Apparently Lauren's birthday is a pizza festival now.
For Day Two, I met up with her at The Pizza Nomad in the Center of New England because they have a new pizza called the Detroit Slim.
I had questions.
Mostly about how something this thick gets to call itself slim.
We ordered one cheese and one pepperoni and settled in.
Then we saw the pizza, and suddenly Detroit Slim made sense.
The answer is geometry.
It isn't slim from the side. Not even close. It's slim from above.
Instead of the big rectangular Detroit-style pizza most of us know, this thing is long and narrow, cut into four substantial pieces.
I immediately loved the size.
It gives you everything I want from Detroit-style pizza without requiring what sometimes feels like a contractual obligation to an enormous pan of it. Four pieces. Manageable. Plenty of pizza.
But the crust is what got me.
Look at the picture of Lauren holding up that cross-section.
That's the story.
The inside is almost absurdly soft, smooth and airy. Big pockets run through a light, pillowy structure that looks nothing like what you're expecting from the weight of the slice in your hand.
Then turn it over.
The bottom is golden brown, blistered and crisp enough to make noise.
That's the trick.
You bite through this loud, crunchy shell and immediately hit something soft, smooth and almost delicate inside.
Crunch, then pillow.
The two textures shouldn't occupy the same piece of dough this comfortably.
But they do.
And around the perimeter, things get even better.
Cheese escapes down the sides and meets the hot pan, leaving behind those dark, crispy pieces hanging off the edges. The stuff that looks almost burned in the pictures?
That's treasure.
The sauce has enough presence to survive everything happening around it. You still taste tomato beneath all that cheese, crust and rendered pepperoni. The cheese itself is really good, with enough flavor to be more than just the thing holding everything together.
And that pepperoni was fantastic.
Some cups. Some curls. Some lies flat against the cheese. The edges go dark and crisp while the centers render their fat into everything underneath them.
There is a point with pepperoni where "burned" and "perfect" become separated by about thirty seconds.
I like living dangerously close to that line.
Pizza Nomad does too.
There is also, for reasons I cannot explain, a full-sized medieval knight standing guard over the pizza.
I respect this.
If you're going to make an inch and a half thick pizza called Detroit Slim, there is no reason a knight can't stand guard over it.
The Detroit Slim is a collection of contradictions.
It's thick without being heavy. Soft and seriously crunchy. Small enough to feel manageable, substantial enough that nobody is going home wondering what we're having for lunch tomorrow.
But I keep coming back to that crust.
That soft, smooth, airy interior. The blistered bottom. The cheese cooked hard against the edges. Crispy pepperoni on top of all of it.
Every layer has a different job.
And somehow, every one of them makes noise.
Day Two of Lauren's birthday pizza week is in the books.
At this point, I've accepted that her birthday lasts a week.
I see no compelling reason to challenge this. read more