Editor's note: For our new series of Pizza City Guides, we're asking our favorite chefs from around the country to tell us about their favorite pies and slices in their home city. Got requests? Let us know in the comments or email us at pizza@seriouseats.com.

View Pizza City Guides: Tom Douglas's Seattle in a larger map

To say that we trust Tom Douglas when it comes to Seattle's restaurant scene would be an understatement. We've asked him to recommend everything from his favorite eateries to Seattle's best burgers. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the chef just happened to be crowned the nation's Best Restaurateur at last year's James Beard awards. With 12 restaurants under his belt, including two pretty serious pie shops—not to mention a catering business, a line of specialty foods, and a professional bakery—we figured it was high time to get his take on Seattle's expanding pizza scene.

Before we talked favorites, we asked Tom to tell us a little more about what he looks for in a great pie. Here's what he had to say:

So, without further ado, here's a look at his go-to spots in Seattle:

Pagliacci Pizza
This local chain, best known for delivery, makes dependable, reliable, tasty pizza. When Jackie and I order, we request our pizza light on the cheese and sauce, then Jackie turns our oven onto high with a pizza stone inside. When the pizza is delivered, we pop it in the oven to get it well-cooked and crusty, the way we like it.
Multiple locations, listed at Pagliacci.com

Via Tribunali

Via Tribunali
In 2004, when Michael McConnell of Caffe Vita opened the first Via Tribunali in Capitol Hill, complete with a huge and glorious wood-burning Vesuvius brick oven, hip Seattle pizza was born. Delicate crust with high quality toppings, this is my favorite of Seattle's Neapolitan style. ry the pizza with buffalo mozzarella.
Multiple locations, listed at ViaTribunali.com

Café Lago
Seattle was not always a great pizza town, but we've been lucky to have Café Lago. This Italian restaurant in the Montlake neighborhood, which also features handmade pasta including an exceptional lasagna, has been turning out apple wood fired pizzas with thin crusts and a good tomato sauce for the last 20 years. I like the simplest pizza here, the Margherita.
2305 24th Ave E, Seattle, WA 98112; 206-329-8005; Cafelago.com

Delancey

Delancey
When Brandon Pettit and his wife, the ace blogster (Orangette) and author Molly Wizenberg, first opened this Brooklyn-inspired pizzeria on a quiet, mostly residential block in Ballard, the roar of acclaim was deafening. Now that the huzzahs have settled down, you can appreciate Delancey for what it is: just plain delicious. Try the fennel salami pizza.
1415 NW 70th St, Seattle, WA 98117; 206-838-1960; DelanceySeattle.com

Serious Pie

Serious Pie
My own, with a unique approach. Our bread bakers make artisan rustic breads with a long fermentation time, and that's what inspired Serious Pie's slow rise pizza crust. It's light in texture, but firm with some crunch, baked until burnished and browned. We use just the right amount of toppings, featuring quality ingredients like imported Italian cheeses, farm-produce, foraged mushrooms, local clams, housemade charcuterie, etc. When I order a pie, it's the potato rosemary with an add of guanciale—delish.
Multiple locations, listed at TomDouglas.com

Hot Mama's
When the mood for a New York style slice strikes, this Capitol Hill all-day-into-night pizza joint is a fun stop. Their pesto pizza is a favorite, as is a nice greasy slice of pepperoni.
700 E Pine St, Seattle, WA 98122; 206-322-6444; HotMammasPizza.com

Flying Squirrel Pizza

Flying Squirrel Pizza Company
These solid neighborhood pizzerias, in Seward Park and Ballard, add depth to Seattle's pizza scene. Keep an eye out for the specials, like the Corleone with rapini and fennel sausage. With a soundtrack exclusively from cassette tapes, they keep the flavor and the food rockin'!
Multiple locations, listed at FlyingSquirrelPizza.com

Stellar Pizza
When you're looking for American style pizza, enormous salads, and pitchers of beer from a good beer list, this spot in the Georgetown neighborhood is old fashioned and fun.
5513 Airport Way S, Seattle, WA 98108; 206-763-1660; StellarPizza.com

VIEW SLIDESHOW: First Look: Ballard Pizza Company Brings East Coast Casual to Seattle

[Photographs: Jay Friedman]

Chef Ethan Stowell has enjoyed great success with more upscale restaurants (How to Cook a Wolf, Tavolata, Anchovies & Olives, Staple & Fancy) in Seattle. So why has he just opened a pizza place, and why is he spending some of his precious weekend time tangled in pizza dough?

"Ballard Pizza Company is the first place I've opened with a 'What do we really want to do for the community?' attitude," he explains, adding, "I wanted a place where people in the Ballard neighborhood could enjoy good pizza made with good ingredients at a good price."

Actually, Ballard Pizza Company is the first of Stowell's planned Grubb Brothers restaurants, which he describes as "fast food redefined." In the works are fried chicken, fish and chips, and burger joints. For now, though, Stowell says Ballard Pizza Company has been a challenging but fun foray. It's approachable and affordable, introducing Stowell's sense of quality (for example, he uses ham from Zoe's Meats instead of product from Swift Pork) to a whole new audience. Families with kids stop by for slices, while adults can linger over a beer—especially after the media room is completed out back.

Per Ballard Pizza Company's slogan, slices are indeed fat, and always ready for a quick return to the oven for warm-up and eating. It's perfect grub for the late-night crowd pouring out of Ballard's pubs. And starting next month, Ballard Pizza Company will be offering free delivery to the local area. In the spirit of fun, I wouldn't be surprised to see Stowell making the very first delivery via scooter.

