The best tomato pies in Philly

Founded in 1953, Cacia’s Bakery is a vintage South Philly temple to dough, whether it’s for bread, rolls, pizza, pastry. The classic tomato pie (just $2.25/slice) is remarkably thin, barely half an inch at its thickest point, the golden brown crust curving delicately inward, making it an altogether different beast from towering focaccia-like slices. The tomato paste is jammy, seasoned with just a suggestion of dried oregano, and — unlike many other contenders — has no hint of sweetness. — Kiki Aranita

Dinnertime at home on the Main Line and in the West Chester area often means slices of the rectangular tomato pie from this long-running Italian supermarket. This is dangerously close to “cheeseless pizza” — the thick, focaccia-style crusts are topped with a chunky puttanesca sauce that’s extra heavy on the basil, pretty much as you’d typically find on a grandma-style pizza — but the golden outer crust manages to keep everything on top. You can really veer off the tomato pie game by picking up some pepperoni from Carlino’s counter and slicing it up on top. — Michael Klein

To many in the region, the tomato pie from this East Norriton institution is the gold standard for two reasons: First, it’s seemingly everywhere, especially in the Philly suburbs. The family (say it “CORE-poh-lease”) has been selling it at its four locations — as well as supermarkets, churches, and schools — for a century. Second, it’s distinctively delicious, with a thick, sweet tomato sauce that hugs the thick, focaccia-ish crust, whose bottom stays light and crispy. Get it with or without a sprinkling of Romano cheese. — Michael Klein

Top-notch focaccia is the secret to this new-school tomato pie, available twice weekly at this sourdough bakery inside a Roxborough sawmill. Dead King’s dough is high in hydration, meaning it’s bubbly, tender, and chewy, and it gets extra flavor from a hefty dose of olive oil. For the tomato pie — which founder Michael Holland hesitates to call tomato pie “because we’re in Philly and it’s not on the traditional yeasted hoagie dough base but … nobody seems to mind” — the bakers cook down crushed tomatoes and tomato paste, season it, then put a scant layer of the sauce onto dimpled focaccia before it goes in the oven. What emerges is an addictively good, bread-forward spin on classic tomato pie. On Saturdays, when the bakery is open 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. (or sell-out), you can buy it by the slice. If that’s not going to satisfy you, come Thursday between 4 and 7 p.m. to snag a half-sheet. — Jenn Ladd

Who would have thought Northwest Philly would be a hub for new-school tomato pies? Like Dead King Bread, its neighbor in Roxborough, this Mount Airy bakery serves up a distinctive sourdough-focaccia rendition. Downtime adheres to a baking schedule, releasing different items throughout the course of its workday; its tomato pie slices (which happen to be vegan) roll out at 11 a.m., Thursday through Sunday. The dough is lacquered with tomato sauce pre-bake, and it gets so blistered that the resulting tomato pie is leopard-spotted. For an added boost of tomato power, the bakers re-apply sauce post-bake, then warm the slices before serving. The fluffy, air pocket-ridden squares are topped with a glug of olive oil and a sprinkling of flaky sea salt. Downtime owner Dayna Evans says the pie’s popularity depends on the day — good luck on Fridays — but “I always recommend people come at 11 when it comes out just to be safe.” — Jenn Ladd

The tomato pie is one of the varieties always offered in the daily rotating array of Roman-style al taglio pan pizzas made at this charmingly intimate Italian restaurant and bakery in Fishtown from married chef-owners, baker Justine MacNeil and Ed Crochet. MacNeil’s dough is the heart of everything: The olive oil-drenched focaccia recipe ferments for nearly two days and has a dynamic puff as it bakes, its airy crumb full of stretchy bubbles and its edges crusty with a roasted snap. Each slice rises and roams into a uniquely craggy, rustic landscape, allowing the  zesty tomato puree accented with Sicilian oregano and chile flake to take on multiple personalities. During its 12-minute bake, some of the sauce roasts to a caramelized darkness around the “hills” while the rest flows through the “valleys,” forming thick pads of tomato essence that, when lean in for a bite, crack and fissure to reveal the pale, tender surface of the dough. There, the sauce and focaccia meld into a single moist micro-layer that carries a distinctive tomato pie harmony all its own. — Craig LaBan

