At Pizzeria Uciuni in Old Brooklyn, a Barber and Self-Taught Pizza Maker Has No Phone, But Does Have Delicious Pies

People discuss pizza differently than they talk about pasta, smash burgers or matzo ball soup. From message boards to social media, the dish comes with a healthy dose of zealous online debate.

The latest circular obsession percolating through social media hails from a spartan storefront in Old Brooklyn. Cleveland’s newest “best pizza” is open just four days a week, has no phone and accepts only cash, goosing the narrative even more. Nobody is more surprised by all the pie-eyed attention than Pietro Maniaci, who opened Pizzeria Uciuni about six months ago.

“It blows my mind,” says Maniaci, clad in a white shirt and newsboy cap.

Maniaci has been a barber for most of his life, but his true passion is pizza. Oddly, though, he’s only been making it for about a year. Stranger still: he’s never sampled the style of pizza that he endeavors to emulate.

“I’ve never been to New York,” he confesses. “I’ve never had New York pizza. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like. I’m assuming that this is what New York-style is, but I don’t know.”

Maniaci has made the rounds of Cleveland’s other “best pizza” joints. He also watches videos about New York pizzerias and their products. But mainly he judges his own success by watching the reactions of those who eat it.

“I watch people’s faces,” he says. “I watch them taste it before they leave and judge by their eyes.”

Pizzeria Uciuni is small, spare and sparsely equipped, with Maniaci working unaided in the open kitchen. He glides from the pizza prep table, where he stretches and tops the doughs, to the hulking Blodgett deck ovens. Since orders must be placed in person, one might expect interminable waits for pizzas. But the owner works briskly, with most orders ready in about 10 minutes.

“The only people who have walked out were the ones who looked at the menu and think it’s too expensive – and I have no problem with that.”

The name “Uciuni” is a sort of Italian portmanteau referring to a pizza’s cornicione, or outer crust. Maniaci sticks with convention by going with a slow and cold 3-day fermentation, but he eschews predictable products like imported flour, cheese and tomatoes.

“My big three, I didn’t want them imported,” he says. “I want domestic flour, Wisconsin cheese, and these tomatoes from California.”

Grande mozzarella from Wisconsin is the gold standard for New York-style pizza, providing the ideal taste, texture and melting quality. Maniaci’s sauce is simply, purely uncooked tomatoes with a touch of salt. The owner does import finishing cheeses like Parmigiano-Reggiano and Pecorino Romano. He also swears by Sicilian oregano.

When you’re dealing with dough, perfection is more aspiration than reality. The 1980s-era ovens deliver inconsistent heat, requiring the owner to shift the pies from spot to spot or fiddle with the rig’s baffles. When the bottom crusts begin to darken, he’ll transfer the pies to a screen to prevent overbrowning. Summer’s heat and humidity promise to introduce a whole new host of complications.

“People ask me, are you happy with it and I say, I’ll let you know if that happens,” he says coyly. “I’m content, I don’t know if I’m happy with it. But I will be. I’m close, I’m close.”


When my pies exit the oven, they are allowed to rest for a few moments before going into the boxes and getting cut. I eat slices of each – a margherita ($18.50) and a white pie ($21) – in the shop while chatting with the owner. The crusts are thin, crisp, tender and evenly browned, with none of the leopard spotting you’d see on a Neapolitan-style pie. Maniaci’s margherita is textbook, with crust, sauce, fresh mozz and basil melding into a classic New York bite. I find white pizzas often are excessively creamy and cloyingly sweet, but these are a delight, with just a whisper of garlic cream sauce. The pie is garnished with crispy bits of fried garlic.

Asked about the no-phone situation, the owner answers in his characteristic bullshit-free manner. “I don’t have a phone because I can’t answer it. I don’t have the time. The pizza would suffer.”

In addition to social media, people find out about the pizzeria at the barbershop and by word of mouth. Along with discovery and minor notoriety comes the inevitable scrutiny from the masses. Bring it on, says Maniaci.

“If I get a bad review, I’m okay with it as long as it’s the truth,” he says. “If I make everybody happy, I’m doing something wrong. There’s gotta be people that don’t like it for one reason or another.”

Pizzeria Uciuni
6102 Memphis Ave., Cleveland
pizzeriauciuni.com
Hours: Friday/Saturday 5 - 9 p.m.
Sunday 12 - 4 p.m.
Monday 5 - 9 p.m.
Closed Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday

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