Ballard Pizza Company

5107 Ballard Avenue NW Seattle, WA 98107 (map)
206-659-6033; ballardpizzacompany.com

About the author: Jay Friedman is a Seattle-based freelance food writer who happens to travel extensively as a sex educator. An avid fan of noodles (some call him "The Mein Man"), he sees sensuality in all foods, and blogs about it at his Gastrolust website. You can follow him on Twitter @jayfriedman.

The Bufalina at Cornuto Pizzeria [Photographs: Jim Bonomo]

Cornuto Pizzeria

7404 Greenwood Avenue, Seattle WA 98103 (map); 206-812-0416
Pizza Type: Neapolitan
Oven Type: Wood-fired
Price: $13+ for 12-inch pizzas

Cornuto Pizzeria is the most recent pie-centric addition to Seattle's Phinney Ridge neighborhood: a second-cousin of local microchains Via Tribunali and Caffe Vita. It's a small space with a cozy patio and a cramped, dark indoor seating area. The combination bar-kitchen covers just as much real estate as the sales floor, but the true spacehog is the brick oven; it's a beautiful specimen of volcanic rock from Vesuvius decked out with hand-tiling, the mouth a firey glow. Cornuto's pizzaiolo, Valentin, is stoking that thing up to 1200°F like a madman, delivering traditional Italian-inspired Neapolitan pies by way of his Eastern European heritage.

The Bufalina ($16) was the most luxurious way to go old-school. The "ina" is added to signify the unusually small dice on the water buffalo cheese, which went a long way in spreading out the fresh, milky flavor and allowing for a half melty/half chewy texture. Cornuto's Mozzarella di Bufala lacked an expected gaminess, which may disappoint fans of such rustic cheeses. For me, it brought all that is good about mozzarella to a new plane of richness while not overpowering with heft or density. Simply seasoned tomato mash nd oil-slicked basil provided fresh, sweet notes that were harmoniously balanced by tiny haystacks of Grana Padano. Like most traditional Neapolitan examples of the style, this was a true knife-and-fork pie which left a delicious tomato mess in the bottom of my pizza plate.

The Tonno ($15) was another combination that captured time-honored Italian flavor combinations. It featured Silician line-caught tuna, tangy capers, basil, tomato, and fresh mozzarella. This bold pie successfully broke through the fish and cheese components, achieving an unusual equilibrium of taste. The tuna itself was very meaty with just a hint of brine that was complemented by the salty, near-lemony nature of the caper. Cornuto's signature basic tomato element added fruitiness and acidity. While the cheese and basil reminded you that this was indeed pizza, they were totally negligible and would not have been missed. The quality of the tuna was impressive. There is definitely room for more pies in my future that are topped with fish.

With the high heat of the boutique oven, and the respect given to the ingredients, it's a no-brainer that the crust at Cornuto would be amazing. Their dough achieved that classic Neapolitan duality: beautiful leoparding with a tasty char on the surface and a chewy, tangy center. The underside read like a road map of heat blisters, and the cheese carried a touch of brown on top without adding any unpleasant flavor. The inside of the cornicione had a brilliant sweet flavor that contributed to the overall profile of the pie while adding a funky, yeasty tart element. The meal was ready literally five minutes after placing my order. In the immortal words of some dumb heiress, "That's hot!"

The pizzas at Cornuto were delicious. A dedication to craft and quality were evident after speaking to Valentin for a matter of minutes. His level of passion is required to produce pies that look and taste the way they did at this tiny pizzeria. The menu was concise, but expansive enough to have me plotting return trips during future Seattle visits. Show up early to avoid a perpetual wait, and seek a seat on the back porch to avoid the tight setup inside. The little Italian inside you will be happy that you did.

Daily Slice gives a quick snapshot each weekday of a different slice or pie that the folks at the Serious Eats empire have enjoyed lately.

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Despite enduring one of the worst dining experiences in recent memory, it's easy for me to recommend Pritty Boys Family Pizzeria. Not for the act of actually eating there—which was ruined start to finish by swarms of screaming toddlers banging plastic blocks together in the restaurant's fenced-in play area—but for the well-executed pizza.

One glance at the menu and the meat-lover's eyes will jump straight to The Craver ($18.50 for small). Pepperoni, housemade sausage, Canadian bacon, and ground beef bacon all fight for prominence, and some meats are definitely more distinct than others. You don't see beef bacon all that often, but its mild flavor has a tough time standing out here. Same goes for the Canadian bacon.

The sausage and pepperoni, however, are front and center. The sausage is of the crumbled variety and has a pronounced meaty, pork-y flavor. I like how crunchy it gets in the gas oven, not usually an attribute I'd desire in a sausage but one that works quite well in this instance. The pepperoni is thin enough that it forms crispy-edged goblets of grease, and don't you dare dump out those cups on a napkin—that's flavor country right there! It's all served on a bed of aged mozzarella and a tangy, heavily herbed red sauce.

The pizzaiolo, Byron Hummel, hails from Phoenecia, a great little restaurant in West Seattle serving pizza with the fattest end crusts I've ever seen. That philosophy carries over here, with a billowy, chewy crust that could double as a flotation device. It's a good crust, but it makes for a lot of bread; thankfully you should have plenty of leftover grease from the pepperoni to mop up.

