The Pizza Lab: Sfincione, the No-Knead, No-Roll New Year's Eve Sicilian Pizza

Finished Sfincione

The etymology of sfincione isn't completely clear, but the most likely answer is that if comes from the word for sponge, a reference to its tall, airy texture. The bottom is crisp with olive oil while the sauce and cheese layer are salty and deeply savory with dry grated caviocallo (a Sicilian sheep's milk cheese) and anchovies with plenty of caramelized onions. Rather than straight melted cheese on the top, it's got a mixture of bread crumbs and more caviocavallo. Carbs on carbs is a great way to start the New Year!

J. Kenji Lopez-Alt

My wife and this installment of The Pizza Lab share one thing in common: they are both short and sweet. This, however, is not the case with the subject matter of today's Pizza Lab, which happens to be rather tall and savory.

Any pizza lover and observer of Sicilian New Year's traditions would have guessed by now that I'm talking of sfincione, the true Sicilian pizza made with onions, bread crumbs, caciocavallo cheese, and a ton of olive oil. It's pretty delicious any time of year, but especially appropriate for welcoming the new year, when delicious, simple, hand-held, booze-spongey foods are at their apex of popularity. Not only that, but it's pretty dead-simple to make.

What's that? Never heard of it? You always thought Sicilian pizza was just the fat, square spongy stuff you get when you're drunk enough that a regular slice just won't do.

Sfincione does bear a few resemblances to what passes as a Sicilian slice stateside. For one, it's often made in a square pan and allowed to rise before being topped, resulting in a tall, focaccia-like texture.


From here, the similarities end. Rather than a sweet, bright, fresh tomato sauce, sfincione is made with a load of onions caramelized in olive oil until sweet, robust, and complex. I've not been to Sicily, but from the research I've done, what I know of Sicilians, it's natural that anchovies play a large role in the flavor of the pizza as well, lending their characteristic savory, salty brininess. (It seems that none of the New York pizzerias serving versions of sfincione—Ben's or Pizza Cotta Bene, for example—employ anchovies in theirs).

Rather than a thick layer of melted cheese, sfincione is topped with a sparing amount of very sharp grated caciocavallo, a family of hand-stretched Southern Italian cheeses that are hung by a rope and have a characteristic tear-drop shape. The version used on sfincione is made with sheep's milk and has a sharp, salty, tangy finish.

Finally, a layer of bread crumbs tops the whole pie, giving it crunch on both the bottom and the top. As the thing bakes, the bottom crust essentially deep fries in olive oil, giving it a remarkably crunchy texture and awesome flavor. Tall and spongey but never dense or doughy, sfincione should have several distinct textural and flavor elements: the olive oil-saturated crunch of the bottom crust, the moist, tender spongy middle layer, the savory, sweet and acidic sauce with plenty of onion and anchovy, and the light, crumbly crunch of the bread crumbs on top.


Now, I know what delicious is, and the finished pie here was freaking delicious, but having never actually eaten sfincione at the source, I wasn't sure as to its authenticity. Fortunately, I had two good tasters: Scott Wiener, who's spent plenty of time eating around Sicily declared it to be "spot on." Meanwhile, Leandra Palermo—who has never been to Sicily or eaten their pizza, but, er, shares her name with Sicily's capital and thus must be an expert in everything related to it—declared the olive-oily carb-fest to be "everything that is good and right in this world."