Nico turned seven today. When I asked him last week what he wanted for his birthday dinner, he didn't even pause. "Camp pizza. In the black pan. On the fire." Then, to be clear: "Cut in squares."
Last year his birthday campfire moved indoors because it was 93 degrees with a storm on the way, and we did a s'mores bar in the kitchen. This year the storm rolled through at 4 and was gone by 6, and by 7:30 the backyard fire pit had a good bed of coals and the patio thermometer had dropped to a merciful 86. Two pizzas, a Publix cake and one very happy seven-year-old later, here's how we make it.
What you need
- Our Lodge 12-inch cast-iron skillet with its lid, which is really the whole trick
- One bag of store-bought pizza dough, about a pound, split in two for two pizzas
- A jar of pizza sauce, a bag of shredded mozzarella and whatever toppings the birthday boy approves
- A spoonful of olive oil and a little cornmeal
- Leather gloves, a small shovel or long tongs for moving coals, and a cutting board
Groceries for two pizzas ran about $14. The dough sits out on the counter (or the camp table) for an hour first, or it fights you when you stretch it.
How we cook it
- Burn the fire down to coals. Flames scorch the bottom before the top cooks. We wait 30 to 40 minutes after the fire gets going.
- Make two piles. A bed of coals under the grate and a smaller pile off to the side for the lid.
- Oil and cornmeal. A spoonful of oil in the skillet, a pinch of cornmeal, then press half the dough out to the edges with your fingers.
- Cook the bottom first, lid off. Three to four minutes, until the dough slides when you shake the pan and has a few brown spots underneath.
- Flip it. Cooked side up. This was the breakthrough.
- Top it fast. A thin layer of sauce, then cheese, then toppings.
- Lid on, coals on top. Shovel the side pile onto the lid and give it six to eight minutes. Peek at five.
- Slide it out and rest it. One minute on the cutting board, then cut. In squares, if you know what's good for you.
The trial and error
None of this came from a recipe card. Our first try was at Jonathan Dickinson in May. I pressed the dough into the pan, put the lid on and set it over a lively fire. The bottom turned to charcoal and the cheese stayed cold. Nico ate the middle and called it "pizza toast." The second try, in the backyard one Sunday in early June, I remembered the coals on the lid but used so much sauce the center never set. Maya named that one "pizza soup."
Flipping the crust before topping it fixed most of it. Cooking the dough first gives it a firm base that can handle the sauce, and the coals on the lid melt the cheese while the bottom finishes. The other lessons were smaller: less sauce than you think, toppings in a single layer and no more than three toppings per pizza, a rule Maya argues with every single time. I'm still not perfect at it. Tonight's second pizza had one corner darker than I'd like, and I'd rather tell you that than pretend.
Tonight's pizzas
Pizza one was Nico's: pepperoni edge to edge and extra cheese. As our kindling manager he isn't allowed near the coals, but for one night he was promoted to "lid inspector" and got to stand behind the line we scratch in the dirt and tell me when it looked done. He said "now" at two minutes. I waited the full six. The smell when I lifted the lid, cornmeal and bubbling cheese and a little woodsmoke, brought Pickles to the screen door, which he never does.
Pizza two was a split. Maya's half had mushrooms and black olives. Dana's half had ham and a few slices of leftover maduros, which sounds strange until you try it. My father-in-law Rafael, who came over with Marisol for cake, ate a square and called it "not bad," in the tone that means very good.
When Marisol asked Nico what he wanted for his eighth birthday, he said, "Same pizza. But at a campground." Dana looked at me over the cake candles. I think that means she's already checking August sites with power.
