This Pizza-On-Wheels Pop-Up Roams the East Bay’s Streets

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ALAN CHAZARO: I get the sense that Urelio’s is a tribute to someone important in your life. What’s your connection to that name?

SAM CICCARELLI: That’s my great-grandfather’s name. He used to live in Modesto on our family ranch and we’d go to his house for big family gatherings. Full tables of pasta, salad, tri-tip. My earliest food memories were always at his house as a central gathering place. It felt proper to pay respect to him and the atmosphere he curated for the family. His parents immigrated here from Italy, first to San Jose, then Modesto. Back then, they had a family farm that grew almonds and walnuts. Urelio lived on that farm throughout his life, and now my grandfather lives on the ranch. They sold the orchards but still live on the property.

Did you grow up in Modesto as well?

I grew up in Modesto, but a lot of our family lives in the Bay Area. I spent summers in San Francisco at my aunt and uncle’s apartment, right near Ghirardelli Square. I would skate around there and eat food. It left a big impression on me. I’ve been fortunate to travel to other places, but every time I visit a new city it makes me reflect on how much I love the Bay and want to invest in this community. My partner, Rosie, feels the same. We’ve both always wanted to have a restaurant in San Francisco, and that’s still our goal.

You began by working at restaurants in New York City, and later at Chez Panisse in Berkeley. What was your role there, and what drew you towards pizza making?

My role changed quite a bit at Chez over my four years there. I was an intern at first, then I worked the line — the pizza oven, the grill, the salad station. I always loved pizza. My first job ever was at a place in Modesto that served tapas and pizza. We always ordered pizza there, and it was owned by family friends. I had never really thought too much about making it, though, until I had exposure at Chez. My partner Rosie and I met while working there. When we went on dates, she’d always take us out to pizza places. I realized later on that she was listening to me more than I was listening to myself, since I always talked about pizza.

During the pandemic, when Chez began doing a marketplace because of shelter in place, there came a time when we were going to do pizzas, and the chefs asked me to help get that off the ground. To go from not working with food for months and then being in front of the oven again, starting fires, making pizzas every day, it was a major outlet that I wanted to focus on. Pizza is such a common ground for people. It’s approachable for anyone.

Have you ever been to Italy?

I still have family there along the Adriatic in a tiny fishing village. They visited us about 10 years ago. I’ve been to Europe and interned at Noma in Copenhagen, but I actually haven’t been to Italy yet. We’re due to visit it soon and plan to go on our honeymoon.

You operate Urelio’s from a mobile oven attached to a modified Ford F-250 truck. Tell me about the oven — and about the truck — and how it all came together for you.

I knew I really wanted to make pizza and was thinking of a way to get our product out. In a world with a lot of pizza makers doing similar things, I was thinking of doing something different. I’ve always liked classic stuff — old cars, things like that. At first I was thinking of making a pizza trailer, but I’d seen that, and I didn’t even have a trailer. But my family used to have a Ford truck on the family ranch. It’s a simple, clean look. I wondered about building an oven on a truck like that. It’s one of the only vehicles that can actually hold the weight. So I bought [a Ford F-250] from a dairy farmer in Petaluma. That was the first piece for us, and then we conceptualized the oven.

How does one build and install a pizza oven on a truck?

It’s a lot of work. I bought the core of the oven precast, and we mounted it onto the truck bed and built from there. What goes into building it, you can use a steel core or refractory cement. There’s a specific one I love from Italy. The floor is one piece so there’s no cracks, and it’s better for heat retention and not allowing cold spots. I have no masonry experience, so I couldn’t cast it myself. So you can buy the core and the internal dome. You get about 1,200 pounds of oven. Then you do the rest: a plate on the bottom, vibration isolators under that. You weld a mold around it to hold it all in place. We used aircraft cables over that. It’s fully on the plate. It’ll only come off with a forklift if I unbolt it first.

I have another job, so it was a lot to do whenever we could. My friend who helped would come over after his job, and then we’d work on the oven at night with headlamps. It took about two months to build it and make it usable. It was a great workout for the tendons in my wrist and arms that I never even knew I had.

It seems laborious, but clearly the results are delicious. What draws you to the grind of making wood-fired pizzas without taking any shortcuts?

I love the romance of it. It feels primal to take a fire in an oven and tend it through the day and then try to control it and make a product that already can be wild, especially when it’s naturally leavened. There’s levels to the details you have to pay attention to. Like making art. If you throw too many logs, the temperature spikes and it won’t come out right. There’s a delicate balance, and I feel connected to that craft. Using fire was one of the first ways pizza was made in Naples. I think it’s cool to be connected to those roots. There’s always tweaks to be made, but if it’s just right — the proofing, the fire, the balanced toppings, a crispy oven bake, the timing — it feels perfect. It’s too nice of an end product to be okay with anything less than that.

On weeknights my family usually just orders Little Caesars, but I appreciate the artistry and delicacy of the craft.

There’s a place for everything. I love all pizza. I’ll eat it all. That’s the fun thing. There are so many pizza genres. They’re all different kinds of expressions. I personally just love the wood fire. Starting the fire every morning is so peaceful. You continually stoke it for the entire day. It’s a careful balance. You might notice the oven dipping, so you have to choose a certain size of log. Or it might be too intense and you have to scale back. I have to split logs ahead of time and sort them by size at home, and then I stack them in a certain way by the truck so I know which ones to use depending on what the fire needs when I’m on the line. If there are lots of customers that day and I have to pump out more pizzas, I’ll toss in the biggest log. Those kinds of things. It’s a fun challenge.

What are your thoughts on the Bay Area’s pizza scene overall, and who — besides yourself — makes your favorite pies?

The Bay Area is having a pizza moment right now. There’s lots of attention on it. Rosie and I love going to Rose Pizzeria in Berkeley. It’s a cozy family spot with tasty stuff and great wine. I also enjoy Outta Sight Pizza in the Tenderloin. It’s a slice shop. Super cool. It’s run by some skaters, and I used to skateboard, so I like that connection between pizza makers and people into skating, punk, surfing. I feel that connection and admire seeing it from afar. I also love Pollara, although I heard they’re moving back to New Jersey. Oh, and Delfina. That’s a classic San Franciscan spot I ate at growing up. One of the people who trained me at Chez worked there for a long time. It’s sentimental.