South Shore Bar Pizza at Poopsie’s Is in a Class of Its Own

Before the idea of “South Shore bar pizza” (and the much-deserved enthusiasm that followed) came about, there was just “pizza,” or at least that’s what South Shore native Paul Butler recalls. Growing up in a semi-rural town about 30 miles south of Boston, the Butlers rarely dined out. But if they did, it’d be a choice between a fancy Italian place, Chinese takeout, or pizza from Poopsie’s. “I didn’t know ‘South Shore bar pizza’ was a thing until I saw them sold at [hip Somerville spot] Hot Box,” Butler says.

The fancy Italian establishment with white tablecloth-lined tables has closed; the family that ran the Chinese restaurant has moved away. But Poopsie’s remains, slinging vodka sodas, Harpoon IPA, and 10-inch pies with slightly charred, cheesy edges in an ’80s dive bar setting.

The bar pizza itself is unfussy and straightforward. It’s a 10-inch round pie with cheese and other toppings flowing from edge to edge — no border crust sees the light of day. These days, a bar pizza costs around $10 topped with cheese, and each additional topping adds $1.

It’s typically baked in a lipped, 10-inch, well-seasoned steel or cast iron pan, specialty bakeware similar to those sold by Lloyd Pans, a manufacturer of regional pizza tools that includes the square pans for Detroit-style pizza. But the diehard South Shorers prefer their pies made in the steel pans sold by Baystate Restaurant, a food service supply store in Brockton, Massachusetts, for its quality and old-timey value.

The very tip of the edges tends to be a bit burnt, which the locals endearingly refer to as “laced,” which appears on Detroit-style pizza, too. What creates that effect lies in the cheese blend that bar pizzas call for — mainly mozzarella, with a variable amount of cheddar mixed in. The fatty and nutty cheddar not only earns a South Shore bar pizza its greasy reputation but also lends a depth of flavor to the pie; it also helps distinguish it from other styles.

The crust of a bar pizza is thin and crisp but with just a touch of chewiness, between a New Haven-style coal-fired pizza and Chicago’s tavern-style thin crust. The bottom of the crust has a buttery, biscuit-like crunch, as a result of the cheddar fat seeping through the dough and mixing with the butter or shortening that greased the pan while baking.

The toppings vary; popular options include plain cheese, caramelized onions, and banana peppers, to name a few. Other standouts nod to the South Shore’s complex immigration history and the many communities that arose from it: Portuguese linguiça, Italian anchovy, Greek feta, and American “Hamburg,” which is mashed ground beef.

In recent years, more elaborate choices emerged. Poopsie’s House Special, for instance, is adorned with mushrooms, onions, pepper, and pepperoni over a bed of bubbling cheese; the buffalo chicken pie is served with a side of blue cheese for dipping. The pros know not to overdo the toppings. Butler, who now helms the kitchen of Spoke Wine Bar in Somerville, says that, depending on the toppings, ordering more than one or two could make the pizza too wet (and therefore structurally unsound) because the crust is so thin and pliant. He typically keeps it simple and gets pepperoni and cheese, a classic combo.

As an iconic dish from the South Shore, there’s no doubt that competition abounds over who makes the best bar pizza. Each spot does its pizzas slightly differently, evoking a sense of local pride. At Poopsie’s, chef Tony Malaguti ladles a dollop of tomato sauce onto the finger-pressed dough in a steel pan that tips and wobbles in the process; he then lifts up the pan and spins it in the air to spread the sauce evenly across, while some escapes to the edges and bottom of the pan to create a darker and more crispy version than the classic charred pie.

“Poopsie” is a pet name for the restaurant’s late owner Don Thompson’s wife, and the name rings a sentimental bell to residents of several South Shore communities along Route 3. It’s also a familiar stop for vacationers in the summer who grab a pint and a snack while waiting for their pies to bake on their way to weekend getaways in the Cape.

The menu is bare-bones and the wait staff fully expect you to know your order when they come to you. Regulars converse in a coded language to customize their pizzas, whether it’s “crispy” which means “a bit of extra time in the oven” or “half-baked” for to-go orders so they can finish cooking the pie in their ovens.

Customer Lindsey Mackay dug into her Yesterday’s Chili with saltine crackers and a side of vodka soda while waiting for her pies. Depending on the crowd, the pizza can take up to 45 minutes to make — something the regulars anticipate, but out-of-towners may find inconvenient. Mackay has been coming here since she was a young child, tagging along with her aunt. Back then, they’d be killing time at the storied Pac-Man machine or the jukebox. “I grew up on their pizzas, including celebrating birthdays,” she says. “I even ordered my first drink here on my 21st birthday.”

To Mackay, this is what pizzas from her childhood taste like. “I remember liking it so much that the cheese became the edge and there was the ‘frico’ that’s crispy and charred,” she says, borrowing the term used to describe the caramelized cheese on Detroit-style pizzas.

To wash down all the grease dripping from a thin slice of pie, the move is to order a pint of crisp lager or ask your bartender for another refreshing drink. Regulars at Poopsie’s like vodka sodas — a combination of a generous pour of Tito’s and soda water — which happens to be long-term employee Kevin Donlan’s favorite drink to make because it’s easy, as he puts it. Groups of customers may order a pitcher of Harpoon IPA; however, if you walk up to the bar and ask to see the Scotch selection, be prepared for a cold shoulder.

Like many people who moved away from their hometowns, Butler finds himself out of the loop from the local food scene, as some of his old haunts have closed. He resorts to Google to look for spots to eat and is often disappointed with the answers. “You get 99 Restaurant, Friendly’s, and just a lot of chains like that,” he says. “There are very few places left that give a sense of place.” Poopsie’s, like other bar pizza spots that remain, is a refuge for those who seek out a true taste of the South Shore.

Additional photo illustration credits: Original photography by Justin Kelleher; additional photos from Getty.