If you live in the Madrona neighborhood and are looking for a place to get some good pizza, as well as a restaurant that readily welcomes young children, Pritty Boys has your name all over it. If, on the other hand, you don't have a brood of three-year-olds in tow, do yourself a favor and get your pie to go unless you're some kind of masochist.

Pritty Boys Family Pizzeria

1430 34th Ave., Seattle, WA 98122 (map)
206-257-1319

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Filiberto's Cucina Italiana

653 SW 152nd St., Burien, WA (map) 206-248-1944 filibertositalianrestaurant.com
Pizza style: Neapolitan-inspired, with American influences
Oven type: Gas flame
The skinny: Despite some clumsiness with the cheese and oven heat levels, there are the makings of good pizza here, especially if you take the do-it-yourself approach with a side of meatballs
Price: 12-inch Margherita, $11.50 (it should be noted that the prices on the online menu are not up-to-date)

Sometimes you wish you could like the food you've been served more than you actually do. Whether it's because you know the chef, or it's a new spot that opened around the corner from your apartment, or perhaps because everyone else says it's great, your honest opinion of a less-than-life-changing meal can be a rude awakening indeed. This unfortunately was the case for me at a longtime Seattle institute, Filiberto's Cucina Italiana, at least until a little side dish crossover saved the day.

The owner, Mina Perry, is never far, either chatting with diners tableside or hard at work in the kitchen. Filiberto's seems to run at her pace: languid and relaxed. Food can take a spell and a half to reach your table, so a long chat with a friend (or Mina herself) over a glass of wine is advised. Her presence in the dining room is immediately noticeable, but what else would you expect from dropping a short, highly expressive Italian woman from Campania into one of Seattle's considerably less chic neighborhoods?

I've seen photos of Filiberto's Margherita with puffier crusts than the one I was served, but never any with this one's white-as-a-ghost undercarriage. My guess is the floor of the gas flame oven hadn't reached full temperature by the time my lunchtime pizzas hit the stone, though this really shouldn't be an excuse, just turn it on ahead of time. The bottom did get cooked — just barely — but there was a distinct layer of gummy, uncooked dough resting between the bottom half of the crust and the sauce above it.

Thank goodness the crust tastes as good as it does. Even sans char, you can tell this is a recipe Ms. Perry has had plenty of time to perfect. I've eaten so many crusts where the dough hasn't had time to develop complex flavors or, in most cases, just hasn't been augmented with enough salt. Neither is a problem here. Perry's dough is like a good crusty bread, crackling when bitten to yield a soft, warm, pillowy interior.

Her red sauce embraces minimalism, sticking to crushed tomatoes and a little salt, and it works well. A shame, then, that on the Margherita it's inundated with a much-too-thick layer of greasy aged mozzarella that wouldn't be desirable on most styles of pizza, and certainly not this one. The oil even seeps into the crust, inflicting major tip sag to the inner few inches of the pie. To be fair, it's one of the better aged mozzarellas I've eaten, but it completely dominates everything else on the pizza. Until you reach the end crust, it's all you'll taste.

Leaps and bounds better was the Con la Cipolla, i.e. "with onion." Here Perry cuts back on the sauce with a light application, then tops it with a scant amount of grated parmesan, a drizzle of olive oil, and thin slices of onions. The onions are perfect, cooked down until tender and delightfully sweet. The limited toppings make for a better-balanced pizza than the Margherita, and beyond a few minutes in a hotter oven, it's hard to imagine how it could be improved.

But then I had a stroke of genius (if I do say so myself). Why not order a meatball and put that on the pizza? Sure enough, slicing up one of Perry's delicate spheres of seasoned beef and applying them to either pizza increased their crave-worthiness tenfold. The meatballs pair particularly well with the Con la Cipolla, so if you order that pizza, I highly suggest following in my footsteps.

The pizza at Filiberto's isn't bad; I just expected more from a genuine southern Italian in her 70s. No doubt these were probably the best pies for decades in Seattle. But with the arrival of Delancey, Flying Squirrel, and The Independent in more recent years, the bar's been raised. Those meatballs do pick up a lot of the slack, though.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

Daily Slice gives a quick snapshot each weekday of a different slice or pie that the folks at the Serious Eats empire have enjoyed lately.

Big Mario's first entered my radar thanks to a video posted last September by Pizza Obsessive Anthony Falco (aka "tonycalzone" here on Slice).

In said video I learned that Big Mario's double-bakes their pies, a process that involves stretching the dough, parbaking it in the oven for about twenty seconds, topping it, then baking it again (and since the slices get reheated in the oven if you're not getting a fresh pizza, then technically they're triple-baking it).

And who can resist a hefty Sicilian slice topped with salami, pepperoni, and sausage? It's nothing fancy, just salty, oily meats resting on a thin layer of herbaceous tomato sauce and mozzarella. The meats do everything they're supposed to do: the pepperoni brings the mild spiciness, the salami brings the sodium and grease, and the hunks of sausage bring the characteristic porkiness (sans fennel, unfortunately). Standard stuff, but a perfect cap to a night of drinking (which is what this neighborhood is really for.)

The thick crust was really more of a vehicle for the toppings than something crave-worthy, which isn't to say it was bad. It just needed a pinch more salt, or a longer ferment, or some grated Parmesan applied to the edge pre-oven to add a little flavor. Better yet, why not all three? Still, it's a decent Sicilian crust with a nice open crumb that's chewy but not doughy.

I still haven't found the be-all end-all Sicilian slice in Seattle, but Big Mario's will certainly do in the meantime. And as far as I know, it's the only place in town sporting a framed photograph of the owner with a legitimate porn 'stache. Just don't ask about the one of Eric Estrada in the bathroom; that's a journey you'll have to take on your own.

