie’s, I soon learned, sources their oysters from Apalachicola Bay, on the panhandle of Florida.  It is the only place in the United States where oysters are still wild and are harvested using tongs from small boats.  This is merely one example of how that small community strives to preserve traditional livelihoods.  Apalachicola Bay oysters are thought to be some of the best in the world, if not the best, thanks to their natural mellowness (as opposed to being overly salty) and the plump, meatiness of the oysters.  For my second oyster, which I eagerly scooped up directly from the shell, I tried a bit of horseradish instead of cocktail sauce. It too was delicious!  Although other oyster varieties, such as Naked Cowboy, Hama Hama, and sweet petite have more tempting titles, I now recommend to to any oyster virgin (which I no longer am!) to start with the best - Apalachicola Bay oysters.

Our shared raw oyster experience lasted only a few minutes and seemed almost anticlimactic at the time, although it has forever changed my self-styled status to that of a daring foodie. We soon moved on to Vinnie's fried oyster baskets and a lively evening of literary discussion as if we had not just enjoyed a small scoop of delicious slime.



 
The Pizza Guy
Brad English

The Pizza Guy, or is he the "Other Pizza Guy? Let me explain.

I found myself driving through the desert thinking a lot about pizza.  Having thoughts of pizza dance around my head wasn't out of the ordinary, but you don't often connect pizza with the desert.  I was cruising east at about 5 miles per hour over the speed limit to avoid being taken down by one of the open highways finest on my way from LA toward the big Pizza Expo that is held in Las Vegas once a year.  I was going to finally meet John Arena, who often writes on our site.  What had me so excited was that he had expressed to Peter that he wanted to make some pizza with me.  So, as I drove my mind wandered through the possibilities of this new experience. 

John is more than a pizza chain owner.  He is a pizza encyclopedia who walks the walk and talks the talk.  He is a pizza guy from Brooklyn who struck out to find his slice of the American Dream when the opportunity to buy a small pizzeria in Las Vegas came up.  I love his story!  He and his cousin sold everything they had to come up with the down payment for the business and, through a moving service, shuttled a car out to Los Angeles for someone.  On their way, they dropped off their possessions in Vegas. After delivering the car to LA the next day, they returned to Vegas on a Greyhound bus.  A few weeks later, when they opened their pizzeria, the two of them had less than $100 between them. 

Here's my favorite part: As their business grew he and his cousin started noticing folks saying "Hey, there's The Pizza Guy, and the Other Pizza Guy."  I can't remember if John is THE Pizza Guy, or the OTHER Pizza Guy, but he is definitely our Pizza Guy!

Today he is opening his sixth Metro Pizza in Las Vegas.  Talk about a Pizza Quest!  You can see why I was excited to meet John, eat his pizza, and be shown the ropes of his hometown event - The Pizza Expo.

True to form, John was my ambassador and tour guide for the Expo.  We walked the floor, meeting people I knew from a year of operating this site but had never met in person, and ran into a number of friendly faces.  I was there to spread the word and look for potential sponsorship interest in our site as well as just connecting with the industry of pizza. The convention hall was filled with ingredient companies (Flour, Cheese, Tomato, Meats, Toppings), oven manufacturers, pizza box makers,  and all the little things that you need to operate a pizzeria, or restaurant.  It was also filled with hot ovens pushing out tons of delicious pizzas, calzones, panini and all sorts of other "samples".

After my first day, where I met a host of characters, including Scott Wiener of Scott's Pizza Tours in NYC, John invited us out to one of his Metro Pizzerias for dinner.  I was full from testing and tasting pizza all day, but I was really excited to get out to one of John's pizzerias and see what he does.  It looked like we wouldn't have time to make pizzas together on this  trip, but I was happy to go and just take in the atmosphere. 

John started cranking and the food just kept coming.  First came the fried garlic knots.  Then came these delicious meatball sliders made on the same garlic knots, but not fried.  Stop the presses!  I loved these!!  I would be in trouble if this were my local pizzeria.  Next came a giant, massive, Sicilian Pizza.  It was done perfectly.  The crust was thick and light.  It was moist and crispy and juicy.  I had stepped behind the counter to talk to John and snap some photos.  I didn't think about it then, but he was in performance mode.  He was delivering his pizzas to some pretty insane pizza lovers at the table where about ten of us sat awaiting the next course.  He checked the crust on this Sicilian over and over, pulling it out, looking at the bottom and sliding it back in.  He wanted to get the timing just right, and he did.

