I Ate My Way Across The Tulsa Metro To Find The Best Thin Crust Pizza

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Some folks wax poetic about wood-fired bubbles, crave a twisty sourdough chew, and yearn for pizzas so thick they require a forklift. Most pizza crusts are made to rise, but this story is about the pies that stay humble. This isn’t your chewy sourdough, wood-fired, burnt-bubble crust discourse. This is for those of us who want to eat an entire large pizza and still feel emotionally nimble. 

Chicago-style thin (yes, thin) or tavern-style crust pizza was born in the back rooms of Midwestern watering holes, where they were cut into ticky-tacky squares, served on a cocktail napkin, and chased with a longneck brew. It’s blue-collar pizza: unleavened, unfussy, un-foldable, where toppings cling to the surface like survivors of a shipwreck. And it’s surprisingly hard to find in a town dominated by Neapolitan bubbles and pan pizza pies.

For the crunchy queens, the cracker crust crowd, the tavern-style truthers, I’ve cast my net wide across the Tulsa metro in search of that snap. Some of these local pizza parlors are nostalgic, beloved mainstays; others are hidden storefronts with fluorescent lighting and strip-mall signage. Here is my super-serious rating system:

Thin Crust Pizza Rating System
(1 to 5 points per category + Ranch Bonus)

• Crust: Is it ultra-thin and crackly? Any sog? Does it hold up under pressure?
• Sauce: Tang, depth. Is it too sweet? Too shy? 
• Toppings: Quality, cut, coverage, cling factor. 
• Vibe: From booths to birthday energy. Bonus points for solariums and gumball machines.
• Extra Points: Ranch Dressing. I’m dead serious. Good ranch can tip the scale. This is my pizza party; you can cry if you want to.

The Pizza Shoppe
13161 S. Memorial Dr., Bixby, OK

Crust: 4 
Sauce: 4 
Toppings: 5 
Vibe: 5
Ranch: 3.5

If thou seeketh thy crunch, point thy steed south on Riverside and keep riding ‘til Bixby. There, in a nondescript strip mall, lies a door of dark-stained wood—a rare architectural signal that good pizza awaits. Inside, The Pizza Shoppe leans full Midwest medieval chic with suits of armor, rampant lion shields, bathrooms marked “Damsels” and “Knights,” and a back room replete with arcade games that has surely hosted many a birthday. I asked about the King Arthur’s Court decor. No one knew why. I didn’t press. Some mysteries are better left unsolved. Besides, the pizza is the real queen here.

A trusty chum had told me about this spot, and he was 110% correct about its stellar thin crust. We ordered one of the Shoppe’s specialty pizzas, The Roundtable (medium $15.79), a maximalist beast topped with hamburger, pork sausage, Canadian bacon, pepperoni, green peppers, mushrooms, black olives, and onion. An avalanche of cheese covers the toppings, which gives it a gratinéed golden armor while the meats and veggies steam in a savory sauna underneath.

The crust is sturdy without flaking into dust and lends a nice cracker snap, with golden “pizza bones” perfect for dipping in their demure Ranch dressing. The Pizza Shoppe nails the tavern-style ideal—crunchy crust, proportional toppings that stay put, with a vibe that evokes a faraway yet familiar nostalgia.

D’Oro Pizza
6380 E. 31st St. #E, Tulsa, OK

Crust: 3.5 
Sauce: 3 
Toppings: 5 
Vibe: 3.5
Ranch: 0 (Forgotten Sauce ☹)

Located in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it strip mall near 31st & Sheridan, D’Oro is a carry-out-only spot that channels its savings on overhead into a seriously stacked ingredient list. This place is a sleeper agent for pizza nerds, offering fresh mozzarella, portobello mushrooms, sun-dried tomatoes, smoked gouda … you get the idea. 

I am a sucker for fresh mozz, so I wanted to see what their baseline small cheese pizza ($10.99) would be. I also ordered the small Supreme Knockout Deluxe ($13.99), which came fully loaded with pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, green peppers, and onions. D’Oro’s crust is different from other contenders: still thin, still crisp, but not quite “cracker.” There’s no rim or “pizza handle” to speak of—just edge-to-edge topping commitment, with a beefier crunch and a heftier chew that held the mountain of toppings like a champ.

Cheese-on-top format? Yes, chef. Great melt. Great golden-brown. Toppings were high quality. The sausage was zesty. Veggies kept their texture. But the sauce is where this one lost a few points. It leans sweet, more noticeable on the cheese pizza, more tolerable (even pleasant) with the bolder toppings. Ranch was requested, but was forgotten, saving me from my own worst instincts. Still, if you’re craving upscale build-your-own options with thin crust integrity, D’Oro’s your girl. Just … maybe explore their other sauce options.

The Minuteman Pizza Parlor
7 W. 41st St., Sand Springs, OK

Crust: 5 
Sauce: 2 
Toppings: 5 
Vibe: 4 
Ranch: 3

The Minuteman Pizza Parlor tips its tricorne hat to the Sand Springs school district’s mascot and never once breaks character. This place is a full-on colonial fever dream: Founding Father quotes on the walls, patriotic signage, dad jokes in suspiciously Comic Sans-like fonts. 