Big Mario's New York Style Pizza

1009 E Pike Street, Kirkland, WA 980122 (map)
206-922-3875; bigmariosnewyorkstylepizza.com/

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Zayda Buddy's

5405 Leary Ave. NW, Seattle, WA 98107 (map); 206-783-7777; zaydabuddyspizza.com
Pizza style: Minnesota-style, which is pretty much Chicago thin crust-style
Oven type: Gas
The skinny: Tasty party-cut pies make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Price: 8- to 16-inch pizzas ranging from $8.49 to $26.99

Prior to eating at Zayda Buddy's, I wasn't aware of the term "Minnesota-style" as it applies to pizza. I figured it was probably something akin to Midwest-style pizza, which really got me excited after reading Adam Kuban's review of Maria's in Milwaukee. With its pastry-like crust and slices cut in a grid pattern, my estimation of this kind of pizza was right on the money, and like the Kubanator and his Maria's, I'm haunted by it, even if I'm just a little ashamed to admit that.

Owner Joel Radin (a co-founder of Top Pot Doughnuts) named the pizzeria and bar after his Lithuanian grandfather Zayda, who moved to Minnesota in the 1920s. It's a cool spot, all brick and dark wood and beer memorabilia, stocked with good microbrews right alongside blue collar staples like Hamm's and Blatz. And what's more inviting than an ode to tater tots scrawled on the sign outside?

I usually pass on pizza taken to such excess, but The Ballard Bridge pie won me over from the first bite. It's loaded with pepperoni, Italian sausage, and ground beef tucked under a gooey layer of mozzarella, then topped with black olives and white onions. The first sensation that hits you is the liberal application of salt in everything from the cured meats to the Wisconsin cheese to the heavily seasoned, slightly sweet red sauce. What's astounding is that while sodium is clearly the dominant attribute, it manages not to be too salty. It's like the guys in the kitchen know exactly how much salt crosses the line, and then they construct their pizzas with this in mind, skillfully keeping the pizzas just under the "unacceptable" mark.

Which isn't to say there's no salt in the crust, because there surely is. Like the Midwest pies it's emulating, the crust is thin, tender, and flaky. My first thought taking a bite into it was, This is like a Totino's frozen pizza...except fifty times better. That's no knock on Zayda Buddy's; I adore the trashiness of Totino's frozen pizza, and the fact that I can get a higher-quality version of it here that doesn't leave me with the guilt of having scarfed down something that for all intents and purposes was generated in a laboratory makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

It sounds completely wrong, but apparently "Mexican" pizza is a common menu item in Midwest pizza parlors, so I had to try the Minnesota Mexican for the full experience. And you know what? They're on to something. This pizza is just as salty as the Ballard Bridge, but you can definitely taste the beef infused with taco seasoning under the mozzarella and cheddar. The diced tomatoes and shredded lettuce provide interesting taco-esque texture, if not much in the way of flavor, but the olives and onions help. The red sauce isn't intrusive here at all; instead it's a firm reminder that this fusion food is still, in fact, pizza.

The Olaf Tryggvasson, aptly christened for the ruthless Norse king of the same name, was the one miss for me. Along with sausage, it's normally served with Canadian bacon, but as they had run out, the Canadian bacon was swapped out for dry salami. No complaints there. The problem lay in the sliced banana peppers. They gave off the sharp, pungent odor of mustard and were no less potent in the mouth, overpowering everything else on the pizza. That's saying something, given that capers (and plenty of 'em) made an appearance. Not even those little salt-bombs could stand out with those peppers calling the shots.

Since this is my first experience with Chicago/Midwest-style thin crust pizza, I don't have anything to compare it to, and could not in good conscience speculate whether or not it stacks up to that region's favorites. What I can say is that while it took me some time to fully appreciate Zayda Buddy's pizza, I've come to one inevitable conclusion: I'm totally hooked.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

VIEW SLIDESHOW: Top This: Flying Squirrel's Roasted Potato Pizza with Chive Oil and Blue Cheese (aka The #6)

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Potatoes on pizza: way or no way? The mere thought of upping the starch on pizza might send some people scrambling for their lettuce wraps, but for the rest of us who aren't clinging to the Atkins diet, it can be a pleasurable topping choice. At Flying Squirrel Pizza Co. in the Seward Park neighborhood of Seattle, owner Bill Coury spits in the face of carb-counters (figuratively, of course) with his popular #6, a New York–style pie topped with chive oil, Maytag blue cheese, spinach, garlic, mozzarella, and lemon-herb roasted potatoes.

Think of blue cheese potato gratin you can eat with your hands and you're on the right track. But it makes for a rather light, balanced pie, and no one topping overwhelms another.

Want to make this pizza at home? We'll walk you through it! Since the pies at Flying Squirrel round out at about the 15-inch mark, leave your Neapolitan dough recipe on the shelf and go for The Pizza Lab's New York–style dough instead. A wood-fired oven is also unnecessary, making this an ideal pie to bake in your home oven.

What You'll Need

• 1 ball of pizza dough
• 2 medium Yukon Gold potatoes
• 8 sprigs fresh thyme
• 8 sprigs fresh rosemary
• 15 cloves garlic
• olive oil
• salt & pepper
• half a lemon
• chive oil (see note below)
• 1/4 cup grated aged mozzarella
• Maytag blue cheese (if you can't find Maytag, just use what you can find in your area)
• handful of organic spinach

About That Chive Oil...

