MRS. DI TOMAS’S WHITE PIZZA

From Cleveland with love.

When I was dating the woman I was to marry, Penny, I’d travel frequently from Denver to Cleveland, her hometown. In those days and for this Rocky Mountain fella, Cleveland’s food was figuratively much further than 1,300 miles away.

There I had my first lax, latke, half-done pickle, knish, bialy, and sesame seeded bagel, courtesy of Penny’s family’s many Jewish friends. (On my first trip back home, I bought a red tartan fabric-sided suitcase and filled it with as much food from Corky & Lenny’s Deli as it would hold.)

(Photo from Adam Bartoszewicz on unsplash)

The parents of one of Penny’s close friends, Marie Di Tomas, traced their roots to Abruzzo, Italy, and that, only a generation or two back. Each year, Mister Di Tomas (his birth name, Americo, came from their new land) made 200 gallons of wine in his basement, the exact allocation allowed under the Volstead Act.

In that same basement, Mrs. Philomena Di Tomas had a second kitchen, its stovetop reserved for the annual putting up of buckets of tomato sauce—and for the cooking of special meals for special visitors.

Such as guys from Colorado dating their daughter’s friend.

One evening, summertime as I recall, all the length of the basement room, Mr. and Mrs. Di Tomas laid out this enormously long table for 20-plus people—it was like a two-fer Da Vinci “Last Supper”—and out paraded the deliciousness from Mrs. Di Tomas’s downstairs kitchen.

This being my first Italian feast in the Cleveland way, I thought that the first course, a mound of homemade noodles that Mrs. Di Tomas placed in front of me, was, you know, “it.”

Dinner. All of dinner. The way a plate of pasta was dinner in Denver. You know, all of it.

And, so honored, I ate the whole of it, even if it was as big as the timpano from the movie “Big Night.”

Big mistake.

Because then came the meats: veal chops, sausages, and pieces of beef. Then the salad. Then the pizzelle, scented with anise and each made by Mrs. Di Tomas the day before.

And all around the table, “fingers” of what Mrs. Di Tomas called her “white pizza,” her focaccia-like flatbread. Everything, of course, was beyond scrumptious; I could taste the care of her hands in every bite of every thing.

But I had to walk around the block after taking on the montagna of spaghetti, and a further walk after the meats, all burped along with another new Italian-American find, Brioschi, a sort of Italo-Alka Seltzer.

Mrs. Di Tomas gave me the recipe for her white pizza soon after the big feast and I have made it dozens of times since. It’s very moist, more so than any commercial focaccia might be, and it’s also slightly sweet.

I love it. I hope you do, too.

Note that after reading the recipe below, you may view a video that I’ve made on making it.

Mrs. Di Tomas’s White Pizza

Makes 1, 18 x 13 inches

Ingredients
1 package active dry yeast (not rapid rise)
1 teaspoon plus 3 tablespoons sugar, separated
1/2 cup plus 2 cups lukewarm water (100F), separated
4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
3 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for final baking

Directions
Proof the yeast and 1 teaspoon sugar in 1/2 cup lukewarm water for 10 minutes. 

In a large bowl, add the flour, 3 tablespoons sugar, and the salt and mix together well. Add the proofed yeast mixture, the olive oil and 2 cups lukewarm water, stirring to combine. The dough will be wet, not unlike a quick bread dough, less sturdy than a traditional firm bread dough.

Let rise, covered in a breathable kitchen towel, in a warmish place for 1 hour. Punch down and mix again; let rise another hour. Pour into an oiled 18 x 13 x 1-inch baking sheet pan, scraping out the bowl, to a thickness of between 1/2 to 2/3-inch thick. (There may be more than enough dough; do not exceed 3/4 of an inch in thickness.) Let rise another 1 hour, loosely covered with a floured towel or nothing at all.

When ready to bake, heat oven to 375 degrees. Take the risen bread and make impressions all over the top with your fingertips, 25-30 in all. Sprinkle with salt and pepper (and herbs, if desired) to your taste; a heavy salting is OK. Sprinkle with more olive oil.

Bake 1/2 hour or until golden brown. Cool for five minutes; turn out onto cooling rack for further cooling. When ready to serve, slice or cut into long “fingers.”

(Photo: Adam Bartoszewicz on unsplash)

And if a video of me making Mrs. Di Tomas’s White Pizza would help, well, there it is.