9 Frozen Grocery-Store Supreme Pizzas, Ranked Worst To Best

Imagine, if you will, a classic American farm. It has everything: fresh vegetables like onions, peppers, and beautiful, ripe tomatoes. It's got chickens in the hen-house and pigs in the wallow, and up in the barn, cousin Jed is milking the cows for what will eventually become fine, aged cheese. Now imagine all of that, including the cow, piled on a pizza.

Behold the Supreme, a pizza that is giving farm to table a whole new definition. The perfect dinner for people who just can't make up their minds, Supreme pizzas pack a whole country kitchen's worth of the best pizza toppings of all time onto one — often oversized — pizza. It's not a pizza for the faint of heart, it's a pizza for the bold of spirit and the empty of stomach.

But since not everyone has a farm at their immediate disposal, buying a frozen Supreme pizza from the grocery store and cooking it up at home is the next best option. Luckily, there are plenty of options to choose from, as most major frozen pizza makers include the ever-popular Supreme among the standard offerings. Which of these is the best, though? And which should be relegated to pig feed? Ring the dinner bell and tell Jed to fire up the oven, because we're about to find out.

Nostalgia is a heck of a drug. When I was a kid, my parents joined a candlepin bowling league. They would give me a couple of bucks to entertain and feed myself while they bowled. The bowling alley didn't have much of a menu, but they did have pizza, of a sort. In between spraying the rental shoes, employees would fire up a toaster over and plunk in a frozen pizza rectangle that I would choke down between games of Ms. Pac-Man.

Fast forward to today, and Ellio's is keeping that tradition alive as the only frozen pizza that can authentically recreate the experience of having dinner in a dank 1980s bowling alley. Calling its Supreme pizza "Supreme" is like putting lipstick on a pig. Though the box advertises the regular list of Supreme ingredients, such as pepper and pepperoni, I was hard pressed to distinguish any flavors other than the signature plasticky cheese strands and that slab they sat on, which is less like a pizza crust and more akin to piece of particle board made from pressed cardboard shavings.

To be fair, the sausage did have a bit of kick that allowed it to stand out. But was this pizza good? No. Was it food? Debatable. Would I still eat Ellio's instead of any of these better pizzas anyway? Probably. But I'm cursed with nostalgia. You don't have to be.

Red Baron actually offered two different Supreme options at the grocery store I visited — the full sized "Brick Oven Crust," and a smaller personal deep dish variant. I'm with Jon Stewart, though: Deep dish isn't a pizza, it's a casserole. And since this is all about finding the best Supreme pizza, I went with the Brick Oven Crust, even though I am not cooking my pizzas in a brick oven. Sorry, Baron von Richthofen.

Turns out that crust was kind of no big deal. If anything, I found it to be a little bit overly chewy, and while the seasoning on the crust was fine, it was also forgettable. I also found that the cheese was a bit lost as well. Both were overwhelmed by the high spiciness level of the pizza. The sauce was seasoned quite strongly, and combined with strong spiciness from both the pepperoni and sausage, the pizza became a bit one note. Of all the pizzas I tried for this experiment, Red Baron's spice level lasted with me the longest, with a noticeable burning in the back of my throat that lingered for a while.

If you're a fan of some zing to your pizza, Red Baron may be for you. But for me, it overshadowed any other flavor notes in the profile in a way that made the whole less than the sum of its parts. Too bad.

Let's talk about crust expectations. Unless otherwise specified, I expect when I buy a frozen pizza that it will have your bog standard crust: not too deep, not too thin, just normal. Like Goldilocks would make. Tony's Supreme pizza defies those expectations. The crust here is much closer to a thin crust, though you would have almost no way of knowing it from the packaging. The only hint is a blurb comparing it to a competitor's thin crust pizza. Yet, this isn't truly thin either. True, it came out of the oven with a thin, crisp bottom layer, but that was below another thin but much doughier layer.

That's not to say the crust was bad, but confusing your mouth isn't the first thing a pizza should do. The crust also may have suffered a bit from the cooking instructions. As with all of the pizzas, I followed the instructions down to the exact second and degree, yet unlike most of the others, Tony's came out decidedly overcooked as a result.

