A pizza shop with snow on the windows.
Coast started with a single deck oven, a sourdough starter that rode up from Seattle in a cooler, and a stubborn idea: that a mountain town deserves a pizza shop that feels like the mountain.
We opened on a Tuesday. The first night a road crew came in caked in slush and asked for "whatever's hot." We've been making whatever's hot ever since.
The dough is hand-mixed and cold-fermented for 48 hours. The sauce is San Marzano, crushed by hand, no sugar. Mozzarella from a small dairy outside Palmer. Pepperoni that cups and chars the way it's supposed to. None of it is complicated. All of it is on purpose.
Built for the locals.
Half our regulars work on the mountain. The other half are passing through — fishermen heading to Seward, climbers driving up to Anchorage, families on the way to Portage Glacier. We try to feed everybody well and send them out the door with grease on their fingers and a box on the dashboard.
That's the whole thing. That's Coast.
Pizza after adventure.
come muddy. stay late.