I consider myself someone who really likes food. But recently, I keep meeting people who really really like food. A few months ago, we went to our friends’ house for brunch. They made, among other things, khao man gai, which they served with three homemade condiments including an irresistible chile-garlic sauce. And then, as a palate cleanser, they poured homemade salty sour plum juice mixed with seltzer over ice. And then they made negronis. I could have stayed all morning. Last Thursday, two other friends came for dinner, and they brought a few cheeses, Marcona almonds, wrinkled black olives, and a plate of prosciutto and capocollo. They had made the prosciutto and capocolla. They make wine every fall. I need to up my game. But these friends, these people — you know them. They follow the Times obsessively. They have been long-time admirers of Naomi Duguid and Jeffrey Alford. They know exactly what to do with ramps, fiddlehead ferns and garlic scapes. They read every word of Lucky Peach. They make cross-country voyages for pizza. So when you bump into them at your local co-op and you tell them you’ve put your life on hold to read Delancey, they ask if you’ve been to Di Fara or their gold standard, Una Pizza Napoletana. And then later that night, they email you links to articles, podcasts, and videos, which you read and listen to and watch until the wee hours of the morning. And as you continue to put your life on hold, you have near panic attacks because all you want to do is pull all of these friends together — the wine makers, the plum picklers — and take over the nail salon on Nott St., a one-story space* rumored to be vacated imminently, and open a little spot that serves housemade prosciutto, a few simple salads, and wood-fired pizzas, maybe something like the Zucchini Anchovy I read about in Delancey. I have no idea if Delancey still serves the Zucchini Anchovy, but when Brandon Pettit and Molly Wizenberg were drafting their opening menu, they included it with a few other sauceless pizzas. A nod to a Roman classic, their version used thinly shaved zucchini in place of zucchini blossoms. For our friends last Thursday, I made this with the addition of garlic and a sprinkling of coarse sea salt, something Anthony Mangieri adds to every pie he makes. And with this pizza on the table — the subtle flavor of anchovy, the melting summer squash, the creamy burrata, the fresh basil — I think I almost convinced our friends to get on board with the Nott St. pizzeria. At the very least, a seed was planted. Ahhh, it’s fun to dream. *As I read in Delancey, to keep costs down, a one-story space is preferable when wood-fired ovens and their chimneys are involved. This is the beauty of the Lahey pizza dough — all of those air pockets will create the nicest texture in the finished crust: A little anchovy and garlic go a long way: A sprinkling of nice, coarse sea salt is a nice addition to any pizza: The beauty of the Baking Steel: A few other pizzas you might like (images link to posts): 5 from 3 reviews Notes: As you know, I am partial to the Lahey Dough. It takes five minutes to throw together a day before you plan on baking, and it is worth every effort to plan ahead for — no other dough, in my experience, creates those beautiful air pockets. I also am partial to this Tipo 00 flour, which I order in bulk and store in the freezer. Finally, the Baking Steel creates pizzas with that beautiful oven spring in the crust and a nice crisp undercarriage.