What did it taste like? At first, it ate like a solid cheese pizza, as the crust, sauce, and cheese with the primary notes. Right at the end, though, was an intriguing twist, a sudden flash of flavors as the pepperoni, veggies, and especially the sausage all combined into one quick burst before disappearing again. It was an all too brief glimpse at what could have been a better — and more accurately scaffolded — Supreme pizza.

They say you eat with your eyes first, and gazing upon the frozen DiGiorno Supreme pizza, my eyes were left hungry. Peppers, onions, pepperoni, all accounted for. But where was the sausage? It seemed destined to go down as one of history's big mysteries, right alongside the location of Carmen Sandiego.

Unlike Carmen, though, the sausage was found. But the flavor experience was similar to the visual experience. Yes, there's sausage on the pizza, and it has a pleasant level of spiciness, but you have to look for it. It's especially drowned out by the saltiness of the pepperoni. That's pepperoni's job on this pizza, of course, but it was like the coworker that takes credit for the group project; whatever sausage was contributing, it was literally lost in the sauce. Still, that's more than can be said for the onions and peppers, which might as well have been completely absent for all they mattered. 

Not to say that the pizza was all bad, or bad at all; actually, it was a nice bite thanks to the soft and tasty crust, which blended well with the sauce and cheese. And the fact that some of the toppings were in short supply wasn't all bad either — it actually lent a pleasant variance to the eating experience, as each bite was a little bit different from the last. Solid, but a bit disappointing, especially coming from a brand as respected as DiGiorno's.

As with Red Baron, Screamin' Sicilian had two different Supreme pizzas available at my local grocer: a full size version with a regular crust, or a personal Supreme pizza with a thin crust. I opted for the thin crust to see whether or not it could hold up as a vehicle for all of the toppings that come on a Supreme pizza. I'm calling your bluff, Screamin' Sicilian. Bring the thunder!

Except, it turns out Screamin' Sicilian wasn't bluffing. The crust was crisp, crunchy, and sturdy. The bottom also had an interesting dimpled texture that may have helped it avoid being burnt. Either way, there were no concessions made to the fact that this was both thin crust and personal size. The pizza was still piled high with toppings, though it must be said that the ratio was skewed heavily towards meat. This was not a bad thing, however, as the sausage was maybe the primer driver of flavor; unlike many of its competitors, Screamin' Sicilian didn't skimp on the sausage. This was a meat stack like your granddad told you about.

There's also extra good news for those who want a little more to eat than this little pizza can deliver: According to its website, Screamin' Sicilian also offers a full size thin crust Supreme pizza, though availability may vary be region. Still, getting a pizza this good at full size is something that's worth shouting about.

When you have a name like Wild Mike's, you better back it up. And Wild Mike's Supreme pizza delivers with the most out of the (pizza) box thinking ever seen: This dude added black olives. The creativity doesn't end with olives as a pizza topping, either. You'll also find two packets of seasoning included with the pizza, one with red pepper, and the other with "Italian Seasoning." There are no instructions on how to use them, though, so it's unclear whether the pizza is intended to be eaten with the seasoning, or if the seasoning is simply optional for the truly daring diner. Wild Mike, you've done it again.

In the name of science, I ended up putting the seasoning on half the pizza so I could test with and without. First, the pizza itself: The olives actually did add just a tinge of flavor that pleasantly cut through the richness of the cheese and the saltiness of the pepperoni. The crust was nicely balanced, crunchy on the bottom but soft and deep on the top. And the sauce was pleasantly spicy even without the added seasoning.

The seasoning did add a richness of flavor, especially the Italian spices. For me, the addition of the red pepper was maybe a bridge too far, but if you like some extra kick, go for it. It won't diminish what was, overall, a very good pizza.

The exciting adventure of any thin crust pizza is never quite knowing how the baking process is going to affect the pie. Just a few seconds too long, and you've got a burnt frisbee of dough that's closer in texture to a thick papadam than pizza. Undercook it and you've got the opposite problem: a floppy tortilla bending and flexing under the weight of pizza toppings.

