Art, engineering, & good olive oil

The fine line between art and science for one Tulsa-based restaurateur-slash-international pizza competitor

Mike Bausch worked a dough ball that would soon become our dinner. He kneaded the dough into the marble counter, using the palm of his flour-covered hands to form the ball into the shell of a pie. Once the shape was achieved, he pressed down firmly using the tips of his fingers and, starting from the center and working toward the edges, formed a crest along the outside of the pie that was both practical and beautiful.

Bausch is a man obsessed. All that time and effort was for one of the simplest pizzas on the menu at his restaurant, Andolini’s on Cherry Street, a concept sprung from Owasso, where it shares wayfinding signs with drive-thrus and national sit-down chains. The 1889 Margherita of Savoy is commonly referred to as Pizza Margherita; it’s the pie that is given credit for making peasant food fit for royalty. Quality ingredients are what elevates it so. The freshest basil, authentic San Marzano tomatoes, and house made mozzarella are essential; their colors, a tribute to the Italian flag. “There’s impressive and there’s unimpressive,” Bausch told me, straight faced and as a matter of fact. “There is literally nothing between those two.”

Avid movie watchers know Vito Andolini. Andolini was Vito Corleone’s given name in a novel by Mario Puzo, later turned into the legendary film trilogy, “The Godfather.” Vito was the king of the mob; Bausch likes to think of Andolini’s as the king of pizzerias.

When I walked into the restaurant that night, I was met with an old soul. Behind the glass that separates the kitchen from the foyer, the crew moved fluidly about their workspace, smiling at customers. Throughout the dining room there is a charming assortment of framed oddities and antique images, crafting the comfort of old-world charm. The open kitchen creates a feeling similar to a family gathering at the grandparents’ house. It’s festive and lively.

Bausch’s roots are Irish Catholic, deep in New Jersey and also along the West Coast, where he was educated in Political Science. He and his father and brother all served in the Marine Corps. His parents have been married for almost half of a century. He goes to church regularly. He reads. He is serious about utilizing it all, calculating carefully and putting his life experiences to work for his passion: pizza.

“Socrates teaches that you are only as valuable as your techne, which is your worth to your world; what you do. This is what I do,” he told me.

Bausch takes his cues from Tony Gemignani, world renowned pizza chef and the proprietor of The International School of Pizza. Gemignani learned everything about pizza from The Scuola Italiana Pizzaiol and developed this program to share the food science behind pizza with the rest of the world. “After taking this course, everything I thought I knew about pizza completely changed,’” Bausch said.  

Bausch’s approached the perfect pizza like a scientist. It starts with the dough. The key ingredient is double zero flour, the most refined flour one can purchase. It’s light and airy and far from the all-purpose flour that lives in my pantry. Balls of dough are aged for at least two days.

Bausch developed his own program for the creation of new work. Mastery is mandatory for his employees. It’s important to him that his team understands the process of making dough to ensure consistency. “Dough is a living, breathing organism and I cannot be everywhere all the time,” he said.

Bausch sends for specialty products like a painter, procuring earthy, certified DOP San Marzano tomatoes and extra virgin olive oil from Italy.

Creamy mozzarella is made in-house up to three times a day, and some of it is smoked for a complex flavor.

Bausch gave me a tour of the kitchen. I asked him if he sourced locally.

“I source locally, in that, I make it,” he said. He gestured at shelves packed with house-made meatballs and trays of freshly smoked mozzarella.

“I don’t support local because of altruism. I support it because it’s the best.”

We sat down at the bar to eat and Mike chose libations to pair with our pie. He ordered the Norma Jean, a vodka-based drink spruced up with St. Germain, blackberry, and fresh lemon juice. “The Norma Jean is a delicious and delicate, kind of like a blackberry cosmopolitan. It’s a lovely drink,” he told me.

The heat of the oven lightly wilted the leaves of basil on our pizza. Bausch seasoned it with the olive oil from Italy and a pinch of red rock salt. It came out of the oven with bubbling cheese, steaming with the aroma of the basil. Later, I’d eat the contents of the to-go box on my way home.

Bausch makes pizza just like this on international soil, not to sell, but to compete. “I take all of my own ingredients and equipment and set up shop in a hotel room,” he told me. This guarantees the consistency of his pizzas so he is prepared to give the judges exactly the same pie he makes in his Tulsa kitchen. This spring in Parma, Italy, a land where food meets art, Bausch represented the United States in the 23rd-annual World Pizza Championship. “I go to competitions to learn to be a better pizzaiolo,” he said. “Even if I lose, I still walk away a winner.”