Lucca Pizza
When my wife 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 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.
When my wife 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 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.
- 1 (13-ounce/370-gram) ball master dough , preferably with starter, made with poolish
- 2 parts flour mixed with 1 part semolina, for dusting
- scant 1/2 cup (100 grams) handcrushed tomatoes
- 10 oil-cured black olives, pitted and halved
- 1 teaspoon (8 grams) minced drained oil-packed anchovies
- 1/4 teaspoon (0.7 grams) minced garlic
- extra virgin olive oil, for brushing and drizzling
- 6 ounces (170 grams) whole-milk mozzarella cheese, shredded (1 1/2 cups)
- 1 fresh basil leaf, rolled up lengthwise and cut crosswise into fine julienne
- dried oregano, for sprinkling
- 2 pizza baking stones or steels, pizza peel
- Carbohydrate 456 g(152%)
- Cholesterol 266 mg(89%)
- Fat 187 g(288%)
- Fiber 32 g(128%)
- Protein 167 g(334%)
- Saturated Fat 67 g(337%)
- Sodium 7888 mg(329%)
- Calories 4188
Step-by-step
- 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.
A Taste of Tuscany: Recreating a Family Recipe
The aroma of baking pizza always transports me back to a sun-drenched hillside in Tuscany. It wasn't just any pizza; it was a taste of family history, a connection to generations past, woven into every crispy bite. My honeymoon in Italy with Julie took us to Gombitelli, a charming little town nestled in the mountains near Lucca, a place deeply rooted in my family's heritage. It's where my great-grandparents, Angelo and Olimpia Gemignani, embarked on their journey to America. The journey to Gombitelli itself was an adventure, a winding, treacherous drive on a barely passable road. But the reward was immeasurable.
As we arrived at a small, rustic farmhouse, an overwhelming sense of familiarity washed over me. It was uncanny; it mirrored my grandfather's California farm, even though he had never set foot in Italy. The similarities were striking: the same vibrant flowers, the fragrant lemon tree, the dogwood in bloom, the rows of fava beans, even the rustic wine jugs and scattered tools—all instantly recognizable. It was as if a piece of my grandfather's heart, his Tuscan heritage, had found its way back to its source. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the Tuscan countryside, I understood the deep roots of my family's story, a story now infused with the delicious scent of freshly baked pizza.
My welcoming meal was simple yet unforgettable: a thin-crust pizza, a family recipe passed down through generations. Unlike the thicker, richer pizzas I was familiar with, this one was remarkably light and crisp, almost like a toasted flatbread. This unique texture is what I've tried to capture in this recipe. The topping was equally captivating – a gutsy puttanesca-style combination of crushed tomatoes, olives, garlic, and anchovies. The blend of flavors was unlike anything I'd ever tasted before. It was earthy, robust, with a hint of the sea, a perfect balance of textures and tastes that perfectly complemented the delicate crust.
Making this pizza isn't just about following a recipe; it's about reliving that magical moment in Gombitelli, connecting with my family's past, and sharing a piece of our history. Each step, from carefully rolling out the dough to the final sprinkle of oregano, is a mindful act, a tribute to the simple joys of Italian cooking and the enduring legacy of family. The final product is far more than just a meal; it's a testament to the power of family, tradition, and the unexpected connections that can be found in the most unexpected places.
The thin, crisp crust offers a delightful contrast to the bold, savory topping, creating a symphony of flavors in every bite. The simplicity of the ingredients belies the depth of the taste, a testament to the quality of fresh, seasonal produce. Preparing this pizza is an experience in itself, a journey back in time, to a family gathering in a quaint Italian village. More than a meal, it’s a story told through the exquisite blend of flavors, textures, and the warmth of a family tradition.
The memory of that Tuscan sunset, the warmth of my family's welcome, and the taste of that unforgettable pizza continue to inspire me. This recipe is more than just instructions; it's a way to share a precious memory, a piece of my heritage, with you. So gather your ingredients, roll out your dough, and let the aroma of baking pizza transport you to the heart of Tuscany, to a place where family, tradition, and good food come together to create unforgettable moments.
I hope you enjoy this recipe as much as I enjoyed the original in Gombitelli. Each time I make it, I'm reminded of that special trip, the breathtaking landscape, and the warmth of my Italian family. It's a recipe for more than just a delicious pizza; it's a recipe for creating memories and connecting with your own heritage.
Buon appetito!
