IF YOU LET YOUR restaurant employees eat for free, they’ll appreciate it. If you don’t, they’ll be hungry and steal from you. That was the lesson Phil Klein learned as a teenager, when he got fired from one of his early restaurant jobs for cooking himself a pizza. It’s something he keeps in mind now, as an employer. “If it keeps my staff happy and nourished to eat something on the job,” says Klein, “it’s a small token of appreciation that I think goes a long way.”
In 2020, Klein launched Bagelsmith, a Montreal-style bagel shop in downtown Winnipeg. Separated from the East Coast Jewish hubs, Winnipeg had no loyalty to the bagel styles of Montreal (small, dense, slightly sweet) or New York (big, fluffy, salty). Winnipeggers were an ideal new market, primed to be converted by the first bagel-maker who made either style well. I moved to Winnipeg around the same time Bagelsmith opened; perhaps it was a longing for some kind of culinary connection in my new home, but I fell hard for Klein’s Montreal-style bagels. (At the risk of both-sidesing this vital question, I like Montreal bagels as much as ones evoking New York.) In a town with so few bagels of distinction that Costco seems to be the local favourite, it felt like Bagelsmith had given Winnipeg a reason to pick a side in this debate.
“I do think the style difference can be quite divisive,” says Shannon Sarna, author of Modern Jewish Baker and Modern Jewish Comfort Food. “I’ve found that the Montreal versus New York bagel divide is more alive for Canadians — especially Montrealers — who are passionate about their hometown version, and with good reason because they are amazing. New Yorkers tend to think they are the centre of the world, and their bagels are the gold standard. Montreal bagels often don’t register in their mental map of what a ‘real’ bagel is.”
As co-founder of the Mile End Delicatessen in New York, Joel Tietolman has had one foot in both bagel worlds. When he began bringing bagels from Montreal, driving them overnight in his car, some guests were excited. Others were shocked at his chutzpah, as if he were importing cheese to France or wine to Italy. “It’s more contentious in a place that already has an established bagel identity,” Tietolman says. “In a place like Winnipeg, it doesn’t matter.”
But though Klein has successfully transitioned Winnipeg to Montreal bagels, his first love is pizza. His favourite way to spend time with his wife and two children is making and sharing it at home. “We’re all in the kitchen. The kids are at the island. I’m stretching pies,” Klein describes the scene. “That’s my happy space.”
There is always dough in Klein’s fridge at home. On pizza nights, he stretches and bakes them one at a time: plain cheese or bacon for his youngest son, Josh; two meats plus mushrooms for the older boy, Sam; and white sauce (ranch dressing from the fridge, thickened with parmesan) with pickled jalapeños and onions for his wife, Ayli.
When I’ve made pizza for my family in the past, I’ve served it all at once. But I like Klein’s one-at-a-time method: how it slows down a family meal, keeping us all in the same space as we make and await the next pie. I’m going to try that with my wife and daughter, who has recently started stretching dough herself. (Perhaps the extended ritual will also loosen our daughter’s tongue to tell us something about her day at school?)
As a cook, Klein is particular about what goes into his pizza, like all-purpose flour for the dough, which is not as heavy as the bread flour he uses for bagels. It achieves a less dense structure that’s still sturdy enough for a slice; it will get crispy, but still allows for folding. But as an eater, he’ll take it any way it arrives: good, bad, or even cold. “I love cold pizza. Even the worst pizza is still edible. You can’t say that about other food. I could eat it every day for every meal.”
Klein is currently adapting his recipe for a planned pizzeria — and finding that what works in the home kitchen doesn’t translate to a commercial one. “I had a recipe I liked, doing it at home on the pizza stone. Then I came into the shop and it turned out different. It’s amazing how a commercial appliance yields a better product.”
Until ovens are installed in the new kitchen, he won’t know how hot they run, or if they have spots in them that behave differently. And, because the business will be focused on re-firing slices, the dough will need to be a little bit higher in fat. When a slice is re-heated, instead of getting dried out, it should retain enough fat so it folds and doesn’t “crack like a piece of matzah.… How much caramelization and char you’re going to get is going to be dictated by the oil. So that’s pretty much where I’m going to have to modify things the most.”
As Klein speaks, the wheels are still turning, the transformation and systematizing of something he does for love into a commercial enterprise.
“Bagels make me money. Pizza makes me happy,” he cites a motto he’s almost ready to have tattooed. “Hopefully pizza will make me money soon.”
Klein’s pizza dough has a nearly 70 percent hydration rate — the percentage of the dough’s weight that comes from liquid. I’ve been working from a recipe by Joe Rosenthal, a Minnesota-based mathematician, food writer, and devotee of New York pizza, which has a hydration rate between the high 50s to low 60s. “Gluten is formed by a network of proteins primarily made up of glutenin and gliadin, which are water-soluble and water-insoluble, respectively,” writes Rosenthal. “When hydrated, glutenin provides strength and elasticity to a dough while gliadin increases viscosity and provides extensibility, which contributes to rise.”
When I started making pizza at home, I was buying dough, rolling it out with a pin, and shaping it to fit a rectangular baking tray. Over time, seeing how much my family likes pizza and how often we eat it, it felt worthwhile to get as good as possible at this.
I experimented for months, probably making a couple dozen before the pizza was something I was proud of. Along the way, I switched out my tomato sauce for just San Marzano tomatoes, pureed in the can with a pinch of salt. And I’ve made modest investments, like a scale that can measure out 0.001 grams, to get a precise weight on yeast. But I’m still baking on the same battered sheet pans I’ve had for 20 years.
It helps to have a family who thinks that your first try (which you consider a flop) is delicious, and is happy to have pizza as often as you make it.
Here is my method for one 13-inch pizza.
New York–Style Pizza
Serves 1–2
Dough
- 194 g all-purpose flour
- 4.8 g salt
- 0.5 g instant yeast
- 2.7 g sugar
- 4 g fat (olive oil)
- 120 g water
To assemble
- more oil
- semolina flour
- coarse salt
- tomato sauce
- cheese
Instructions
- Mix dough ingredients in a stand mixer or by hand until a smooth dough forms. Place in a sealed container brushed with olive oil. Refrigerate for one to three days, until doubled in size.
- Remove dough from the fridge 30 minutes before cooking and preheat the oven to 500°F.
- Brush a baking sheet with olive oil. Sprinkle semolina flour on your work area and stretch the dough by hand. Rosenthal has written a 14-paragraph direction for this, and there are a million videos to watch. But they are all governed by the universal wisdom of samurai philosopher Miyamoto Musashi, whose every nuanced instruction for defeating your enemy with mind and sword was appended with some version of, “This requires thorough training and practice.” It will not work out the first time. But it will still taste good.
- Place the stretched dough on the baking sheet. Brush the edges with oil and sprinkle a pinch of salt on them. Spread a couple of spoonfuls of tomato sauce in the centre of the dough, followed by a handful of cheese. Bake until blistered but not burnt, about 10 to 15 minutes.
