Recently, one third of the Stamford Pizza Tour found itself halfway across the world in the company of two seasoned guest judges and an enthusiastic newbie in search of a pizza to put through the wringer.

As luck would have it, two of the aforementioned guest judges had already logged quite a bit of time on the Barcelona food beat (going so far as to embark on their own, website-less, scorecard-less bravas tour, no less) and were able to point the Tour in the direction of Neapolitan Authentic Pizza, or N.A.P.

Establishment. As is the case with many restaurants in big cities, this place is tiny and the parking is horrendous (to give you an idea, it was a good 3300 mile hike from the car). The most striking thing about this particular locale is its simplicity: the restaurant is clean, the seating is comfortable, and the service is quick. That’s it and that’s all. The menu highlights little other than pizza (check those prices, no complaints here!), offering minimal salad and antipasto options as complements to the eponymous star of the show.

Pizza. Our pies of choice were a classic marinara (tomate, ajo, aceite de oliva, oregano, albahaca—translate it yourselves, kids, this is a cultured blog), a similarly classic Regina (cherry tomatoes, mozzarella de bufala, aceite de oliva, albahaca, parmesano), and a meat-laden heart-stopper that I can’t seem to find on the menu because I think it was a special.

To say the least, these pizzas are all fantastic. Now, it might be the wine talking (for €11, how could we not throw back a bottle…or two) but this pie could really stand up to the best of them. On top of a light and airy, yet perfectly charred crust, this pizza combines some of the best quality ingredients we’ve ever tasted on a pie including rich, delicious cheeses and fresh, house-grown herbs.

The sauce was very light and subtle—both in quantity and taste—which tends to fall into the background, especially up against the richness of a true to form buffalo mozzarella and the phenomenal showcase of Spain’s finest cured meats that you see above. The meat-topped pie also begins to reveal some minor textural shortcomings, overwhelming a delicate pie with an inherent heft and saltiness that throws off the overall balance a bit. That said, each pie had incredible merits and for what it’s worth, this is all we left behind:

Bottom line. If you’re in Barcelona and have somehow stumbled upon the Stamford Pizza Tour, go to N.A.P. and you’ll be happy you found us. Then drop us a postcard or something and let us know how you found us.

Establishment: 22/30
Pizza: 25/30
Hits the Spot: 9.3/10 
Large cheese: €5.50 (355 mm) [$7.20 (14")]

Located amidst ritzy trinket shops and shoe stores in the heart of New Canaan, Pinocchio Pizza bills itself as “the crown jewel of the five pizza restaurants owned by the DiFabio brothers,” and has been featured prominently on B-level syndicated daytime television for its employees’ pizza chucking “skills.” While we’re sure they can stretch dough with the best of them, we’re here to judge whether or not they can cook it.

Establishment. Pinocchio Pizza is a quaint, welcoming dine-in establishment in the otherwise cold, black heart of New Canaan. Offering take-out and delivery options in addition to its small but comfortable dining room, Pinocchio is about as traditional a pizzeria as you’ll find in these parts with its quick, smart-assed table service, relatively family friendly atmosphere, and respectable assortment of by-the-slice offerings. The menu consists primarily of Italian fare, soups, salads, overpriced (in New Canaan they just call this “priced”) pasta dishes and Italian dinners as well as traditional and gourmet variations of pizza. Additionally, the menu gushes about Pinocchio being featured on TV, its chefs being members of the World Pizza Champions (America’s premier pizza team, of course) and its pizzas winning countless awards at the 2008 North American Pizza (and Ice Cream) Show in Columbus, OH (where they know plenty about pizza, we’re sure…)

Pizza. Pinocchio is known for one thing: lying. If Pinocchio himself (the good one, not the awful Roberto Benigni one) told you that this was a good pizza, or anything resembling a good pizza, he’d end up looking like this:

