There is nothing more satisfying than building a yeasty mound of dough, stretching it by hand and layering cheese, meat and tomatoes to create a homemade pizza masterpiece. But slap that beauty onto a cookie sheet and you're in for a pallid, undercooked crust. Try to gingerly slide it onto an oven rack and dough will droop, toppings will drip and the floor of your oven will mound with carbonized pepperoni.
You makin' pizza? You need some stones, man.
Pizza — or baking — stones are essentially giant tiles made from ceramic or earthenware, built to absorb heat like a clay oven and transfer it to anything you set on top. There are dozens of different models out there, but don't be fooled by fancy shapes or accoutrements. Stay away from ridged models — outcroppings and indentations always get in the way and serve no purpose; rectangular shapes are best because you want the biggest stone that fits in your oven; and spend as little as possible. It's just a big piece of tile, after all.
That said, don't listen to some — I'm talking to you, Alton Brown — who've suggested actually buying tile or pavers from the local home improvement store. You never know what chemicals have been used to treat those things. I'm guessing the $20 you save isn't worth the potential sterility and blindness that you gain.
Some people like to leave their pizza stone in the oven all the time, crouching on the bottom rack. That's fine, but because of its mass, you'll spend an extra 30 minutes to an hour pre-heating your oven, using more electricity or gas and jetting more heat into your sweaty Florida kitchen. If you only put it in when you need it, do so before you turn on the oven and remember that same rule about pre-heating and plan on a solid hour before your oven reaches temperature.
These little buggers do take a bit of work to maintain. Always let the stone cool slowly in the oven – any quick changes in temperature will crack that tile quicker than collagened Miami lips on a Christmas trip to Chicago. When the stone is cool, you can scrape off the inevitable detritus of burned crust and cheese and rinse it in water, but no soap. The stone will soak up cleansers like a sponge, tainting future food.
Some devotees liken stones to cast iron, happily letting their brick turn black until it has a natural, non-stick sheen. In my experience, the year or so it takes to do that will drive you crazy as the scattered dark spots impart uneven cooking to your foods, giving pizza bottoms a mottled array of burnt blotches. Ever impatient, I tightly wrap my stone in a few layers of heavy duty aluminum foil. When it gets too dirty, discard and replace.
You can cook anything on the stone – or just use the stone to make your oven more reliable at keeping and maintaining steady heat — but its real purpose is providing a blast of Fahrenheit to crusty objects. Use it for bread and pizza and you’ll be happy with the results. Dropping a giant, floppy disk of dough onto the hot stone takes a bit of practice, worth a couple of tips. First, make sure that your pizza peel (or use the bottom of a big sheet pan) is generously coated in corn meal to make the dough slip off easily. Slide the peel all the way to the back of the stone and give it a little shake until the edge of the dough touches the stone. Then keep jiggling the peel as you pull back, letting the dough drop off by inches.
You may be lucky enough to have one of those uber-ovens that come with built in stones – some with their own heating elements. If so, I hate you with a passion I normally reserve for rogue nations and pre-mixed, canned cocktails. For the rest of us, a simple square of ancient earthenware is all we need. Notice I said need, not want?
This article appears in Sep 3-9, 2008.