O.G. could mean “old Gaeta’s.” Generations of Northeast Philadelphians were weaned on the thin, focaccia-like squares from this plain-looking, takeout-only bakery that started as Scalea’s on Wakefield Street in Germantown in the 1930s before relocating to Rhawnhurst, near Northeast High, in the mid-1970s. Though the original Gaeta family is long gone and it’s been through a succession of owners, nothing has changed; the flat pans still date to the ’30s. Nowadays, you’ll probably find owner Bryan Kane ladling on the rich, bright sauce from edge to edge. The key here is an overbake that gives the pies their crunchy caramelization. There’s minimal seasoning — likely cracked pepper and oregano — and cheese is optional. Consider treating yourself to a stromboli bread while you’re there. — Michael Klein

The tomato pie from Iannelli’s is a piece of South Philly history, still pulled from a 21-foot-deep brick oven built 115 years ago by Vincent Iannelli’s great uncle Robert. The recipe for its “Depression-era” sauce is nearly just as old, brought by Vincent’s grandma Mirna when she came from Italy in the 1940s. It’s a classic South Philly red gravy, but with less of the sweetness common in other variations, balanced with garlic, oregano, and Pecorino Romano. Vincent’s grandparents initially sold the sauce baked onto sliced-open Italian loaves, but the now-familiar rectangles baked in cast-iron pans quickly became the draw to this East Passyunk bakery, along with stromboli and seeded loaves. “She cursed a lot in her hard Italian accent but still always made people feel special,” Vincent says of Mirna.  Iannelli’s tomato pies remain one of the archetypes of the genre, but have become a special-event splurge. Vincent, who also does real estate, transitioned the bakery over a decade ago into a limited seasonal operation, open to the public just 15 to 20 days a year, mostly weekends between October and December. Keep an eye on its social media accounts, or try sending them a message for availability. Iannelli’s also does mail-order year-round through Goldbelly; the current price on that platform ($99 for six flash-frozen servings) is exorbitant — but $50 for a full pie fresh from the bakery, filling two 16-inch pizza boxes, is absolutely worth it. While you’re there, grab a jar of the bakery’s excellent crab gravy to complete the ultimate old-school Italian South Philly feast. — Craig LaBan

The tomato pie at this venerable Fox Chase pizzeria is on the thicker side of the spectrum, but if you were to feed one to a tomato pie classicist, they might swear they were sampling one from Gaeta’s, 10 minutes away. Joseph’s changed hands several years ago, and owners Joseph Forkin, Jimmy Lyons, and Matthew Yeck have punched up all the pizzas and sandwiches. Over the course of a year, they totally rethought the tomato pie, using Gaeta’s as an inspiration (because they’re locals and respect tradition). Made from imported tomatoes, the sauce is lightly seasoned — like the pie’s inspiration — and runs edge to edge, picking up caramelization. The key difference is the crust, which gets a pleasant chewiness from its long fermentation. — Michael Klein

This Fishtown (and West Philly and Chestnut Hill) shop is most famous for its viral kale-caesar-cutlet sandwich, but its tomato pie is such a staple on the menu that it’s also sold wholesale to restaurants and breweries. It’s wonderfully oily, with an airy crust akin to a dense focaccia, and smeared uniformly with crushed First Field Jersey tomatoes cooked down into an unguent paste. If you’re up for it, add a little side of anchovies (in this case, bright and oily boquerones) for $1.50, which give a brininess to the pie and balance the richness of its tomato paste. The combination is distinctly magical. Liberty Kitchen also sells a lightly spiced broccoli pie topped with charred broccoli and New American cheese — it tastes like a broccoli casserole married a slice of focaccia. I recommend alternating bites between each variety of pie. – Kiki Aranita

