
Chef Juliana
Beiju de Mandioca
You don't need yeast, wheat, or courage. Grate sweet cassava, press it dry, sieve the crumbs, and toast them into a flatbread that belongs beside beans, greens, and whatever solves dinner.
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You think homemade pizza is for someone with a stone oven and Italian grandmother. Wrong kitchen, wrong myth. This is dough, refogado chicken, Catupiry, and the sense to heat the oven properly.
You hear homemade pizza and the little voice starts: isso não é pra mim. It imagines a stone oven, a nonna, a dough you have to understand with your soul. Nonsense. A gente is making dinner, not applying for citizenship in Naples.
No nonna in Italy made this, and that's part of the joy. This is very São Paulo: chicken cooked properly, onion and garlic doing their work, creamy Catupiry on top, oregano because Brazilian pizza without oregano looks underdressed. It isn't the pê-efe, rice, beans, meat or egg, and something green, but it belongs to the same home kitchen. It uses yesterday's chicken if you have it, stretches the meal, feeds real people, and keeps dinner in your hands instead of handing it to a frozen box.
The method is plain. The dough rests so the flour drinks the water and stops fighting you. The chicken goes through a real refogado so it tastes like food, not like dry leftovers hiding under cheese. The filling cooks until moist but not wet, because a soggy pizza is usually a wet filling wearing an innocent face. Catupiry goes on top in lines or spoonfuls, where it can stay creamy and catch a little color.
Cozinhar não é dom, é um aprendizado. Make this once and you'll understand the dough with your hands, the filling with your nose, and the oven with your eyes. Anota aí. This is one of those receitas que funcionam.
São Paulo's pizza culture grew with Italian immigration in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, then the city's pizzerias bent the format toward Brazilian toppings. Catupiry was created in 1911 in Lambari, Minas Gerais, by Mário and Isaíra Silvestrini, and the name later became Brazilian shorthand for a firm, creamy requeijão. Frango com Catupiry belongs to the Brazilian pizzeria table, not an Italian one: shredded chicken, creamy cheese, oregano, and a city that stopped asking permission.
Quantity
3 cups
plus more only if needed
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
for the dough
Quantity
1 cup
about 38°C (100°F), warm not hot
Quantity
2 tablespoons
for the dough
Quantity
1 tablespoon
for greasing the pans
Quantity
450 g
or 2 cups shredded cooked chicken
Quantity
2 cups
Quantity
1
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
for cooking the chicken
Quantity
2 tablespoons
for the refogado
Quantity
1 medium
finely chopped
Quantity
3 cloves
minced
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 cup
divided, 1/2 cup for the filling and 1/2 cup for the base
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
plus more to taste
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
Quantity
2 tablespoons
chopped, plus more for finishing
Quantity
1 1/2 cups
Quantity
1 1/4 cups
Quantity
1 teaspoon
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| all-purpose flourplus more only if needed | 3 cups |
| instant dry yeast | 1 teaspoon |
| sugar | 1 teaspoon |
| fine saltfor the dough | 1 teaspoon |
| warm waterabout 38°C (100°F), warm not hot | 1 cup |
| olive oil or neutral oilfor the dough | 2 tablespoons |
| oilfor greasing the pans | 1 tablespoon |
| boneless chicken thighs or breastsor 2 cups shredded cooked chicken | 450 g |
| water | 2 cups |
| bay leaf | 1 |
| fine saltfor cooking the chicken | 1/2 teaspoon |
| olive oil or neutral oilfor the refogado | 2 tablespoons |
| onionfinely chopped | 1 medium |
| garlicminced | 3 cloves |
| colorau or sweet paprika | 1 teaspoon |
| crushed tomatoes or tomato passatadivided, 1/2 cup for the filling and 1/2 cup for the base | 1 cup |
| fine saltplus more to taste | 1/2 teaspoon |
| black pepper | 1/4 teaspoon |
| parsley or scallionschopped, plus more for finishing | 2 tablespoons |
| shredded mozzarella | 1 1/2 cups |
| Catupiry or firm Brazilian requeijão cremoso | 1 1/4 cups |
| dried oregano | 1 teaspoon |
In a large bowl, stir the flour, yeast, sugar, and salt. Add the warm water and 2 tablespoons oil, then stir until no dry flour remains and the dough looks rough and shaggy. Cover and let it sit 10 minutes. That pause lets the flour drink the water, which makes the dough easier to knead and less likely to demand a snowstorm of extra flour.
