La Piazza Gancio's Guide to Frozen Pizza

At the risk of retaining a portion of The Square Peg's readership, I will forthwith issue a post unconcerned with either the NRA or Donald Trump. So pull out your pizza pans, set your ovens to 450 and wait. (And remember: cooking times may vary.)

The first frozen pizza to pass my lips was John's. Though round and generally pizza-like, it managed to successfully fuse crust, tomato sauce and cheese into an indiscernible mass that tasted like none of them.

However, the outer crust did produce an audible crunch when it encountered my teeth, so John's could technically claim a connection—however tenuous—to actual pizza. Nevertheless, it was entirely appropriate that this pie shared its name with the American slang for toilet.

As the seventies passed, cheese and sausage (the Adam and Eve of pizza) spawned numerous and increasingly sophisticated varieties. Mushrooms began to appear. As did onions. Then green peppers. And red peppers. If nothing else, frozen pizza was at least becoming more colorful. Repeat offenders of the era included Celeste, Red Baron and Totino's.

But taste-wise, they resembled the Republican candidate in a Chicago mayoral election. While officially listed on the ballot, when it came to supplanting pizzeria pizza in the mind of its constituents, they were never a serious consideration.

Undaunted, frozen pizza continued to evolve. By the end of the eighties it actually resembled its namesake. Don't get me wrong—frozen pizza was still hair-metal compared to pizzeria's heavy metal thunder, but at least now it was a mostly-edible substitute.

Tombstone was my favorite. I remember wolfing them down between jobs, followed by a coffee-with-cream chaser. Ugh. No wonder my prospective advertising slogans skewed to the morbid, as in “I've Got Mine Picked Out”.

In the mid-nineties the world of frozen pizza was upended: DiGiorno's was unleashed on an unsuspecting population. I remember my first one with the tenderness and affection we rserve for our first love.

But however much a revelation it was, it couldn't outdistance itself from my recurring food nightmare, in which any brand or variety that I enjoy must immediately be marked for extinction.

In this case, the same smoked mozzarella and red pepper pie that first drew me to the brand was henceforth DiGiorno's first casualty. I survived, and moved on to enjoy the remainder of their largely-successful line.

But I drew (and continue to draw) the line at the blobs-of-dough-as-pizza-appetizer thing.

I mean, really? Isn't that like serving cookie dough and then breaking out the cookies? I thought the desire for dough topped with a red, tomato-y sauce was part of the motivation for having a pizza in the first place, but apparently I'm full of it.

After DiGiorno's raised the bar, several new and highly-worthy entries followed. To the point where in a properly pizza-centric supermarket, one could choose between half-a-dozen brands offering pizza worthy of the name.

I offer my own favorites below. But I must warn you: despite the unpleasant political and religious connotations, I am a pizza fundamentalist. So don't go looking for pizza topped with quail and raspberry compote here.

While my taste buds allow me to consume (and enjoy) my favorite foods almost ad infinitum, they have a strong and clearly-defined list of dos and don'ts.

To wit, little complements a well-grilled hamburger better than a slice of raw onion. But on pizza, onions are a heretical influence that pervert the very notion of a righteous pie topped with God-fearing ingredients like pepperoni and extra cheese.

Onions on pizza is unnatural. It threatens the natural order. So applied, onions are an out-of-tune violin playing Bach's Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in E major, and cannot—no—must not be tolerated.

Ever.

Regardless, the Godless persist in their ceaseless defamation of pizza: Anchovies. Ham. Pineapple. Barbecue sauce. Broccoli. Chicken. Heresy! A pox on all their houses! Repent ye sinner before thou art cast into the fiery and eternal damnation of hell! (Or pizza topped with egg.)

But not on my watch. And not on my pizza.

Without further delay, here are my five favorite brands, along with a disclaimer: I live in the Chicago-area, so its possible some of the pizza listed here may not be available where you live.

The List:

1. Palermo's   No longer possessed with the metabolism of a nineteen-year-old, thin crust pizza has gained a new appeal for me. And no one does it better than Palermo's.

The Primo Thin is the ideal canvas for their artful offerings.

