This pizza was born of two contradictory impulses. On the one hand, I wanted to do a pizza that I felt like someone from the old neighborhood would dig, something they would recognize. To me, pepperoni pizza is an iconic New York-style pizza. On the other hand, I wanted to somehow preempt people’s tendency to order automatically, like “Give me a cheese pepperoni!” and so I could say to customers, “Well, we don’t have that, but you might like this.” I sought out a really good-quality soppressata, which has a similar fattiness and spice profile to pepperoni. I love the coarse texture of it, all that good porkiness and salinity, which is so beautiful married with the acidity of the tomato sauce. But you could also use finocchiona, coppa, or your favorite salami—or, if you like, by all means pepperoni.
I don’t usually use a lot of olives, but I like them here, both because they echo the canned black olives that might share space with old-school pepperoni pies and because the combination of olives and salami reminds me of a classic antipasti plate. And for me, the Sonny Boy is kind of like an antipasto. It’s my favorite of the pizzas to share and to have a slice or two. And it’s almost too salty, in a good way, without going over that edge. In case you’re wondering, I named it after my dad. Sonny Boy was his nickname growing up—he hated it, and I’m a smart-ass. He likes the pizza, though.
Getting the salt balance right is the make-or-break factor for this pie, and you have the best opportunity to refine that by tweaking the olives you use. Make sure you taste them, before you add them to the pie. If they’re super salty, you’ll want to cut back on them. You’re looking for balance with the fat, acidity, and crispy bits.
Makes one 10-inch pizza
One ball Pizza Dough, rested and ready to shape
6 tablespoons Crushed Tomato Sauce
A pinch or two of finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (optional)
2 ounces fresh mozzarella, torn into cubes
1½ ounces thinly sliced soppressata (about 10 slices)
8 to 10 Kalamata, Gaeta, or your favorite olives, split and pitted
A pinch of dried oregano, preferably wild
Position a rack in the lower third of the oven (remove the rack above it) and place a pizza stone on it. Turn up your oven to its maximum setting and let that baby preheat for a solid hour.
Grab a pizza peel and give it a nice, light dusting of flour. Shape the dough as directed and set the dough on the floured peel. Jerk the peel to make sure it’s not sticking. If it is, lift the dough and dust the underside with extra flour (or, if no one is looking, blow under it very gently). Tuck and shape it until it’s a happy circle.
Spoon the tomato sauce evenly over the pizza, using the back of the spoon to help spread it, starting from the center and stopping about ¾ inch—a fat thumb’s width—from the edges. (With a hand-crushed tomato sauce, the consistency of the sauce over the pizza’s surface will be uneven. It’s inevitable.) Sprinkle the Parmigiano, if using, over the sauce. Let the spots where the tomato sauce is thinner guide you as to the placement of the mozzarella—hit those drier spots with a bit more mozzarella. Add the soppressata, spacing it evenly, followed by the olives. Then crumble the oregano over the pizza, pinching it firmly to activate its flavor and aroma.
Open the oven and, tilting the peel just slightly, give it a quick shimmy-shake to slide the pizza onto the pizza stone. Bake the pizza for 10 to 15 minutes, until the crust is crisp and golden brown.
Remove the pizza with the peel. Enjoy immediately!
Yes, sometimes less is still too much. But other times, well … sometimes more is still not enough, and that’s the spirit of the Wiseguy. The Wiseguy is a bit over the top on purpose and tips the scales of balance to the max. It’s got a sense of humor. At the time this pizza came into being, the movie Goodfellas was immensely popular, and I found myself thinking, What would I make if a guy like Paulie rolled up to my shop? I’d want it to be pretty special but not take itself too seriously. So here we are: smoked mozzarella, onions roasted in our wood-burning oven, and fennel sausage. A reimagined sausage pizza. The mozzarella is almost nutty from the pecan wood we use to smoke it, the onions are a little leathery and toothsome, and the sausage tastes almost piney. Each ingredient brings a specific flavor profile that balances the others: You’ve got elements of sweet, salty, fatty, campfire, woodsiness. And each ingredient has its own distinct texture. I wanted a pie I could pick at, and pull things off of with my fingers: I love the snap of a good sausage, and here we cut the sausage on the diagonal so it will curl slightly as it cooks and so you can see the interior. The roasted onions, redolent of char from that hot oven, are in thick slices, so you have to bite into them. The mozzarella has the chew you expect but surprises with its smokiness. I’ve always loved smoked mozzarella—when I was a kid, it was probably the most exotic thing I ate. If you can’t find it, substitute smoked Gouda or a smoked young cheddar. At our restaurants, we do a really quick hot smoke on the cheese because I don’t want it to be too acrid, or it would overpower the pizza. Of course, you could just use fresh mozzarella, if smoke is not your thing.
If you want a great little antipasto, cook some onions as in this recipe, then dress them with balsamic vinegar, some toasted or fried coarse bread crumbs, and a little grated pecorino.
Makes one 10-inch pizza
1 large white or yellow onion, sliced into thick rings
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
Fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup loosely packed fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
One ball Pizza Dough, rested and ready to shape
2 ounces smoked mozzarella, smoked Gouda, or smoked cheddar, sliced or cut into cubes
½ pound sweet Italian sausages, or your favorite sausages, cooked (grilled, panfried, or roasted, as you like) and thinly sliced on the diagonal
Coarse sea salt
Position a rack in the lower third of the oven (remove the rack above it) and preheat the oven to 400°F.
Arrange the onion slices on a rimmed baking sheet and drizzle with the 1 tablespoon olive oil, then carefully turn them so they’re evenly coated with oil. Season with fine sea salt and pepper and pop them into the oven for 10 minutes. Carefully turn the onion slices and cook for 10 more minutes. Toss them well and cook for about 10 minutes longer; you want them to get a beautiful color, a good golden brown, and to cook down significantly but still have integrity. Scrape them into a bowl and toss them with the parsley. Set aside.
Place a pizza stone on the oven rack and increase the oven temperature to its maximum setting. Since the oven is already hot, another 20 minutes or so of preheating should do it.
Grab a pizza peel and give it a nice, light dusting of flour. Shape the dough as directed and set the dough on the floured peel. Jerk the peel to make sure it’s not sticking. If it is, lift the dough and dust the underside with extra flour (or, if no one is looking, blow under it very gently). Tuck and shape it until it’s a happy circle.
Hit the dough with the mozzarella, scattering it evenly and stopping about ¾ inch—a fat thumb’s width—from the edges. Add the caramelized onion slices, draping them over the spots where there’s less cheese. Finally,