Thankfully, Newman's Own Supreme pizza split the difference perfectly. The crust was firm, not floppy, while the marginally thicker outer edge crisped up beautifully to provide a nice crunchy contrast with the rest of the pizza. And the rest of the pizza was good. Unlike many of the other Supreme pizzas, where the peppers and onions were almost completely lost, here the peppers in particular stood out by providing a different textural component. The flavor on the pepperoni and sausage was nice, if not very spicy. And there was also enough sauce, which I find can often be an issue with thin crust pizzas. Not here.

By building its Supreme pizza on a thin crust, Newman's Own really stood out compared to the crowd. It might not be the Supreme pizza you reach for every time, but when you want something a bit different, it delivers without compromising on flavors.

Detroit has given the world many treasures: Eminem, Motown, and the first three-colored traffic light. It also introduced humanity to Detroit-style pizza, which has quickly become one of America's favorite styles. Enter Motor City Pizza Co., which brings Detroit-style pizzas into your kitchen by way of your local grocery store.

If you don't know what Detroit-style means, it will become obvious as soon as you open the immense box, which seems bigger than some New York apartments. It needs to be, because inside is a vast pizza inside a deep, square tray. Both the pizza and tray go straight into the oven together so that the pizza bakes in its own juices.

If this sounds perilously close to deep dish, don't worry. The result is actually closer to a Sicilian-style pizza, as the base is a thick, focaccia-like bread made with olive oil. And this crust is the star: It has a nice crunchy bottom (and edges), but the center is thick and deliciously bready. It also helps the topping shine through, largely because — unlike many other Supreme pizzas I tried — the vegetables aren't diced into tiny little bits, but are instead given much larger representation. As a result, the ratio is much more balanced, especially compared to the pepperoni, which often takes over the flavor profile by dint of being the largest topping. Here, though, everything is well represented, giving the pizza a flavor balance that shines through. Top marks again, Detroit.

The box for Freschetta's Supreme pizza calls it "kitchen fresh pizza," with a large blurb on the back touting the crust in particular as an example of how pizza should be made. Based on my experience eating it, I'm surprised to admit that sometimes there really is truth in advertising, because this crust was rad. It was deep and rich: The bottom was firm without being overly hard, with a thick soft layer of perfectly plush dough, while the outer edge had a crisp snap to it.

The fact that the crust was matched by the other ingredients is more than a bonus. The sauce was also plentiful and flavorful, if just a bit too spicy for my personal taste. That's because the spice wasn't needed given that both the pepperoni and the sausage also had a nice bite to them. The sausage was also juicy and moist, while the pepperoni had perhaps gotten just a bit overcooked. That actually worked in the pizza's favor, though, as the burnt edges of the pepperoni gave the pizza a crunch that worked as a textural compliment to the other ingredients.

The cheese, which looked to have a thick, farm cut, was also unctuous and nicely melty, though some bits that strayed onto the rim got burnt black. That actually helped with the presentation, though. If there was one nitpick, it's just that perfection takes time. At 26 to 30 minutes, this had the longest prep, but it was worth it.

The first consideration for ensuring a balanced playing field was preparation. In order to judge these pizzas fairly, I followed the baking instructions on the box precisely as labeled, down to the exact temperature and timing. In cases where the instructions gave a range for timing, I chose the middle of that range. There were a couple pizzas that had more steps to the baking process, such as checking if the cheese was golden brown, or leaving it to cool for five minutes before eating. In each instance, I followed these directions to a T. 

Once it was time to actually eat the pizza, I then evaluated each pie on a number of criteria, scoring them on each individual ingredient, including the crust, sauce, and cheese. I also gave each pizza a rating based on a complete bite. Additionally, I factored in nutritional information, though I did not give it as much weight as the other categories; people generally don't eat Supreme pizzas if they are worried about nutrition, but if a pie had nutritional values outside the range of what could realistically be expected, I noted this.

Once each of these pies had been sampled and scored, I totaled up the subscores to arrive at a final number for each pizza, which in turn provided the final ranking. All hail the new Supreme of the Supreme!