Whenever John Pragalz makes a margherita pizza, a tiny, flour-dusted, apron-clad gremlin appears on his left shoulder and begins jabbering in the Neapolitan dialect:
“You betrayed us!,” it spits into his ear, chopping his forearm up and down. “Oh my god, this margherita pizza is disgusting! What the fuck!”
Pragalz isn’t fazed. With the casual disdain of a Roman patrician, he flicks the homunculus from his conscience and its curses drown in the void: fuck youoooooooooooo. . . .
Pragalz pretty much did the same thing to me a few weeks ago when I made the mistake of describing the pizza he makes as “Neapolitan-style.” That’s because, contrary to Neapolitan Pizza Dogma, Pragalz does not make a margherita Napolitana.
We’ve had this conversation before, so I should know better. I might as well have said he buys stacks of frozen Costco pizzas and chars them black in his 950-degree mobile, wood-fired, brick pizza oven.
That would be Belle, the Disney princess behind the touring arm of Bad Johnny’s Wood-Fired Pizza & Kitchen. When he’s not hauling her around the festival circuit, Pragalz is the resident pizzaiolo at the Long Room. Together they’ll be firing up their exceptional blended Roman-style pizzas when Bad Johnny’s returns to Monday Night Foodballthe Reader’s weekly chef pop-up at Frank and Mary’s Tavern.
Credit: John Pragalz
Pragalz is also a bomb thrower: “There’re a lot of average margheritas out there. That big crust, the ultra-thin middle that gets soft. You pick it up, everything slides off. We’re doing what we can to avoid that and provide a better margherita experience.”
Pragalz, in fact, worked in a few pizzerias in Naples, which is where he picked up the furious, wee demon that haunts him every time he breaks the rules governing that city’s signature pizza. “I don’t have any animosity towards Pizza Napolitana,” he says. “I’ve always enjoyed the pizza I’ve eaten in Naples, and I love eating it in the U.S. But I’m biased towards Rome and their pizza, which doesn’t place any rules on how you make it or what ingredients you can use. That allows for greater creativity and the ability to cook something unique.”
To that end, Pragalz’s style is a combination of Roman al taglio–style pizza—Bonci-style sheet-pan square slices, sold by weight—and Roman pizza tonda—thin, crispy round pies, more akin to Chicago’s classic tavern-style. “There’s no big crust,” he says. “It’s strong, with that focaccia-like base throughout where you avoid that thin middle and don’t have to worry about the soupy bread bowl that falls apart when you eat it.”
If you attended his first Foodball last summer, you know Pragalz, Belle, and the crew set up a Henry Ford–style assembly line that combines the rapid execution of their flame-kissed festival pies with the thoughtful application of high-quality toppings that typify his Long Room pizzas.
So, in addition to his blasphemous Marg, they’ll be slinging a chestnut and oyster mushroom pizza with burrata, finished with chives and Sicilian olive oil; pepperoni with chile de árbol and buckwheat honey; dry-caramelized spinach with lemon ricotta and smoked Gouda; sausage with ricotta and Fiore Di Latte cheese, garlic, and fresh oregano; a classic potato alla Romana; and for the vegans a classic rossa, with a tomato base, chili, fresh garlic and fresh oregano, and Sicilian dried oregano.
This is no mere pizza party. It’s a veritable Roman orgy guaranteed to banish your own offended resident spirits. Follow your nose to the corner of Campbell and 2905 N. Elston, beginning at 5 PM, Monday, July 1, in abbondante Avondale.
Meanwhile, note the Foodballs of the future:
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