pizza

There are plenty of reasons why a person might choose to prepare or grow food at home rather than buy it at a store or restaurant:  to save money; because homemade or homegrown tastes better, or is better for you, or is better for the environment; or because you simply enjoy it. I, for one, regularly bake my own bread, mostly because I like doing it, but also because it tastes great, if you'll pardon my saying so.
But there are things that I'd rather buy than make myself. Some are obvious. I like a good hamburger or steak now and then, but I'm not about to raise and slaughter my own cattle.
Others are less so. After trying and failing several times to make perfect french fries at home, I've decided to leave that to the experts at Mickey D's and elsewhere. I'm sure there are reasons why that's a bad idea, but the bottom line is, theirs taste better, and it's a pain in the butt to make them at home.
Now comes a book that breaks it all down for you. At least that's the premise of Make the Bread, Buy the Butter, by Jennifer Reese. According to the book-jacket blurb, after losing her job, Reese "began a series of kitchen-related experiments, taking into account the competing demands of everyday contemporary American family life," seeking to answer such questions as "When is homemade better? Cheaper? Are backyard eggs a more ethical choice than store-bought? Will grinding and stuffing your own sausage ruin your week? Is it possible to make an edible maraschino cherry?"
This makes for interesting reading, although it will be a rare reader who agrees with all of Reese's suggestions. I take issue with two of her verdicts, on pizza and baguettes. She recommends making the former, and buying the latter. I've nothing against making pizza at home - I do it myself, with some regularity - but there are times when you want to pick up a pizza, for the sake of convenience or variety. I mean, I think I make some pretty good pizza, but sometimes I want pizza from a particular pizzeria, that I just can't duplicate at home.
As for baguettes, I don't find them much trouble at all. Sure, I'm always tweaking my recipes and methods, in an endless quest for la baguette parfaite, but there's really not all that much work involved in producing excellent loaves at home. I'm not sure why Reese's attempts have met with such disappointing results, but that points up one of the flaws in this book. Reese tends to extrapolate too much from her own personal experiences. Regarding baguettes, for instance, she confesses that "after years of experimenting," she has come to the conclusion that she is not a "serious bread hobbyist." But I'm equally convinced, from my own experience, that you needn't be a "serious" baker to make terrific bread - in fact, in some ways I find baguettes easier than sandwich loaves, which Reese recommends making, not buying.
Likewise, Reese relates a horror story of her failed attempt to raise egg-laying ducks, but half way through, she admits to having figured out that she and her family are simply not "duck people." We have ducks at my house, and though my wife and daughter are their primary caretakers, I pitch in, and I think they would agree with me that the ducks really aren't much trouble. Of course they're not for everybody, but if you've done your homework, then once you're set up, you shouldn't have nearly as difficult a time of it as Reese apparently did.
Having said all that, there's still a lot to recommend about this book. Reese breaks down the relative costs and hassle of homemade vs. store-bought, and though I haven't done my own calculations, her numbers mostly sound about right.
The best part of the book, for me, was the recipes. At least for those items that she does recommend making at home, Reese provides simple how-tos that walk you through the process. Now it's easy enough to find recipes for just about anything today, but until I'd leafed through this book, I'd never seriously considered making my own caramel corn or Worcestershire sauce, much less the Korean condiment kimchi. But after reading Reese's recipes, they do sound easy enough, and as I write this I'm in the middle of making homemade mustard from Reese's recipe.
I only wish that Reese had included similar recipes for the items she doesn't recommend making yourself, just so I could judge for myself whether it might be worth trying. What she typically does instead is again to relate her own ill-fated attempts to make a dish, and based on that, to advise against trying it yourself. (She does give recipes for a few things, like onion rings and bacon, about which she doesn't take a hard, make-it-or-buy-it position, leaving it up to you to decide.)
On the plus side, I should add that I have made some things in here, like hot sauce and barbecue sauce, and I completely agree with Reese that they're easy and cheap to make at home, with results that are at least as good as anything you'll buy at a supermarket.
