Farmington Hills pizzeria shares its slice of fame

Somewhere out there is an ex-waitress named Danielle Brehm who changed the world, or at least Mike Weinstein's world.

Without Brehm, a pie from Weinstein's Farmington Hills pizzeria would not have been rated 21st best in the entire nation in the GQ magazine that hits store racks today. Tomatoes Apizza would not be the toast of the continent, with famous actors battling pop stars and midrange European royals for tables.

Technically, some of that may be an exaggeration. But as serious as Weinstein is about pizza -- which is about as serious as it's possible to be -- this is a very, very big deal.

Metro Detroit acquitted itself nobly in writer Alan Richman's 20,000-mile search for the perfect pizza, recounted in a story that's already online at GQ.com. Luigi's the Original of Harrison Township came in at No. 13, local landmark Buddy's was No. 15, and Niki's Greektown Pizza ranked 24th.

At those restaurants, Richman's experience was routine, even if the pizzas weren't. Sit, order, eat.

At Tomatoes Apizza -- the 6-year-old store at 14 Mile and Middle Belt, as opposed to the 11-year-old original on Halsted north of Grand River -- there was a complication. "My compliments to Danielle, our waitress," he writes, "who took the order, put down her pad, and under an emergency staffing shortage prepared our pepperoni pie exactly right."

The restaurant business being transitory and relationships being complicated, Brehm no longer works for Weinstein. There was something about a boyfriend who fell out of favor with management, coupled with a loyal gesture on her part, and poof: He lost two employees for the price of one.

But "I want a chance to thank her," he says, and if she ever needs anything, he'll have her back on the payroll faster than you can say $6.99 lunch buffet with pizza, salad, spaghetti, chocolate hazelnut dessert and a drink.

She had no idea she was serving the roving pizza correspondent from GQ. In a time of crisis, she simply stepped into the breach.

"She took care of him," says Weinstein, emotion in his voice. "She made a solid pie."

Pick of 10 metro areas

For the record, Richman's favorite was a mortadella pie from the six-seat Great Lake in Chicago, where he placed his order by phone at 6:15 p.m. and was told he could pick it up at 8. Pizza Hut, it ain't.

Also for the record, he did not sample every pizza in the land. He focused on 10 metropolitan areas known for their pizza prowess, meaning the very best pie might still be waiting for its close-up in Tie Siding, Wyo.

Weinstein feels reasonably certain that the best pizza comes from his 9-foot-deep, coal-burning oven, which Richman describes as "big enough to barbecue a cow" and Weinstein claims is among only 15 coal-fired pizza ovens in the world.

"It's funny he picked the pepperoni. We get very good pepperoni," says Weinstein, 36. "You want to see it?"

Weinstein grew up a short bike ride away from his shop, which back then was called Romano's. He went off to study at the Culinary Institute of America in New York, apprenticed himself to master pizza makers in New Haven, Conn., and came home to convert the masses to thin-crust works of art with crab, mozzarella, crushed garlic and lemon wedges.

At 10:30 one recent morning, he was adding undisclosed spices to a large vat of red sauce. Then he pulled out a tray of dough patties wading in olive oil, rolled them in flour and began hand-tossing them into crusts for the lunch rush.

"The wetter the dough, the harder it is to deal with," he says, "but the better the pizza."

Weinstein has the sort of build and wardrobe you want from your pizza maker: Khaki shorts, white T-shirt, a very large white apron.

He can rhapsodize about coal ("I call it buried sunshine"), perfectly cooked white crusts with brown spots ("The absolute epitome of what pizza is"), the true key to pizza ("It's about the toppings") and wait, the other true key ("It's about the edge").

But the subject he comes back to is Danielle Brehm. When the going got tough, at the moment of pizza truth, she made a pie that changed everything.

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