I have had a da Michele pie and it tastes a lot better than it looks. That being said I would love a Omid made pie
What does a Da Michele pie taste like?
Dear Fornographer, you asked, "What does a Da Michele pie taste like?" I wonder how dear Larry would describe his experience of Da Michele pizza. If you ask me, it is not easy for me to answer the question, and any answer I express will be subjective to an unavoidable degree and intentionally limited to my best Da Michele experiences that I think generally characterize their pizzas. To do this, allow me to abstract the flavor of the pizza base, of which the cornicione is most untainted by the flavors of the toppings. To my oral tactility and taste buds, Da Michele pizza base and cornicione are characteristically distinguishable from the same prepared by other Naples' pizzerias that I have visited. In terms of texture, the crumb within the cornicione, akin to the flesh of a freshly baked croissant, is generally delicate, moist (not wet), mushy (not slimy or gooey), and light. See the 1st to 4th pictures below.
To my taste buds, the cornicione, not tainted by any of the toppings as much as possible, generally tastes very simple, light, and unpretentious. A bite out of the untainted cornicione seems to reveal to me gentle saltiness that does not subdue the natural flavors of wheat. The sourness of the cornicione is also normally subtle, almost nonexistent if one does not pay close attention. Sometimes the salty and lactic flavors are more pronounced. The best way I can clothe in words the flavor of the cornicione is as follows:
1. Acquire a fresh, fully ripe walnut that its dark-green skin is not peeled off from its hard shell yet;
2. Peel off the dark-green skin and crack the shell without damaging the nut within;
3. Extract the nut;
4. Place the nut in a solution of saltwater (not too much salt) and let it stay in a warm place for 24 hours (see the last picture below);
5. Next, peel off the skin from the walnut and eat the nut;
6. There is the flavor!
Useful or not, this is the best way I can describe the taste by way of comparison. Often, I like to think of an outstanding Neapolitan dough (the essential fundament of the Neapolitan pizza) in a
metaphoric way:
According to my disposition at this particular stage of my culinary growth, an excellent Neapolitan dough is not an easy, failsafe dough, but a
risky dough—whereby the pizzaiolo's
well-developed skills confidently transform the risk into
beauty! In other words,
the art should be put back into the craft. Viewed from this limited perspective, an artless craft is a castrated craft!
Have a great day.
Omid