Chances are you don't have a tub of chive oil sitting in the back of your fridge. Don't sweat it! "It couldn't be easier to make," says Coury. "Put a handful of chives in a food processor, turn it on, then gradually pour in some olive oil until it reaches a thick, spreadable consistency. Done."

The key is to make it easy to brush onto the crust without adding too much more oil to the pizza. If you overdo it on the olive oil, just blend in more chives. If it's hard to spread, then blend in more olive oil. It's so easy, even a caveman could do it!*

Ready for some tasty potato pie? Then get clickin' on that slideshow, friend.

Flying Squirrel Pizza Co.

4920 S. Genesee St., Seattle, WA 98118 (map)
206-721-7620; flyingsquirrelpizza.com

*If Geico has taught us anything, it's that no one, absolutely no one will take offense to this assertion.

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Apizza (at Safeco Field)

1250 1st Avenue S., Seattle WA 98134 (map)
Pizza style: New Haven-style, allegedly
Oven type: Gas
Price: $5 slices

The news cycled quickly through the Slice ranks: Bill Pustari, owner of venerated New Haven pizzeria Modern Apizza, just opened a concession stand at Seattle's Safeco Field. A pizza concession stand. For a Seattleite like me, 3,000 miles from Connecticut, the only natural reaction to such an announcement is to emit the high-pitched squeal usually reserved for prepubescent girls upon acquisition of backstage passes at a Justin Bieber concert.

One of the recent additions to Safeco Field's overhauled Bullpen Market (officially nicknamed "The 'Pen"), the brand-spankin'-new Apizza is accessible only to ticketholders, so just getting to it requires paying a premium up front. With a $15 bargain ticket to the cheapest seats available in hand, I strolled into the ballpark and made a beeline for the left field-adjacent 'Pen.

The staff waiting eagerly behind the counter were chipper and outgoing, but clearly not privy to the finer aspects of the pizza's construction, or even its pedigree. One employee had no idea who Bill Pustari was, never mind the fact that his name was listed on the banner hanging directly over his head (it was eventually confirmed that Pustari was nowhere on the premises). I can't really fault them; they can only know what they've been told.

Behind the cashiers, a trio of whole pies sat waiting to be served to the baseball-loving masses. I ordered a slice of each: cheese, white, and pepperoni, at five bucks a pop. It's still far too early to review Apizza against its myriad competitors, so what follows are merely my first impressions on this very young ballpark slice joint.

The obvious place to start was the cheese slice, glistening with a sheen of grease and already unrecognizable when compared to the photographs displayed on Modern's website. Modern Apizza, as described by the Kubanator, is made with a very thin crust and loads of cheese. Examining the slice from the Seattle outlet, "loads of cheese" would be an understatement. They've ratcheted up the cheese levels to excessive, weighing down the slice with a good third of an inch of Grande mozzarella. There was nothing wrong with the flavor of the mozz, but the sheer amount of it—and the oil pooling on top—made it extraordinarily difficult to eat more than a few bites without feeling bloated and a little queasy.

Despite some nice charring on the undercarriage, the crust was a failure. At the same width as the cheese layer—a third of an inch—it was far too thick to bake properly in Apizza's gas-fired Wood Stone oven. The bottom half was inundated with oily, blackened cornmeal, and the top half consisted of gummy, undercooked dough. Thin crust this ain't. The outer rim had little to no rise, a single blond blister, and virtually no flavor outside of whatever sugar was used to sweeten the dough.

Lurking between the king-sized mattress of mozzarella and disaster of a crust was a simple but overly sweet tomato sauce purported by the Mariners' press release to be from the same lot of San Marzano tomatoes used in the New Haven flagship. When the flavor of your tomato sauce borderlines on candy, you're putting too much sugar in it, and that's precisely what went wrong here. Coupled with the sweetness in the crust, it's flat-out overbearing.

Pretty much everything went wrong with the white pie. In addition to the aforementioned crust and mozzarella failures, this slice had the unfortunate fate of being topped with bitter, sulfury heads of broccoli and—I can't believe I'm saying this—too much garlic. I understand that garlic is one of the foremost flavors of the classic white pie, but here it clashed with the broccoli.

Yikes; two slices, two huge misses. Could the pepperoni slice possibly fare any better? Thankfully, it had two things going for it: the very fine pepperoni from Zoe's Meats, and a sprinkle of parmesan, which helped to balance the oversweet tomato sauce. It's no home run, but a solid grounder to first. (Obligatory baseball reference, CHECK.)

This outpost of Apizza's still quite new, but Bill Pustari's been in the business for years. I still have high hopes that he can turn this place around and implement a few major tweaks to the pizza to give Seattle the New Haven experience it deserves, and I'll be checking back when the weather's a little warmer to see how it's progressing.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Mioposto Caffe e Pizzeria

3601 S McClellan St., Seattle, WA 98144 (map); 206-760-3400; seattle-eats.com/mioposto
Pizza style: Neapolitan-inspired, with some obvious deviations
Oven type: Wood
The skinny: A hot 'n' spicy breakfast pizza with eggs, pancetta, and a chile puree is a hit; the lunch and dinner offerings disappointed
Price: 10-inch breakfast pizza, $7.25; other pizzas $11.75 & up

Hear the word pizza and breakfast is rarely the first meal that comes to mind. The combination of tomato sauce, salty cheese, and cured meats just seems to lend itself to a lunch- or dinnertime item, but slap an egg on it, and suddenly it's completely acceptable breakfast material. Since Mioposto Caffe e Pizzeria seems to focus just as heavily on its coffee as its Italian eats, it was smart decision for them to offer something the locals could devour while sipping their lattes on rainy Seattle mornings.