The Supreme is so good I will manually remove the $#@!* onions just to get at the cracker-thin crust sumptuously crowned with hearty sauce, gooey cheese, red peppers, sausage and pepperoni. Sigh.

(Did you know that in some cultures pizza is a two-syllable word for sex?)

But be advised the Margherita, Sicilian, 5 Cheese and Uncured Pepperoni provide fantastical voyages for your taste buds (and possibly other points) as well.

The pizza-to-pizza consistency is high. Toppings are high-quality and are evenly and generously applied. Availability might be an issue as they originate in Milwaukee and are generally available only in the Midwest and portions of the Southeast.

But the good news is that it's thirty-five degrees out. The wind chill drops that by seven. In other words, good seats are still available on flights bound for the Heartland.

Book now.

2. Home Run Inn   Originally available only in a southside pizzeria near Comiskey Park, HRI has successfully expanded not only its restaurants but the availability of its pizza. And remarkably, the translation found in your supermarket's freezer is utterly faithful.

These are pies made by Chicagoans for Chicagoans. Translated, that means you're unlikely to find pizzas topped with rosemary, salmon or kale. The closest these folk get to foo-foo pizza is an Ultra-Thin crust, all-veggie pie.

This may or may not be the reason I consistently enjoy Home Run Inn's offerings.

I'm partial to the Classic Margherita with Sausage, which brilliantly introduces meat to the classic Italian original. It's nearly enough to make me forgive them for deep-sixing their Plum Tomato pizza.

Toppings are high-quality, generously applied and even. Crusts are flaky and buttery.

If you're as smart as reading The Square Peg indicates you are, you're already reaching for your keys.

3. Bellatoria   This newcomer (at least to the Chicago area) has quickly made a big name for itself and has earned hearty swaths of freezer space in the process. And there's a reason: it's good.

While they aren't afraid to get their foo-foo on (of the finalists, only California Pizza Kitchen lists more pies with—cough—exotic ingredients), they excel at all varieties of classic pizza and deliver them on a delicious, cracker-like crust.

Favorites include the Ultimate 5 Cheese (which claims to contain a half-pound of cheese) and the Ultimate Sausage Italia, which pairs nicely with Bellatoria's peppery tomato sauce. Toppings are again high-quality and generously and evenly distributed.

Like Palermo's, Bellatoria hails from Wisconsin. As with Michelangelo and sculpture, Enzo Ferrari and cars and rock and roll, beer and pizza are one of mankind's great couplings. 

Having mastered the former, we can be grateful the denizens of the Dairy State set about mastering the latter.

4. DiGiornos   The brand has been diluted by a flood of new and often gimmicky product, but if you ignore the distractions and get to the originals, DiGiornos is easy to find and a good bet to satisfy your pizza urges.

(Which are entirely natural and healthy, by the way.)

The premium pies (labelled 'pizzeria!') are also highly-deserving, with the Quattro Formaggi, Primo Pepperoni and Supreme Speciale being the best. They provide a deeply-rewarding pizza experience.

Again, toppings are high-quality and evenly and generously applied. The Rising Crust and Pizzeria! crusts are fairly thick but they're good ones, imbued with a touch of Italian bread-styled chewiness.

It's the brand that raised the bar.

But I won't ever forgive them for killing the elegant Smoked Mozzarella and Red Pepper pie.

5. California Pizza Kitchen   The very name sends my foo-foo meter into overdrive, and deservedly so.

But the good folk at CPK haven't forgotten those of us who enjoy revisiting the varieties of pizza that first inflamed taste buds the world over.

If you pick carefully amongst the chicken and the artichoke and the pineapple, you will be rewarded with a high-quality and highly-enjoyable pizza.

The Sicilian, Four Cheese and Margherita work best for this fundamentalist. (The web site lists what could be a highly-appealing entry—Signature Pepperoni—but I have not seen it in area stores.)

As with the other finalists, toppings are done right. High-quality, plenty of 'em and evenly distributed.

And being a national brand, CPK is easy to find. Which is not to be underestimated when you need to scratch that pizza itch.

So there you have it. One pizza-obsessive's list of his frozen favorites.

May the 'za be with you.