So while I don't agree with all of Reese's verdicts, I still enjoyed, and do enjoy, thumbing through this book. It's more valuable for what she does recommend preparing at home than for what she doesn't, but it's generally a fun read. Even when I find myself disagreeing with Reese, she's at least gotten me thinking, which in itself is one mark of a good book, particularly when the subject is one about which people are as opinionated and passionate as they are about food.
Make the Bread, Buy the Butter: What You Should and Shouldn't Cook from Scratch -- Over 120 Recipes for the Best Homemade Foods. Jennifer Reese (author). 304 pages. Free Press (Oct. 18, 2011).

Rochester has an embarrassment of riches where Italian restaurants are concerned, with everything from old school, "red sauce" places to higher-end establishments that aim to take Italian food to the level of high art.
Mario's on Monroe Avenue falls somewhere in the middle, with items ranging from spaghetti and meatballs to pricier fare like osso bucco and cioppino, with a touch of steakhouse on the menu as well.
And pizza, which is what drew me here on a recent weeknight for dinner. Although it's listed under antipasti on the menu, I made an entree out of Mario's Margherita pizza, which is described as a "crispy thin crust stone oven style, [with] fresh tomatoes [and] fresh buffalo mozzarella."
The thin-to-medium crust was pale on the bottom, with some faint markings that could've been from a grill or other cooking surface. The edge was dry and crunchy, but the rest of the crust was lifeless, with little evidence of yeast activity, and a doughy flavor. I wondered if Mario's uses frozen crusts.
The slices of fresh mozzarella were evenly distributed, spoke-fashion, around the pizza, and were nicely melted, with a smooth, creamy texture. Although not mentioned on the menu, there was also a layer of what appeared to be low-moisture, processed mozzarella underneath. It was rather dry and didn't add a whole lot of flavor or texture.
Between the two layers of cheese were some thick slices of fresh tomato. Unfortunately these were quite bland, contributing little other than color. Some shredded basil, which appeared to have been added after the pizza came out of the often, added some complexity to the overall flavor profile, though most of it had been piled onto one side of the pie.
Overall, this pizza tasted all right, though it was a bit on the bland side. I was glad that I accepted my server's offer of some grated Parmesan.
But the biggest problem was the crust. It just had nothing going for it, in terms of flavor, texture or otherwise. That was disappointing, given the menu's reference to the crust being "stone oven style" (I'm not sure what stone oven "style" means, but it sounded promising.)
It was doubly disappointing because Mario's other food seemed pretty good. I only had a salad, in addition to my pizza, but I couldn't help stealing a few glances at my neighbors' plates, which looked quite appetizing, and for much of my meal I was treated to a wonderful aroma that I'm guessing came from Mario's grilled steaks (I meant to ask my server if she could identify it for me, but I forgot).
So while I would put Mario's on my mental list of places to revisit, I can't recommend it for the pizza alone. If they are using frozen crusts, well, not much you can do to improve those. But if they are using fresh dough, it seems to me it needs to rise a little longer, and be baked at higher temperatures, because this wasn't that great. I'll give it a C-minus.
Mario's Italian Steakhouse and Catering, 2740 Monroe Ave.
Tel.: 271-1111
Winter hours (Nov. 1 - April 30): Mon. - Thu. 5 p.m. - 9:30 p.m., Fri. 5 p.m. - 10:30 p.m., Sat. 4 p.m. - 10:30 p.m., Sun. brunch 10 a.m. - 3 p.m., dinner 4:30 p.m. - 9 p.m.
Summer hours (May 1 - Oct. 31): Mon. - Thu. 5 p.m. - 10 p.m., Fri. 5 p.m. - 11 p.m., Sat. 4 p.m. - 11 p.m., Sun. brunch 10 a.m. - 3 p.m., dinner 4:30 p.m. - 9 p.m.