If you think about it, and use your imagination a little, pizza's individual components make sense for the first meal of the day. Tomato sauce? A major component of salsa on huevos rancheros or breakfast tacos. Salty cheese? American omelets are crammed with the stuff. And cured meats? What says breakfast more than bacon?

Mioposto's spicy bacon and egg pizza tweaks the recipe just a bit by swapping out the tomato sauce with a puree of Tutto Calabria chilies, and damn, those chilies are spicy. What a wake up call. The runny yolks of two over-easy eggs cracked over the center of the pie cut the heat just a smidge and paired well with the salty, crispy pancetta. A thin layer of mozzarella, Parmesan, and seasoned breadcrumbs finish the pie and meld everything together with a mild nuttiness.

Too bad the crust is so bland. It's in dire need of salt, and has the flavor and complexity of toasted Wonder Bread. In retrospect, maybe that's the whole point. Thin and cracker-like on the bottom and tender around the rim, it serves only as a vehicle for the toppings. Seeing as how the chilies are eye-wateringly potent, that's not as much of a weakness as you might think. The pizza is surprisingly light despite the multiple toppings, perfect for a quick bite to get the day started with some pizzazz.

The non-breakfast offerings don't fare so well. The crust gets cooked longer in the wood-fired oven for these afternoon and evening affairs, with char coaxed from the blistering dough, but it's still undersalted.

This is most noticeable on the Margherita. The gooey fresh mozzarella, vibrant basil, and extraordinarily bright tomato sauce (perhaps the brightest I have ever tasted) do their best to distract you from the crust's shortcomings, to no avail. It's just average, though there are certainly many worse in town.

Better purely because of the extreme boost in sodium is the Pinocchio. Only carnivores need apply. The cupped and crisp-around-the-rim pepperoni, crumbled hot Italian sausage, and thin-sliced salami is packed with salt, more than enough to hide the fact that there's none in the crust. It's all suitably meaty, though generically so. The fresh tomatoes scattered on the pie are a mistake, as they almost always are, mealy and mushy and flavorless. The chopped olives save the pie, deepening the flavors of the cured meats with a briny meatiness of their own.

The pizzas served at Mioposto for lunch and dinner aren't good enough for an earnest recommendation, but the breakfast pizza is definitely worth a visit to this quaint Mt. Baker spot. If you stumble in drowsy and half-coherent, those pureed chilies will have you wide-eyed and bushy-tailed in one bite.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

View Pizza - Pacific Northwest in a larger map

Last week we brought you our Bay Area pizza map. This week we've compiled our Pacific Northwest reviews map.

Remember, this map shows only places we have reviewed or given the Daily Slice treatment. If your favorite place isn't on here, let us know in the comments, and one of our Pacific Northwest correspondents will put it on their list to check out.

Map Key
Green: Recommended

Yellow: Recommended with reservations

Red: Not recommended

See also: Slice's Bay Area Pizza Map »

VIEW SLIDESHOW: Top This: Clam Pizza à la Seattle's Delancey

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

One of the most popular specials at Delancey in Seattle is Brandon Pettit's clam pie, which was inspired not by New Haven's famous clam pizzas (he recently discovered he didn't care for them at all) but by the version prepared at Franny's in Brooklyn. This pie only appears on the Delancey menu on weekends, and it always sells out fast.

Only fresh clams—delivered the same day the pizzas are made—are used. Canned clams just don't taste right. So Pettit and his cohorts Ryan Swanson and pastry chef Brandi Henderson are only able to make about 30 clam pizzas before they run out of the bivalves.

You should be able to get at least two clam pies from this recipe, more if you're being stingy with the toppings. The most important thing is not to overcook your pizza, or else you'll end up with rubbery clams.

What You'll Need

All amounts are approximate, so don't worry if you're not exactly on the nose with your measurements.

• 40 small Manila clams
• 2 ounces butter
• 2 cups white wine (preferably more dry than sweet)
• 2 shallots, sliced
• 1/4 cup crème fraiche
• 3/4 cup aged mozzarella
• Handful of fresh mozzarella, broken into chunks
• 1 or 2 preserved Meyer lemons (preferably organic), rinds sliced into thin strips (Here's a recipe to make them yourself.)
• Chile oil (use Adam Kuban's version)
• Fresh parsley
• Neapolitan pizza dough, enough for two pies. (If you don't have a favorite recipe, use this one)

The Long and Short of It

Note: Unless you have direct access to some already-preserved Meyer lemons, it's going to take at least two weeks to prepare them, so don't expect to use this recipe on short notice. Unless, of course, you're the type of person who keeps preserved lemons on hand year-round, in which case, go to town!

Essentially, you're steaming the clams until they pop open in a pot with butter, wine, and shallots. The cooked clams are removed from the liquid and the shells are discarded. To really bring home the umami, you'll then reduce the delicious steaming liquid until only a couple of tablespoons remain, then whisk in some crème fraîche.

Top your crust with fresh and aged mozzarella, the clams, the crème fraîche mixture, and thin strips of preserved Meyer lemons. Cook your pie and finish it off with some hot oil and parsley and you'll have an eyes-rolling-back-into-your-head-good clam pie.

Check out the slideshow for a more in-depth look at the process behind this beauty.