Inside, you’ll find gingham tables, gumball machines, huge booths, and a vibe that screams “childhood birthday party with a side of libertarianism.” FOX News might be playing on one of the TVs, but the energy is more grandpa’s garage than political rally. It’s a multigenerational hangout spot. When I visited, the back party room had just wrapped a Chamber of Commerce meeting.

And the pizza? Legit. Crust is A++ top-tier—lacquered with a deep crisp, it reheats like a leftover dream. My friend who alerted me to this place years ago led the charge on the order with several toppings (medium create your own $16.99, $1.99 veggies, $2.49 meats). The sausage and hamburger were plump and savory, the mushrooms had bounce (important), and the olives weren’t squishy. This is a cheese-on-top setup and the result is gorgeous. The only hitch is the sauce—it’s sweet. Like, sweet-sweet. But toss on some jalapeños or pepperoni and it may find its footing. 

Minuteman is proudly weird, proudly local, and slinging damn fine thin crust. You may not agree with its taste in cable news, but the pizza is worth crossing party lines.

Hideaway Pizza
1419 E. 15th St., Tulsa, OK

Crust: 4
Sauce: 4
Toppings: 5
Vibe: 5
Ranch: 4.5 

Born in the psychedelic heatwaves of Stillwater, Oklahoma, Hideaway mixes collegiate dorm room energy with statewide empire swagger. Think tie-dye, pizza, and a very specific type of Grateful Dead uncle energy. The Cherry Street location feels like a lake cabin owned by someone with both a Deadhead heart and a great bourbon collection. It’s whimsical. It’s wonderful. It’s uniquely Oklahoman.

Hideaway was one of my final stops on my journey, and I went rogue: I ordered a small ($13.39) Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza on the thinnest crust they offered. Judge me if you must, but I regret nothing. Hideaway is a toppings-on-top outfit, and the gods approve. The Canadian bacon crisped at the edges, the pineapple held its shape and sweetness, and the sauce? Mellow on the couch, chill AF. The crust is … different. Still thin. Still crisp. But there’s something pillowy about it. You expect a shatter and get a snuggle. 

To compare Hideaway’s Ranch to Ken’s (spoiler: the greatest) is like comparing a prima ballerina to a UFC fighter. Hideaway’s Ranch is graceful. Balanced. Probably trained in Paris. This pie is a fan favorite for a reason, and the stellar happy hour specials in their bar don’t hurt. 

Ken’s Pizza
750 E. Taft Ave., Sapulpa, OK

Crust: 4 
Sauce: 5 
Toppings: 5 
Vibe: 5 
Ranch: 5

Before there was Mazzio’s, there was the OG, the blueprint: Ken’s Pizza. Ken Selby, a beloved Tulsa schoolteacher who moonlighted as a pizzaiolo, opened his first shop in 1961, and by 1965, Ken’s Pizza was born, eventually spawning an empire that now spans nine states. Only a few original Ken’s locations remain, and one of them lives in Sapulpa, the city riding shotgun alongside Highway 75.

The interior is a glorious time warp, with wood paneling, amber booths, vintage Sapulpa ephemera, even a solarium. I half expected someone to offer me a Tab. I’m not here for the vibes, though. I’m here to see if the Ken’s Pizza crust holds up to the other contenders in town. In fact, I made this my final stop, only because I’ve had many, many, many pizzas from Mazzio’s, née Ken’s. How do they hold up under deeper scrutiny? 

I ordered up a hefty medium Ken’s Supreme Pizza ($16.49) to put the crust through its paces. Cracker-thin and golden, strong enough to support the generous loadout of pepperoni, sausage, green peppers, mushrooms, and red onion, it was the perfect specimen. Ken’s is, like Hideaway, a toppings-on-top operation, which means everything gets a little roasty-toasty instead of being steamed into submission under the cheese. At the end of this tour, I can say with confidence that this setup is my preference. The veggies are caramelized, and the fat from the meat is rendered.

The crust is also a pure cracker-style: golden, crisp, and breakable, but sturdy enough to carry a Supreme without losing structural integrity. But the real icon here is the sauce. Ken’s spicy red gravy is unlike anything else I tasted on this tour—zippy, herbaceous, just the right amount of kick. And their Ranch? Devastating. Thicc, zesty, revered. Honestly, it’s the gold standard. Ken’s Pizza transcends trends and has established itself as a full-fledged Oklahoma tradition. 

I didn't expect to truck all around Tulsa County in pursuit of this apparently niche crust style, but I was even more surprised by how hyper-local every spot felt. Each restaurant is beloved in its own way and clearly part of the town's personal pizza lore. 

It reminded me that pizza—especially this kind of pizza—is deeply local. Every slice carries someone's idea of what a perfect bite should be, each serving something a little different. And even when a pie wasn’t my favorite, I could still feel the pride behind it. So, I encourage you to stretch your crust boundaries. Follow Riverside all the way south. Roam beyond your midtown bubble. Go eat pizza in a zip code you haven’t visited since 2009. You’ll meet folks who are proud of their pie, who are happy you're there, and who are absolutely going to ask if you need a to-go box.