Get in line on the first floor of Bok Building for Machine Shop, which can do no wrong when it comes to anything pastry or dough. Famous for everything bagel croissants and jammy egg pastries, the boulangerie recently added tomato pie to its lineup. The puffy squares have a delightfully spongy interior and a golden, crisp bottom. They’re topped with a light tomato sauce made from Green Meadow farm tomatoes peeled and cooked down in-house, seasoned with fresh oregano. The sauce gets a spicy kick from fermented hot peppers, also from Green Meadow, sourced at their peak. Each slice gets finished with a snowfall of aged Parmesan. – Kiki Aranita

Though it gives strong South Philly vibes, this old-school family bakery is located not far off Manayunk’s main drag. Go early to have your pick of specialty breads (think elliptical loaves stuffed with pepperoni, cheese, and sauce; bacon, egg, and cheese; and tomato, garlic, and cheese) and oreganata — a savory jelly roll-esque bread ring with interior spirals coated with spices, dried herbs, and oil. But don’t even think about skipping Marchiano’s classic tomato pie, sold by the box. A puffy, tawny crust surrounds three of the four edges, while the middle lies low, generously slicked with an oregano-flecked tomato sauce that skews savory (like pizza sauce) and covered with a dense shower of Parmesan cheese. Call the bakery to special-order cheesesteak tomato pie (👀) and pies decorated with cheese-stenciled logos of your choice (Eagles, Phillies, Temple, Penn, etc.). — Jenn Ladd

The name may be New York, but the bakery is thoroughly South Philly (and cash-only). A long slab of tomato pie here is denser, saucier, and smoother than the airy loaf found at northern neighbor Sarcone’s — it’s a different style, and not at all inferior. The tomatoes are finely pureed, slicked with so much olive oil, and topped with the slightest dusting of dried, crumbled oregano. There is barely a hint of sweetness in the sauce and the crust has a lovely crunch to it, with a still-fluffy interior. Breathe in the warmth of the brick oven and feast your eyes by peeking into the flour-dusted, antique kitchen before you take your slice on the road. – Kiki Aranita

You can’t always get Paffuto’s tomato pie, or its close cousin, the grandma pie (basically tomato pie with melted American cheese and optional pepperoni). You have to wait for the weekend and elbow your way through their brunch crowd, preferably early. But the effort is worth it for their rye sourdough-based, unabashedly focaccia-like tomato pies. This positively towering pie is riddled with marvelous air pockets thanks to a lengthy overnight proof (and then some). Its tomato sauce is the same base as that of Paffuto’s panzerottis — crushed tomatoes, garlic, onions, dried oregano, and fresh basil — but cooked down to a chunky paste. The result is both old-school and new, thick and airy, like biting into a delicious, spongy cloud covered in a snow of curly shavings of Parmesan. – Kiki Aranita

Tomato pie isn’t technically on the menu at Pietramala, but it has my vote for the city’s most flavorful, and unconventional, rendition. Labeled simply as “sourdough focaccia tomato XO,” this dish is typical of the understated approach at Ian Graye’s cutting-edge vegan kitchen. He harnesses intense layers of flavor with these toasty batons of bread dolloped with tomato compote. The focaccia itself is a springboard of earthy flavors — a tangy, well-fermented cushion of local spelt flour glistening with good olive oil and a dusting of spices (nigella seeds, sesame, and poppies) and flaky sea salt. Since Pietramala is vegan, there is none of the dried seafood or bacon typical in most XO sauces; the description is nonetheless apt for the depth Graye draws from local cherry tomatoes that have been dehydrated overnight, then cooked down with toasted fennel, chili flakes, dried shiitake powder, and a musky white Penja peppercorn that Graye says tastes like pepperoni. The bread and tomatoes aren’t cooked together (as is the tomato pie tradition), which is why Graye coyly says this is “a focaccia with a tomato condiment.” But this flavor bomb blooms so vividly that the tribute is clear: “We try to get as close to it as we can without calling it what we’re trying to create.” — Craig LaBan