Earlier in the day, as we walked the floor of the Expo, we ran across a few booths doing fried pizza crusts, and fried paninis.  John talked to me about how this was the new craze.  I had just had my first fried dough in NYC at the new Don Antonio by Starita and thought it was definitely interesting.  John explained that back "in the day," Italian immigrants would set up on the street and make deep fried calzones.  They had a sidewalk business that consisted of a pot of oil and a burner and would serve up amazing calzones right off the street.  So, this led to John's next treat, which I don't think was on the menu.  He made us up some traditional deep fried street calzones.  Watching this Pizza Guy make his food is like watching a master artist mixing his paints to create the exact colors he sees in his mind.  John was set up on a prep table in the middle of the restaurant, but I could see he was not only here in this space, but also somewhere back in time, connecting to his ancestors.  He comes from a long line of family members that worked in and around the pizza business.  You can see that his heart is connected to his past, their shared experience, and also the present, where he is truly fulfilled sharing his soul through his pizzeria.


The deep fried calzones were amazing.


Out came another pizza.  It's called the Seafood Fra Diavalo.  Did I start the presses again?  If so, stop them again.  You will be seeing this baby being recreated by yours truly on these pages soon enough.  It was really good and it was also interesting.  Then, out came a tomato pie with roasted red and green peppers, tomato sauce, olive oil and oregano.

Let's just restart the presses tomorrow. 

My favorite moments of the night were still about to happen.  John finally finished making and delivering platters of pizzas and appetizers and came out and sat down.  We were all talking and laughing and he looks at me and says, "What's this?!" while pointing to my plate, which was now full of left over pieces of everything I had been eating.  I looked down over my bloated belly and smiled, thinking how good everything was and how full I was.  He then said, "Great!  Brad English doesn't like my pizza!"  I laughed and realized he was kidding, but then I started to explain that I was stuffing every bite I could into my mouth but, after a day of eating pizza and now a night of it, I had finally reached my limit.  I assured him that Brad English did indeed love his pizza.

The punchline of this piece of the story is that when I was back in my hotel room and called my wife, I relayed this part of the story.  She started laughing hysterically.  She said, "You're THE Brad English?  You're named now?!! Hahahaha". 

Metro Pizza bills itself as a family-style pizzeria.  They are that and more.  There's a huge wall-sized map of the United States with famous pizzerias marked on the map.  John is such a pizza fanatic that he will give you a free dinner if you take a photo of yourself in front of a pizzeria in another city and give him the photo to post on the wall.  Talk about a pizza guy on his own pizza quest.  What a great way to build a family.

Thanks John for the great pizza and the personal pizza tour throughout my days at the Pizza Expo. 

Brad English - Yet Another Pizza Guy.

 
A Tale of Two Flours
Stan Ginsberg

Note from Peter: Our friend Stan Ginsberg and, as of last week, now an IACP award winning author of the wonderful book, Inside the Jewish Bakery, started a small mail order specialty flour company called New York Bakers, to meet the need for those of you who have been searching for hard to find, high quality brands. You can read more about Stan in the Contributor Profiles section. We welcome him now as our newest Guest Columnist, as he tells us a little bit of his own quest to decide which Italian pizza flour he likes best. As you will see, it's not always clear cut. And, for those of you who are bread bakers or want to learn about the history and inside stories of some of America's most famous Jewish bakeries, I highly recommend his book, written with co-author Norman Berg.


When I started The New York Bakers (www.nybakers.com) a little over 2½ years ago, my goal was to offer home bakers the broadest range of non-bleached, non-bromated professional flours I could find. I didn't know what I was in for since there are dozens of professional flours out there. However, I soon earned that despite all the brands, most commercial flours are variations of four main classes: high-gluten (14% protein), bread (12½%), pastry (9½%) and cake flour (8%). I also discovered that the vast majority are produced by a handful of mega-millers –- think General Mills, ConAgra, and Cargill -- and also a number of mid-tier mills like Bay State, and Pendleton Flour Mills. And then there are the small mills, like Heartland and Central Milling, that produce premium flours for artisan bakers. And of course, King Arthur Flour, who contracts with reliable small mills to package to their specifications.

But one category that I really wanted to make available was imported Italian Tipo 00 pizza flour and, of course, the flour I wanted was Caputo, which everything I read described as the ultimate pizza flour, straight from Naples, the epicenter of the Vera Pizza Napoletana (VPN) universe. So out I went to locate a distributor. I found one in LA (despite our name, we're in San Diego) –- actually it was a bit south of LA proper, in Vernon, which is completely industrial -- no one actually lives there. So I phoned them and talked to one of their sales folks, who said, "Yeah, no problem. We have the Caputo, so come on over and pick it up."

So into my car I went for the 2-hour (optimistically) trek on the SoCal freeways up to Vernon. I have to admit, I was really excited. After all, everything I'd read told me that Caputo was the Holy Grail of pizza flours. So imagine my shock and disappointment when the warehouse guy comes back with several red, white and blue bags that said "Pivetti" where "Caputo" should have been.

"No worries," said the sales guy when I went back to the office to talk to him. "They're virtually identical. Besides, we have lots of customers who love the Pivetti."  What was I to do? I took the Pivetti, drove back down to San Diego and changed my product lineup to read "Pivetti."