I was recently driving through Dansville, and the sight of two pizzerias just a few doors from each other was more than I could resist.
The first one to catch my eye, and the first one I stopped at, was Tony's Pizzeria.
When I arrived, I saw a large pie behind the counter, half cheese, half pepperoni, cut into slices. When I asked for a cheese slice, the person behind the counter lifted one of them up to show me that it was enormous - about a quarter of a large pie - and asked if I wanted one of those, or a regular slice.
I still intended to check out Tony's competitor down the street, so I asked for a regular slice.
That oversized slice was quite thin, and I think that the employee did mention that it was Tony's "huge thin slice," but I was more focused on the surface area, so I was surprised to find that my regular slice was not only smaller, but much thicker.
But more about that slice in a moment. After getting my slice to go, I walked down the block to my second stop, The Leaning Tower. This slice took a little longer to come up, but I was not surprised, as a sign above the counter warned that they do not serve fast food - everything is made to order - although they do their best to serve your food fast. Fair enough.
This slice was quite thick as well. It was also a little bit bigger than the slice I got at Tony's (although in terms of surface area it still would've been dwarfed by Tony's "huge thin slice." (In the top photo, the LT slice is on the left, Tony's on the right.)
Although the Tony's and Leaning Tower slices were both about the same thickness, that's where the similarities ended. The Tony's slice was quite pale underneath, with just a little light browning. It was on the soft side, with a light, airy texture. In contrast, the Leaning Tower slice had a very dark brown underside, and was crunchy, though not oily, with a more substantial feel to it. The exterior was so crunchy, in fact, that the slice cracked and nearly broke in two when I bent it a little (don't even think about folding these - they're too thick for that).
The differences extended to the sauce and cheese. The LT slice was topped with considerably more sauce, which had a thicker consistency as well. It also seemed to have a more assertive, herbal flavor than Tony's sauce, but it's hard to tell if the flavor was really that much different, or if I simply noticed it more because there was more of it.
If you like smooth, creamy-textured cheese on your pizza, then the edge on that score goes to Tony's. Its cheese was nicely melted, if a little bland. The cheese on the LT slice was not so well melted, although it did have a bit of a tang, flavorwise.
Both Tony's and Leaning Tower have similar setups and menus, with counter service, some seating, and a more or less standard lineup of food offerings, including subs, wings, and sides. As for the pizza, well, I would like to go back to Tony's sometime and try a "Huge Thin Slice," but putting these two slices up against each other, I'd give the edge to Leaning Tower. Although the crust was a tad brittle, it was crisper, and had a little more flavor underneath. It also seemed better balanced, with a thick layer of sauce to match the thickness of the crust. Tony's cheese was more pleasingly melted, nice and smooth, but lacked flavor. Leaning Tower's cheese didn't have a great texture, but it did have more flavor, as did the sauce. In general the Leaning Tower slice was more flavorful overall, and more distinctive too. I'm scoring this one B-minus for Leaning Tower, C for Tony's.

Tony's Pizzeria, 140 Main St., Dansville
Tel.: (585) 335-8984, 335-5035
Hours: Mon., Wed., & Thu. 11 a.m. - 9 p.m., Tue., Fri. & Sat. 11 a.m. - 10 p.m., Sun. noon - 9 p.m.

The Leaning Tower, 124 Main St., Dansville
Tel.: (585) 335-2740
Hours: Mon. - Thu. 11 a.m. - 10 p.m., Fri. 11 a.m. - midnight, Sat. 11 a.m. - 11 p.m., Sun. noon - 10 p.m.

Just a quick review of the second location of Ken's Pizza Corner, a Henrietta establishment that opened a new shop in Brighton earlier this year, on the former site of Pizziera Americana Ohana.
I reviewed Ken's original location last February, giving it a B-minus for pizza that was enjoyable overall, if a bit soft-crusted and a little light on the sauce.
