Like me, you may have been skeptical of pizzaiolos who claim that pizza is all about the crust. But once you try sourdough pizza you will be convinced, and you may never want to go back.
Ali Beydoun has been slinging pizza at Sicily’s in Southwest Detroit since 1999 but only began making sourdough crust, and now calzones and subs and breadsticks, six years ago. It is the lightest, airiest, holey-est, best-tasting pizza crust you’ll find, nothing in common with the thin slabs of cardboard we mostly put up with. Earlier this year, readers voted Sicily’s “best pizzeria” in an Hour Detroit brackets competition.
After tasting sourdough crust at a pizza show, Beydoun never looked back. He estimates that this style of pizza is no more than 1% of the market. I predict it will grow, once eaters catch on.
The pizzaiolos at Sicily’s begin each morning with starter made from an unbleached, low-protein flour, King Arthur. It’s mixed, proofed for a bit, and shaped into flat mounds, a process that takes about six hours. Those date-labeled mounds, one per pie, then sit in the cooler for three days, fermenting. It’s “the time and the temperature,” Beydoun says, the fermentation, that produces the very slightly sour flavor we love, but also the lightness and crunch.
“People are used to a strong, heavy pizza dough, to support the heavy toppings,” Beydoun said, “especially in the Midwest. We’re the home state of Domino’s.” In contrast, he goes for unfussiness on top: “Our motto is simplicity brings out the flavor.”
That’s what produced the Tomato Pie, minimalism itself, with no cheese: a Detroit-style square pan pizza with plenty of bread on the bottom, that basically tastes of the sourdough and crushed tomatoes, freshness itself. It adds olive oil, oregano, Parmesan, and chiles for some bite, but it’s basically those two great flavors, light as a spring evening. As in the best Detroit-style pizzas, the crisp edges that rise above the topping are exquisitely wispy.
Likewise, the Benchmark Margherita feels simple, though it incorporates both fresh and aged mozzarella plus olive oil, Parmesan, and basil leaves. Sicily’s uses a whole lot of fresh mozzarella, expensive as that ingredient is.
And the breadsticks! They’re hardly sticks. “This bread could be the star of the table,” Beydoun believes. The traditional Sicily Bread, tender and chewy — this is not a cracker — which comes with the salads, is dressed with just butter, garlic, and Parmesan. You can get it with mozzarella, too, or pepperoni and mozzarella, or even three cheeses. I’m sure they’re all good if you don’t mind violating your host’s sensibilities.
Make no mistake: Beydoun will pile on the ingredients for those who want a loaded pizza, and some sound as if doomed to weigh down the fragile crusts: 5 Cheese Wisconsin Delight, BBQ Chicken with cheddar, the Meatball Special with house-ground veal meatballs and beef pepperoni. (The whole restaurant is halal, and you can ask for gluten-free.)
I particularly liked the Bad Hunter, which contains no meat (turns out this hunter is a better gatherer) and is a little sweet: a garlic white sauce is topped with mozzarella, marinated artichokes, mushrooms, spinach, red onions, and sun-dried tomatoes. The Angry Bird has lots of chicken along with jalapeños — “sort of a sandwich on a pizza,” Beydoun says. The Garlic Lover has an ultra-thin crust and no fewer than nine ingredients, while still managing to come across pretty simply, as just garlicky. Likewise the tangy East Coast White Pie, on a base of olive oil and garlic with more fresh garlic, ricotta, Parmesan, and both mozzarellas.
Hour voters were assessing pizza, but Sicily’s also shines on calzones. The traditional calzone includes both aged and fresh mozzarella, ricotta and pecorino, creating friendly strings of gooeyness, cut with the astringency of basil leaves. I loved it, and perhaps the steak calzone even more, dolled up with mushrooms, red onion, jalapeños, and plenty of mozzarella, then sprinkled with Parmesan. Simplicity this is not. You get a dipping sauce with each calzone, which may seem like too much, and I can’t recommend the “Italian,” which is like bottled Italian salad dressing. But say an enthusiastic yes to the marinara, which is simple, bright, fresh. The Greek calzone includes lots of olives. The pepperoni calzone is more ordinary but the marinara perks it up.
Sicily’s transformed a year ago when Beydoun made the move from just delivery and carry-out to a dine-in restaurant. He added a large room decorated with a brick wall of old-fashioned framed mirrors, eight stained glass panels, and a massive chandelier; long tables accommodate families, especially on Sunday nights. Take-out is still huge but he’d like you to sit and enjoy. “Once a pizza goes into the box it starts dying,” he says. “In the pizza business we call it ‘the coffin.’”
I didn’t try Sicily’s pasta or wings because what are the odds that they would be good too? I did order against type one night and try a Southern Chicken Sub combo with, yes, barbecued chicken and ranch. The sesame seed bun was crusty and the fries were exquisitely tender, but I still do not understand or agree with America’s favorite flavor.
Beverages are from the fridge, including San Pellegrino and a mild Bundaberg ginger beer.
Beydoun, who says he first got into pizza 24 years ago as a business opportunity, not a passion, has discovered his métier later in life. He and we are luckier for it.
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