Micucci Grocery was opened in 1951 by Leo and Iris Micucci, and has been family-operated ever since. It’s more sandwich counter-meets-deli-meets-dry-goods store than pizzeria. But the reason to visit this Portland icon is in back, up the stairs to the left where “slabs” of American-interpreted Sicilian-style pizza are baked and set on shelves.
The word “slabs,” doesn’t do these slices justice — a curious hybrid for sure, they’re nowhere as heavy as the gut-bombs most descriptions convey. Half-again bigger than the conventional Sicilian slice, and just as thick if wetter and more doughy, Micucci’s slabs may not be authentic Italian, but they feel like an idealized iteration of the focaccia style you’ve always sought, but never experienced.
Each is about a half-foot long. There’s an uneven inch-and-a-half to ¾-inch cornicione, which is not much different from the rest of the slice, save that it’s dryer for not being covered by the brush of sweet sauce and incomplete layer of mozzarella coating the rest of it.
“Pillowy” and “airy” have been used to describe these pizzas, and undoubtedly will be as long as Micucci continues to do things this way (the right way, mind you). Imagine a fluffy, light focaccia — almost an inch high in some places but no thinner than one third of an inch anywhere — that’s doughy and a bit wetter than most with layers of bubbles. There’s a scattering of Italian herbs on top, with cheese rivulets and sauce undercurrents around raised puffy sections of dough. There’s no undercrust to speak of, but some crispy spots of cheese in places, especially along the edges.
It’s not pizza in any other traditional regional American sense, nor can you say it’s precisely Italian. But there’s something intensely right and satisfying about it. Consider the warm, airy pleasure of freshly baked dough without much crust to speak of, the tang of sweet sauce, and the salty pull of just-melted cheese, and you get the idea of a fresh Micucci slice.
— Arthur Bovino, 101 Best Pizzas in America 2015, 8/6/2015