On a recent stop at Ken's Brighton location, I picked up one cheese and one pepperoni slice. Both were reasonably fresh. They'd cooled by the time I took these photos, which is why the cheese may appear a little dried out, but I'll try to take that into consideration in reviewing them.
The screen-baked, medium-thick crust on these was not all that crisp, though it had some breadiness. (I did inspect them right after I got them so I don't think that the delay in photographing and actually eating them was a factor as far as the lack of crispness in the crust is concerned.) The relative softness of the crust has been fairly typical of the screen-baked pizza I've tried, though at least these weren't oily underneath, like some screen-baked pizza.
The sauce was slightly sweet, and seemed to be a little more noticeable this time than on the pie I had in February. The components were pretty well balanced. The cheese was unremarkable, a basic layer of melted, low-moisture mozzarella, but well melted.
Sometimes when a pizzeria has more than one location, the pizza can vary widely from one place to another. This was very similar to the pie I got at the Henrietta location (although I'm still not sure what was up with the slices I got there back in July 2009).
All in all, a well balanced, pretty good, typical Rochester slice. Since I gave Ken's a B-minus last time, and this was very similar, I'll stick with that.
Ken's Pizza Corner, 1860 Monroe Ave.
Tel.: 271-5860
Hours:  Sun. 11 a.m. - 10 p.m., Mon. - Thu. 11 a.m. - 11 p.m., Fri. & Sat. 11 a.m. - midnight

I did a post the other day about Veltre's, a defunct bakery that sold bread and pizza from the 1930s up to about 2000. That got me thinking about the conventional wisdom holding that pizza took off in this country in the late 1940s, as soldiers returning from Italy wanted the "pizza pies" they'd developed a taste for overseas. Typical is the statement I found on this website that "The post-WWII years exposed millions of American GI's to pizza in Italy."
Now beyond the fact that it doesn't make any sense to say that the post-WWII years exposed American soldiers to pizza in Italy, I have some doubts about that, for a few reasons, but first let me mention two things that came out in my conversations with the Veltres.
Angelo stated that pizza sales began increasing in the early 1940s. Now we're talking about things that happened, gradually, some 70 years ago, so his memory might be off by a few years, but I think in the case of Veltre's, he's probably about right. Veltre's was selling "tomato pies" in the 1930s, and they began to catch on in a relatively short time, thanks to walk-in traffic from customers coming to buy bread, and from sales to the patrons of nearby bars on Lyell Avenue.
There's also evidence, corroborated by Dave Veltre, that pizza in general changed later than the 1940s, and - not coincidentally - that those changes were accompanied by a more dramatic increase in pizza sales. The 1950s and '60s were when "modern" American pizza evolved and became standardized. Part of that was due to marketers spreading the word among pizzeria and bakery owners that if they wanted to keep up with the times, they had to switch to low-moisture, processed mozzarella, and offer various toppings, especially sliced pepperoni. The 1960s also saw the birth of national pizza chains like Pizza Hut and Domino's, although it would take some years for them to achieve national prominence.
There's also this article from the Wall Street Journal showing that pizzerias were barely a blip on the radar screen in our nation's pizza capital as late as 1958, and that the real quantum leap came over the next two decades.
None of this supports the theory that WWII vets were what drove the growth of pizza sales, either in Rochester or in the U.S. generally. First, if Angelo Veltre is correct that sales were increasing in the early 1940s, that wasn't from returning soldiers. We invaded Sicily and mainland Italy in June and September 1943, respectively. Not many soldiers would've been returning from Italy before 1944, with most returning beginning in mid-1945, after the war was over. The total number of troops sent to Italy, though large, was still relatively low as a percentage of all U.S. military deployments, and certainly not in the millions. And even among soldiers who were sent to Italy (who probably got far more meals out of a can, or in a mess tent, than in a ristorante), many, maybe most, would not have run across pizza, which was still very much a purely regional dish in Italy at that time. The WSJ article quotes one NYC pizzeria owner as stating that during his great-grandmother’s day, “in certain regions of Italy they didn’t know what pizza was.” And I recall a WWII vet who served in Italy telling me that he never ran across pizza during his time there, and that he never heard of pizza until years later, in this country. So if pizza sales were increasing in the 1940s, it was probably more from word of mouth among customers of Italian-American bakeries.