This pizza was as ill-conceived as casting your 50-year-old self to play a school-aged puppet/real boy. Pinocchio’s pie features a puffy, chewy, breadlike crust that’s difficult to chew and near impossible to taste. The cheese, billed as being from the mid-western king of cheeses, Grande, was pretty good aside from it being a bit salty and there being twice as much of it as there needed to be. The sauce was by far the strongest element of this pie (which isn’t saying much, we know), with a clean taste of fresh, tangy tomatoes and traditional Italian flavors. The problem here, is that the pizza was dominated so violently by the bland, spongy crust, the excess cheese, and an overall heavy, cumbersome texture, that the sauce was almost a non-factor. Hot out of the oven, this pizza was so incoherent and sloppy that we were all eating with forks. Further, our topping of choice, sausage, added a completely unnecessary saltiness and the stale taste of mop water to this horrible pie, doing nothing to complement the other “flavors” present. Sure, the guys at Pinocchio Pizza might be very well-versed in their “pizza skills,” but if they are, cooking a good pie is certainly not in their repertoire.

The bottom line. Beware the smoke and mirrors, Pinocchio’s victory in the North American Pizza (and Ice Cream) Show is not at all reflective of how terrible this bready mess of a pie is; maybe they won “Most Improvement Needed.”

Establishment: 19/30
Pizza: 14/30
Hits the Spot: 4.5/10
Large Cheese: $13.99

Located on Wall St. in Norwalk, Fat Cat Pie Co. is a newcomer to Norwalk’s anemic pizza scene with a bit of a following. Priding itself on an extensive wine list, a vast artisanal cheese selection, and super thin crust pizzas incorporating fresh organic ingredients, Fat Cat Pizza Co. is certainly different from many, if not all, of the pizzerias we’ve reviewed until now.

Establishment. We were met at Fat Cat Pie Co. by sprawling, minimalist bar and dining areas, decked out with hardwood floors, dark painted ceilings, IKEA-esque furnishings and extremely dim lighting bordering on uncomfortable darkness. The decor is rather stark and generally nonexistent, giving the restaurant a very clean, antiseptic feel and the look of an expensive loft of someone without the time to unpack. Needless to say, there’s a lot of wall for all sorts of dining sounds to bounce off of, and while even we were having some trouble hearing our otherwise attentive and helpful waiter on a not-so-crowded evening, we can only imagine how impossible conversation is when the place is hopping on a Friday night. Fat Cat’s menu was predictably bare (we’re sensing a theme here), consisting of pizzas and salads as well as cheese plate appetizers, mildly enticing deserts (like cookies with whipped cream; exorbitantly priced, but probably still delicious), and a reasonably priced, very unique beer and wine selection.

Pizza. Our pizzas of choice were a plain cheese pie (don’t do this), one topped with house-made sausage, and one with eggplant and fresh, chopped red onions. It’s rather interesting that this restaurant calls itself Fat Cat, as this was the thinnest freaking pizza we’ve ever eaten with a crust no thicker than a Mission tortilla and barely half the flavor. Cooked to a crisp, cracker-like consistency, Fat Cat’s crust is laughingly brittle and would easily shatter if dropped. The sauce—likely a conservative splash of crushed organic tomatoes and not much else—was about as bland as the decor, with little to no distinguishable taste and barely enough of it on any given pie to even lend itself to the overall texture. Fortunately, the cheese was a more-than-passable fresh, organic mozzarella with a satisfying snap and almost smoky notes that was disappointingly underportioned on two of our pizzas (one of them being the plain cheese pie).

However, Fat Cat Pie Co. really came through on the topping front, as both the house-made (!) sausage and eggplant toppings added much-needed flavors to pizzas that were essentially built as vehicles for these additions (as such, the plain cheese pie was an abomination). Also worth mentioning are the spice caddies that follow each pie to the table, complete with the basics (black pepper, red pepper, chili powder) and some less traditional toppers (Turkish and Bangkok seasonings) that, while unique, only hammers home the point that Fat Cat is more about gimmicky toppings and spices than a quality by-the-book pizza.

The bottom line. Fat Cat Pie Co. makes a super-thin, underflavored, overpriced, gimmicky edible plate of a pizza that is only as good as the toppings offered and made us stare longingly at the conversely huge salads (which doesn’t ever happen).

Establishment: 22/30
Pizza: 14/30
Hits the Spot: 3/10
Large Cheese: $9.00 (13")