Then I did some research and learned that the Pivetti mill, which has been owned and operated by the same family for over 130 years, is in Modena, in northern Italy, well away from Bella Napoli. It’s a city best known for its balsamic vinegar, sausage-stuffed pig feet called zampone (not to be confused with the hockey ice machine), and native son Luciano Pavarotti. "Drat," I thought to myself, "what do those northern Italians know about pizza?"

Of course, I hadn't tried the stuff yet – in fact, I'd never used any authentic Tipo 00 flour – so I proceeded to do so. I used the classic formula for VPN, which was 58% water, 2% salt, 0.3% fresh yeast, no bulk fermentation, and cold retardation of the dough balls of 12-18 hours.
Well, I was blown away. I had been using high-gluten flour, mainly General Mills All Trumps, at 75% hydration and with 5% olive oil, for my pizza doughs, and constantly found myself struggling with tearing. The Pivetti was pure pleasure, even at that low hydration level. The gluten was well-developed, but the most extensible I'd ever worked with; when I stretched it, it stayed stretched, and I could get a 16-inch pizza out of 10oz/280g of dough. I could literally read a newspaper through that crust. So I was a happy camper.

But I couldn't stop thinking about the Caputo. One of my customers in Arizona found a distributor there and started using the stuff. She told me that it was more elastic than the Pivetti, and held its shape better. I was tantalized, like the kid at a store window filled with imagined candy.
Finally, a couple of months ago, my supplier told me that he had the real-deal Caputo in stock and would I be interested. I think I broke the speed limit on my way back up to LA, loaded up the car with several bags of Caputo, plus a couple of Pivetti, and tore back home so I could try out my new found treasure.

It wasn't what I expected. Where the Pivetti was white and fine, the Caputo was more yellow and had what felt like a slightly coarser grind. Where I expected the same degree of extensibility, I found instead greater elasticity, comparable to a mild bread flour like General Mills Harvest King (12% protein) or King Arthur Bread Flour (12.7%). The Caputo formed beautiful round crusts, with a well-defined edge, but the gluten was really evident.

Here's how they compared in my test bake:
Raw flour: The Pivetti flour is a very pale yellow, nearly white, with a very fine grain. The Caputo has a somewhat coarser grain (although still fine, since 00 refers to the grain size and not protein/ash content), and a definite beige/ yellow brown color.
Mixing: The Caputo is definitely thirstier than the Pivetti. At 58% hydration, the Caputo formed a much stiffer dough -- to the point where my Kitchen Aid Pro was laboring on the dough hook. Not so with the Pivetti, which produced a smooth, fairly slack dough.
Benching: I rested both doughs for 20 minutes before dividing it into 280g boules and put each into a lightly oiled plastic sandwich bag.  The dough then went into my wine cooler for 10 hours.  The Pivetti dough increased in size more than the Caputo and was slightly softer to the touch.
Throwing the pizza: Both doughs rested at room temp for 2 hours.  My technique was the same for both doughs: cutting the sandwich bag away so as not to disturb the dough, flouring both sides and using my fingertips to stretch the middle, then shaping the pizza by putting the rim over my knuckles and stretching it to about 16" in diameter -- thin enough to see light through the center.  I then put the dough onto a floured peel, dressed the pizza and baked at 550F for about 6 minutes.
Both doughs were quite extensible, the Pivetti more so because its protein content is clearly lower than the Caputo, which almost felt rubbery and very firm. That said, both doughs threw very nicely, with a nod in the direction of the Caputo for ease of forming a more uniform circle.
The crust: The Caputo crust was denser, chewier and more flavorful than the Pivetti, which sprang nicely in the oven, leaving big air pockets in the rim.  Both crusts were thin and crisp, and biting off a piece of the Caputo pie took more effort than the Pivetti. At the same time, the Caputo didn't seem to hold up under the weight of the toppings as well as the Pivetti, so there was more sag when we picked up the slices. That said, both crusts had distinctive personalities and were excellent in their own way,
Verdict: If you like a chewy crust, not unlike good American pizza (emphasis on good), the Caputo wins hands down. My family and I prefer a crisper, less chewy crust, and the unanimous winner in my house was Pivetti.

Final Note from Peter: What do you think? Anyone have your own opinions of these two or other Italian flours? We'd love for you to comment. This could get us into "Coke or Pepsi?" territory....Meanwhile, check out Stan's full selection of flours at his website, including Central Mills newest blends.

 
Pizzeria Crawl on Bleecker Part 3
Brad English

I was having an interesting night. I haven't always been comfortable just going out alone and sitting in a restaurant while surrounded by people who were out together enjoying a social experience.  I don't remember when that changed exactly, but I do remember how it became that much more of a comfortable thing while I was working in New York.  I realized that I liked it in a way because, in this city there is so much going on and it would be a shame to not go experience it all just because you were there alone.

I just had two great pizza experiences in a row, in the span of a couple of hours, and had only walked a couple of blocks.  John's Pizzeria was a throwback to a classic New York style pizza that

 

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