Delancey

1415 NW 70th Street, Seattle WA 98117 (map)
206-838-1960; delanceyseattle.com

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Pulcinella

10003 Rainier Avenue South, Seattle WA 98178 (map); 206-772-6861; pulcinellapizza.com
Pizza style: Neapolitan
Oven type: Wood
The skinny: Exactly what you would expect from a VPN-certified pizzeria, with the exception of the calzone
Price: 12-inch pizzas, $10 to $14.50

After Tutta Bella, Via Tribunali, and Ristorante Picolinos, Pulcinella is Seattle's fourth VPN-certified pizzeria. And like its three competitors, the pizza served here is almost entirely by-the-book Neapolitan. That's not necessarily a bad thing, as long as that's what you're looking for.

Pulcinella's quirks begin with its location. Sitting in the middle of nowhere on a long lakeside stretch of Rainier Avenue South that most Seattleites have little reason to be driving down, it's hard to imagine they get much in the way of impulse diners (and indeed, only one other person occupied a table on a recent Sunday lunch). Hanging from the side of the building is an upside-down Neapolitan Pizza sign, with a second on the wall near their gargantuan Mugnaini oven.

The quirkiness continues with Pulcinella's calzone (pictured at top.) I admit, I have never seen one served this way before. Instead of the pizza-folded-in-half style of the calzone we're all familiar with, the crust is only folded halfway across, leaving the other half flat like a normal pie. Slits are cut into the top of the folded-over crust for ventilation, providing windows to the ricotta-and-mozzarella-stuffed interior. The ricotta is very good, but there's an awful lot of it crammed in there, without enough pepperoni to cut the richness. The flat half of the calzone is just a Margherita, basil and all, adorned with thick slices of pecorino. It's a bit bizarre.

But the idiosyncrasies of Pulcinella end there, and with the pizzas they comfortably tread the well-worn path of every VPN-certified pizzeria I've ever visited. You'll find a Margherita like this at any authentic Neapolitan pizzeria in the country, which isn't a knock on the pie at all, just a caveat. The crust is nicely puffy and crisp on the outside, with the charred bits offering up the most flavor.

The sauce is the requisite crushed San Marzanos, minimally seasoned. The fresh mozzarella is more flavorful than many varieties, though it wasn't quite as melted as it should have been. And just as it is at almost every VPN pizzeria, the basil seems to be a mere afterthought. A decent pizza all around, but nearly indistinguishable from one served at any of the above-mentioned establishments.

The special for the day, a pizza with Sausage and Roasted Green and Red Peppers, was a definite success. The fennel sausage is well-spiced and salty, and the peppers are flavorful and perfectly roasted, avoiding the undercooked bite that so often accompanies them as pizza toppings. You could taste those peppers in every bite. The one downside to this pizza? The sausage is too heavy for the razor-thin sag-prone Neapolitan crust, so expect to make use of your fork and knife.

Some aspects of the Forcella worked for me, while others did not. The pepperoncini bring a welcome bite of brine and moderate heat to the standard crust and red sauce, but the meats don't hold up their end of the bargain. The pepperoni is timid and just too thick, and the ham, well...the less said of it, the better. I've yet to see plain ol' lunchmeat ham like this used properly on a pizza, because it always comes out rubbery. Better to use something like speck or guanciale.

Except for the peculiar calzone, I didn't see anything unexpected at Pulcinella. Like other pizzerias of its ilk, Pulcinella is for people who have fallen head over heels in love with the VPN style. If that's what you're seeking, you'll leave Pulcinella satisfied.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

The Independent Pizzeria

4235 East Madison Street, Seattle WA 98112 (map); 206-860-6110; theindiepizzeria.com
Pizza style: New York-style, with a strong Neapolitan influence
Oven type: Gas/Wood hybrid
The skinny: Crave-worthy New York/Neapolitan hybrid with a killer crust and well-chosen toppings
Price: 10-inch pizzas $8 to $12

Some of you may have found it hyperbolic when I deemed Delancey the best pizzeria in Seattle. What, then, do you think of the Seattle Weekly's claim that the very recent newcomer to the Emerald City pizza scene, The Independent, "easily makes...the best pizza in town"? I must not be the only one to find that statement provocative.

Located in swanky Madison Park near the shores of Lake Washington, The Independent sets you up for pretension before you walk in the door. One step inside and that all goes out the window. Mismatched cutlery and mismatched plates adorn the mismatched four-tops, beer is served in wide-mouthed Ball jars, and the walls are decorated with the emancipated covers of ancient hardbound textbooks. The tiny restaurant has a cozy, unfussy, down-home feel to it, one that lifts the guilt of entering dressed far more casually than the residents of the surrounding neighborhood.

Owner/pizzaiolo Tom Siegel, a former pastry chef and sommelier, gives his dough a 24-hour ferment, and it comes out of his domed Forno Bravo oven with a few random blisters, spotted char on the underside, and a dusting of semolina. At one-eighth to one-quarter of an inch, it's somewhat thicker than a Neapolitan crust—much more in line with what you'd find at slice shops in New York—and it holds whatever toppings Siegel throws on it without a hint of sag. Oh, and it tastes fantastic. Siegel keeps an oft-discarded endcrust in check by making it only as broad as it needs to be (i.e. wide enough to keep the sauce off your fingertips). What's there has an airy hole structure and good chewiness beneath the crackling crisp exterior.