Turn the dough onto a lightly floured counter and knead for 6 to 8 minutes, until it goes from lumpy to smooth and springy. It should feel soft and a little tacky, but it shouldn't leave paste on your hands. Add flour one tablespoon at a time only if it truly sticks, because too much flour makes a tough crust. Put it in a lightly oiled bowl, cover, and let it rise in a warm spot for 45 to 60 minutes, until puffy and nearly doubled.
Put the chicken, water, bay leaf, and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a medium saucepan. Bring to a gentle simmer, then lower the heat and cook until the thickest piece is opaque and shreds when pulled, about 15 to 18 minutes, or 74°C (165°F) if you're using a thermometer. Don't let it thrash at a hard boil; fierce boiling tightens the meat and leaves you with dry strings. Lift the chicken out, reserve 1/2 cup of the broth, and shred the meat with two forks.
Warm 2 tablespoons oil in a wide pan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring now and then, until it murcha, softens and turns see-through, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic for 1 minute, just until you smell it, then stir in the colorau and 1/2 cup of the tomato. The pan should smell sweet and savory, not raw. This base wakes up the chicken, because shredded meat needs fat, onion, garlic, and a little tomato to become filling instead of leftovers wearing cheese.
Add the shredded chicken, reserved broth, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and black pepper to the refogado. Cook for 5 to 7 minutes, stirring, until the chicken is moist but not wet. Drag the spoon through the pan; the filling should part for a second and fall back slowly. This is the ponto. If it looks watery, keep cooking, because wet filling makes soggy dough and then everyone blames the poor oven. Stir in the parsley or scallions and let the filling cool for 10 minutes.
Put a rack in the lower third of the oven and heat it to 250°C (475°F), or as high as your oven comfortably goes, for at least 25 minutes. Grease two 30 cm pizza pans with 1 tablespoon oil. A properly hot oven helps the crust brown before the topping dries out; a shy oven gives you pale bread with tired cheese on top.
Divide the dough in two. Stretch or roll each piece into a 30 cm round and fit it into the greased pans, leaving a slightly thicker rim. If the dough keeps shrinking back, cover it and wait 5 minutes. Dough that fights you is asking for a rest, not for violence. The pause relaxes it so you don't tear holes and call yourself names.
Bake the bare crusts for 5 to 7 minutes, until the surface loses its shine and the edges just begin to color. They won't be finished yet, and that's correct. This little head start is the home-oven trick: a pizzeria oven is fast and fierce, but yours needs to firm the dough before the chicken, tomato, and cheese arrive.
Spread 1/4 cup of the remaining tomato over each parbaked base, thinly, stopping before the rim. Scatter the mozzarella, divide the chicken filling over the top, then pipe or spoon the Catupiry in thick lines or small mounds. Sprinkle with oregano. Keep the tomato layer thin, because sauce is seasoning here, not soup. Too much turns the crust soft under the cheese.
Bake the pizzas for 10 to 12 minutes, until the rims are golden, the mozzarella is melted and glossy, and the Catupiry is creamy with a few lightly golden spots. Let each pizza rest for 3 minutes before slicing so the cheese settles instead of sliding off in one dramatic sheet. Finish with a little more parsley or scallion if you like. Serve with a green salad or couve refogada if dinner needs its green, because the everyday plate taught a gente that balance still matters, even when the plate is pizza.
1 serving (about 420g)
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