The explosion of pizza sales later, in the 1950s and '60s, is probably attributable to several factors. Again, the Journal article notes that it was in the late 1950s that affordable gas pizza ovens became widely available, obviating the need for wood- or coal-fired ovens, and making it a lot easier to bake pizza on a commercial scale.
Beyond that, the '50s and '60s witnessed a broader transformation of American eating habits, particularly the birth of fast food, fueled by the rise of mass media and advertising, a consumerist culture that emphasized convenience, and an emerging new youth culture. It's no accident that burger chains started growing at around that same time.
So - did veterans returning from Italy give rise to pizza's popularity in the U.S.? I doubt it. Some G.I.s no doubt developed a taste for Italian food, but that would hardly explain pizza's phenomenal rise in popularity from the late 1950s on. No, I think pizza took off because it got easier to make, and because Americans realized that it's just flat-out good.

I was recently sent a sample of Crispy Green 100% freeze-dried fruits, which are available in several varieties, including banana, pineapple, Fuji apple, mango, cantaloupe, and Asian pear.
What are they like? Well, as a kid, I would've called these "astronaut food." They taste exactly like the fruits they're made from. In one sense, it's a concentrated flavor, as the water is entirely gone, but the flavor takes a few seconds to come through, as you chew them and they moisten in your mouth. The texture is lighter and airier than typical dried fruit, but not unpleasant (and I say that as a "texture person" where food's concerned).
With fresh fruit so readily available in the supermarket year round, why buy these? They'd be good for hikers, or for inclusion in an emergency food supply, and they'd make an easy, nutritious addition to a brown-bag lunch.
Currently these aren't available in the Rochester area (Green Hills Farms in Syracuse is the nearest retail outlet at the moment), but you can order them online on Crispy Green's website. They run about a dollar per 0.36 ounce bag.

In 2009, I did a post on Rochester's pizza history, discussing several of the old timers among Rochester-area pizzerias. But there's anothe place that's intrigued me for a while, even though - or because - it's no longer around.
If you happen to drive down Lyell Avenue in the city, you may have noticed the sign on the side of the building that houses Roncone's restaurant, advertising the Veltre Bakery, just around the corner at 26 Parkway St..
If you've ever followed that arrow, then you've discovered that alas, Veltre Bakery is no more. Only the sign remains. But it's long piqued my curiosity, especially after I found this discussion of Veltre's history (on the linked page, scroll down to the bottom).
It took some digging, but I finally tracked down the last owner of the bakery, Dave Veltre, who's now a Monroe County Sheriff's Deputy. I spent some time chatting with him on the phone, as well as with his father, Angelo "Sonny" Veltre, who ran the bakery before Dave. They filled me in on some of the history of the Veltre Bakery.
Angelo's father, John Veltre, an Italian immigrant who learned his trade at the long-gone Bond Bakery on North Street, bought, and renamed, the Zazzara's bakery - which was then located on Lyell Avenue, at the opposite corner of Roncone's today - in 1932. Apparently Bond (which was part of the General Baking Company) was something of a breeding ground for Rochester bakers, as another Bond employee went on to found Petrillo's Bakery, which is still going strong after 90-plus years.
What was very interesting to me was that Veltre's used a massive coal fired oven, which was capable of turning out bread loaves by the hundreds. Today, the handful of pizzerias in New York City that still use coal fired ovens are looked upon with reverence by pizza aficionados. Due mostly to modern air pollution regulations (most pizzerias with existing coal ovens were grandfathered), new coal fired ovens are a rarity these days, although some high-tech, often coal-gas hybrids can be found, as at Tony D's in Corn Hill.