Pizzeria Beddia may be just as well known for its tomato pie as its pizza. Organic bread flour, sugar, salt, yeast, and extra virgin olive oil give rise to a dough that ferments for 24 hours. For the sauce, canned Jersey Fresh tomatoes combine with garlic, salt, and olive oil. Sprinkle on some Sicilian oregano. The result is everything you’d want in a tomato pie: a crunchy golden crust (I scored an end piece on a recent visit and felt like I won the lottery) and tomato sauce that seeps down into the bouncy interior of the focaccia-like slice. It’s served cold and glossy, slicked in great dashes of Arbequina olive oil. Pro tip: Order the Judion beans, which are large and buttery and come swimming in olive oil, to dip your tomato pie in, because you can never have enough olive oil. — Kiki Aranita

At first glance, a standard plain pizza from Santucci’s might look like a tomato pie — even if it isn’t. That’s because this iconic pan pizza chain is Philly’s standard-bearer for the local sauce-top style, in which a layer of mozzarella is hidden below the crimson glow of pureed tomatoes. The leap to a properly cheese-less tomato pie is slight but tricky because, for one thing, it’s not listed on the menu. You need to order a square pizza “NO mozzarella” and I’d suggest calling it in by phone rather than online to assure it’s right. Plenty of Santucci’s customers do this, the cashier reassured me. And after devouring a small, which has the benefit of all four slices being crispy corners, I can understand why. Without the cheese, you get a greater appreciation for both Santucci’s dough and sauce. The crunchy frame of the pie’s relatively thin dough shell ripples in contoured waves along its underside that vary in crispness and supple softness rarely noticed beneath the usual melted cheese. The sauce, meanwhile, reveals itself without the tempering richness of dairy to be boldly seasoned with oregano and especially garlic. That secret middle place where the dough and sauce meet and meld to form a distinct third layer, meanwhile, created a zesty confluence of tomato-infused dough that was worth it on its own.

This is the tomato pie that turned me into a tomato pie lover. If you’re lucky enough to land at Sarcone’s when their tomato pie is fresh out of the oven, your prize will be airy, warm, and squishy, with a uniquely crisp golden-brown crust. The top will be painted with a rich, sweet (but balanced) tomato paste, decorated with a smattering of dried oregano and a tiny pinch of crumbled Parmesan cheese. Sarcone’s is as old-school as it gets, having baked their legendary pies and loaves on 9th Street since 1918. — Kiki Aranita

For many Philadelphians who learned as adults that they must eat gluten-free, tomato pie can be an elusive childhood memory. Not anymore. Matt Gentile, the former Panorama chef who’s refined the art of fresh gluten-free pasta at Settantatré Pasta & Provisions, now also makes an impressive gf tomato pie, too. It won’t fool you entirely. The dough has the telltale paleness and relatively dry crumb of rice flour and psyllium husk. But it also has an impressive focaccia-like puff and air-bubble spring thanks to a good 24-hour fermentation that can be so rare in many (often-dense) gluten-free breads. Gentile’s sauce also showcases high-quality ingredients — juicy Alta Cucina tomatoes from California, plus fresh local cherry tomatoes for a seasonal brightness, good olive oil, and a touch of sweet carrots for balance — in a pulpy crimson puree that adds all the moisture and zing it needs. I shared this pie with a neighbor who’s gluten-free and he gasped with joy when I opened the box: Nostalgia instantly brought a smile to his face, followed by the palpable satisfaction of being able to eat a tasty square once again, this time minus the gluten. — Craig LaBan