The Starr organization wasn't exactly reinventing pizza here. In fact, it was borrowing and, in the case of the estimable pistachio pie (with slivered sweet red onion and fontina), flat-out lifting, some road-tested pizza tricks of the trade.
But it was starting from scratch in the sense that each element (the dough, the cheese, the olives) was having to prove itself; every pizza variable reapplying for its job.
The second batch of buffalo mozzarella was leaking way too much water, said culinary director Chris Painter. (Was it the brand?) Were the Gaeta olives on the 12-inch Oliva Nera, $13, too sharp? Should they be switched out for milder Ligurians? It still wasn't clear, even on Sunday, whether cow's milk or sheep's milk ricotta was going to make the cut on one pie. (But it was clear the Abruzzi sausage had edged out the original fenneled Sicilian that first topped the spicy-pesto sausage pie, $15.)
You can research and report and compile pizza dossiers. But then comes reality pizza-making: Every detail counts. The spin of the dough. The humidity. The heat. Take the oven: It's a Texas import, a Renato, the logo "Stella" custom-tiled into the cracked-stone dome. It's the favorite of the storied Chris Bianco, the Phoenix pizzaiolo who has lines outside 45 minutes long before he opens the doors. (That's his pistachio pie at Stella, its secret apparently out of the bag.)
But an oven is a living thing. Stella's is fed with split white oak, ash, and apple, sawdust handy if a heat burst is needed (though the deck was staying at an optimal 700 degrees after a 60-pizza hour).