Zazzara's was already making pizzas when John Veltre bought the bakery, although at that time they were still something of a novelty item. Angelo, who started helping out when he was a young boy, shortly after his father bought the business, recalled that many evenings he'd be given the job of taking "tomato pies," as they were then called, around to nearby bars and saloons, where they'd be sold to hungry patrons for five cents apiece.
Veltre's main product, of course, was bread, and customers coming in to buy loaves would also notice, and ask about, these curious tomato pies. Gradually, pizza started to catch on, with sales steadily increasing through the 1940s, '50s and '60s.
But as pizza gained in popularity, eventually becoming a staple of the American diet, it also changed. Early on, Veltre's tomato pies had been small - maybe 8 inches in diameter - and topped with nothing but tomato sauce, grated cheese, and oregano, though some customers would ask for anchovies too. But at some point beginning roughly around the early '50s, pizza began to evolve into the product we're all familiar with today, big, cheese-laden pies loaded with toppings. .
Veltre's changed with the times, too - up to a point. To meet customer demand, their pizza became more mainstream - processed mozzarella and pepperoni mostly supplanted grated Romano and anchovies - but the dough recipe (the same dough was used for the bread and the pizza) remained the same, and Veltre's continued to use fresh ingredients whenever possible, right down to the home-grown herbs.
Veltre's enjoyed some success, though, so much so that they opened several satellite locations around the Rochester area, including Henrietta, Churchville and Greece. For different reasons, all were eventually sold, and it was back to the one bakery on Parkway Street.
But other forces were at work too, that in the end spelled the end of Veltre's. Neighborhood crime was on the rise, for one thing. Changes in the business climate also led Veltre's to return to its roots, in a sense, focusing more on bread than pizza.
There was also a generational shift going on within the Veltre family. The bakery had always been very much a family affair. Dave's grandmother continued to watch over the baking into her nineties, and Angelo, like his father, devoted several decades of his life to the business.
But as Angelo reached his mid sixties, the reins passed increasingly to Dave, who was being tugged in another direction. He was interested in pursuing a career in law enforcement, and when in 1999 Dave was accepted into the Monroe County Deputy Sheriff Academy, it was time to make a choice. As Dave wrote in 2000, "the lure of a secure job, benefits, and more time with [his] family outweighed the challenges of running the bakery," and so the bakery was closed and put up for sale.
Alas, while the building was eventually sold, the business was not. Some of the original fixtures, including the oven, remain there to this day, but for what I imagine to be a combination of reasons, no buyer ever came along to revive the bakery.
Which would be a sad ending, but life goes on. It's gone on for Dave, who remains with the Sheriff's Office, and it's gone on for Angelo, who at age 84 still reports for work daily at a local YMCA, where he serves as a lifeguard. And that's no mere honorary position - Angelo once saved a swimmer's life at the Y, although he's quick to add that he was "only" 78 years old at the time.
My own regret in all this is that I never tried Veltre's pizza while it was still around. I asked Dave if there's any local pizza that comes close to what Veltre's used to make, but he couldn't come up with any. Matter-of-factly, but with a touch of understandable familial pride, he summed up his memories of Veltre's pizza by saying, "It was a work of art."
I don't think he was being boastful, or even merely nostalgic, by saying that. I think what he meant was that each Veltre's pizza was a unique product, made by individuals, in a particular setting, based on a craft that had been handed down within his family over several generations. It can no more be re-created today, by someone else, than could a lost 17th-century painting, or a legendary ancient sculpture.
So here's to lost works of art, culinary and otherwise. We may not be able to bring them back, but we can be glad they existed, and that they gave joy while they were here. Meanwhile, we can try to better appreciate the art that remains, and that's still being created today, whether in a painter's studio or in a local pizzeria. Something to think about next time you see that slightly faded sign at the corner of Lyell and Parkway.