For whatever reason, The Independent's version of the Margherita, the Queen, didn't quite come together. The crust was flawless, but the unseasoned red sauce was too thinly spread to really notice. The fresh mozzarella and basil were fine, if a little muted. The pie is finished with a dusting of dried herbs, which neither added to nor subtracted from the end product. The pizza wasn't bad by any means, but there was little worthwhile about it beyond the crust. I don't feel too bad about knocking Independent's boring Queen, though, because the rest of the pizzas I tried were outstanding.

At the top of the heap was the Stevedore, which hits you with a garlicky Genoa salami from Applegate Farms, thinly sliced red onions, and the increasingly ubiquitous Mama Lil's spicy goathorn peppers. A semi-sharp provolone finishes the pie, and I swear this cheese and Cheetos trigger the same casomormphins in my brain. The provolone provides a beautiful contrast to sweetness of the red onions. Siegel should seriously consider adding this cheese to the rest of his pies, because like an addict after the yayo's gone, I kept craving this stuff long after the last slice was inhaled. It's Independent's trump card.

The Pepperoni pie was simpler but no less mouth-watering pie. The cured meat's from Molinari and has a funkiness to it that I quite enjoyed. It's also less spicy than most other pepperonis, for what it's worth. It may not get crisp like I normally prefer it, but it more than makes up for it by being a more flavorful, higher quality product than what's usually doled out. You can swap it out for a vegetarian pepperoni if you're so inclined, but why on earth would you do a thing like that?

I wasn't expecting to like the Beta as much as I did, but the combination of garlic, chopped Swiss chard, and meaty Fra'Mani sausage was impossible not to devour at an almost comically rapid pace. That sausage is something else. It's sliced surprisingly thin, barely thicker than a disc of pepperoni, and cups in the heat of the oven, forming nice crispy edges around the rim. It's also has a strong flavor that cuts right through the bitterness of the chard.

In the end, what do I really think of the Seattle Weekly's bold assertion that The Independent serves the best pizza in Seattle? To quote The Dude: Yeah, well, you know, that's just like, your opinion, man. While I'd say Siegel's pizza isn't as sublime as Brandon Pettit's, it's still excellent, well executed, and highly addictive. The crack-like provolone alone is reason enough to bow down to its greatness and get your fix. It's a welcome addition to Seattle's expanding pizza portfolio, and a must-try for any aficionado in the area.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley, "Delancey" photo above: Gastronomy]

Delancey

1415 NW 70th St., Seattle, WA 98117 (map); 206-838-1960; delanceyseattle.com
Pizza style: Neapolitan-inspired with New York influence
Oven type: Wood-fired
The skinny: The most masterful pizza in all of Seattle
Notes: Reservations for 6 or more only
Price: 12-inch pizzas $12 and up

In many cities, perhaps even most cities outside New York or Naples, you will come across a pizzeria that is clearly head-and-shoulders above the rest of the town's competition. This is very much true in Seattle, Washington, where owner/pizzaiolo Brandon Pettit's Delancey serves not only the best pizza in the city, but the best I've eaten in the entire state. By a mile.

Chronicling Delancey's inception, construction, and subsequent success is Molly Wizenberg, Pettit's wife and Orangette scribe. She helped design the charmingly low-key, cozy atmosphere of the restaurant, as well as many of the appetizers and desserts. No doubt she also was essential in establishing Delancey's popularity—this place is hopping from the moment the doors open and the obscenely long line of eager diners spills outside. But the pizzas speak for themselves.

Start with Pettit's sterling Margherita. All the usual suspects are present and accounted for: a crackling, blistered crust; a vibrant, unfussy tomato sauce; fresh mozzarella that doesn't seem to gum up as it cools like most fresh mozz is wont to do; and an even application of basil.

The airiness of the crust varies a little (Seattle's mercurial weather can wreak havoc on rise times), but it's always well-salted, yeasty and complex from an overnight ferment, and nicely crisp on the underside, with plenty of char. It's also quite thin, but unlike a more traditional Neapolitan pie, it barely sags and won't lose structural integrity under the sauce and cheese. Pettit spent an untold amount of time perfecting this crust, and it's obvious from the first bite. Superb.

The pork shoulder pepperoni from Zoe's Meats elevates the Delancey pepperoni pie to something extraordinary. Meaty and spicy—but not too spicy—it gets even better out toward the edges of the pizza, where the pepperoni crisps up like a potato chip. A meat potato chip. Topped with fresh and aged mozzarella and a very generous portion of grated Grana, this pizza certainly doesn't skimp you on the cheese. It comes through strong and salty, a direct influence of Pettit's favorite New York pies.

True cheese fiends, though, should dive straight into the White Pie. The mozzarella (both fresh and aged) and Grana make a return appearance, along with ricotta, which is made in-house. The best bits can be found where the oven's heat browned and blistered the cheese, and wherever a sliver of garlic has fallen. I think most white pies are far too rich, often from the overuse of ricotta and some horrific white sauce, but Delancey's has the balance down cold.

But my absolute favorite at Delancey is the housemade sausage pizza. There's some mild heat hiding inside those chunks of funky, fennel-studded ground pork, and it's addictive. And as if the sausage wasn't already impossible to resist, each piece is practically coated in grated Grana. Delancey could sell these sausages on their own at street fairs and make a killing.

In my estimation, Brandon Pettit's dedication and craft ranks among that of the greatest pizzaioli in the country, and he deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as titans like Chris Bianco, Dom DeMarco, and Brian Spangler. Seattle should count itself quite fortunate to have him.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist, musician, and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.