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")]

We’ve been trying to check out ZAZA for quite some time now. Since meandering through the doors of the yet-to-open restaurant back in May, we’ve stopped by only to be turned elsewhere by huge crowds, long waits, and the will of the famed Pizza Tour fedora. But at long last, we finally found the time to venture over to the former home of 122 Pizza Bistro for one of Stamford’s newest (at least relatively speaking) pies.

Establishment. ZAZA never struck us as a traditional pizzeria, mostly because it isn’t one. It’s a “gastrobar” by name, with all that it entails: a mozzarella tasting menu, Italian tapas, a huge wine bar, trendy clientele, and a lot of dark paint and red leather.

While a little off-putting and distinctly not our speed at first, ZAZA drew us in with super comfortable seating (save for the table sharing thing, which is weird), decent service, and an inviting—albeit a little vampirey—atmosphere that we really warmed up to. It didn’t hurt, of course, that their menu was anchored by a very familiar menu centerpiece—brick oven pizza.

Pizza. Typical Pizza Tour fashion, we ordered a plain napoletana pie and one with sausage in the name of science and consistency (don’t call it boring).

What was immediately striking were the vibrant colors and strong aromas of this pizza’s fresh components. On top of an expertly cooked, golden brown crust was a fresh, tangy, chunky tomato sauce; smooth, delicious mozzarella (also browned to perfection); and just enough fresh basil to give the pie a very bright flavor profile. The sauce was almost too subtle, however, as most of us felt that it was a bit under-seasoned.

The sausage pizza left a little to be desired, as our favorite topping was pretty stingily and inconsistently sprinkled across the pie (which is unfortunate because its saltiness really highlighted the subtleties we missed on the plain pie), but most of the high spots from the napoletana pizza carried over to this one. A minor knock on both pies is that their delicately thin, airy crust cools really fast—not a huge problem seeing as the three of us wolfed down these 12” personal pies in about 6 minutes, but still worth mentioning.

Also worth mentioning is ZAZA’s unusual subversion of our stupid square slices pet peeve in which a square pizza is cut into wedges, as one would expect a round pizza to be served. Mind-blowing, we know. Fortunately, the inverse of this Greek abomination of a cutting technique is hardly offensive at all and didn’t stand in the way of the top-notch flavors and textures of a really good pizza.

Bottom line. ZAZA is packed to the rafters on the weekends and it’s pretty obvious why: an inherent trendiness gets people in the door once, but dedication to clean, fresh flavors across the menu (but most importantly with pizza, of course) forces them to return.

Establishment: 22/30
Pizza: 22/30
Hits the Spot: 7.3/10 
Large cheese: $10.50 (12")

Another newcomer to the Stamford pizza scene is Rizzuto’s, a local chain with locations in Westport, Bethel, and West Hartford, in addition to their new digs in the old Route 22 in Stamford.

Establishment. Rizzuto’s is a peculiarly Olive Garden-y restaurant. From its dubious location in a strip mall to its highly polished décor and menu items with no fewer than 8 vowels per word, this is every bit the spitting image of nobody’s favorite Italian restaurant. Aside from all of the uniform gloss, this restaurant does have some character, be it manufactured or not. With its open kitchen, comfortable and plentiful seating, and attentive service, Rizzuto’s has a friendly air about it. The menu is what you’d expect of an Italian restaurant—antipastos, pastas (avoid eating simultaneously), salads, and entrees that end in parmigiana—as well as a good selection of traditional and signature pizzas.

Pizza. Our pizzas of choice were a plain and a meatball pie off of Rizzuto’s Neapolitan menu (they also offer margherita-style pizzas that omit tomato sauce in favor of plum tomatoes).

The crusts were wood-fired and blistered to oblivion, with a nice char, chewiness, as well as an unfortunate and peculiar popcorn taste that we haven’t come across before (and hopefully won’t have to again). The sauce was bright and fresh but bland for the most part with only some subtle tanginess begging to be noticed. The high spot on this pie was without a doubt the cheese—a house made fresh mozzarella—lending a delicious creaminess and welcome stringiness to an otherwise middle-of-the-road pie.

Our meatball pizza had the same weird popcorn crust dealbreaker as the plain cheese pie, but the saltiness of the meatball brought out some of the subtleties of the sauce for a better overall taste. Despite looking rather stout and robust though, the crust couldn’t hold up to the the toppings and made for a more cumbersome pizza.

Bottom line. Despite a nice, welcoming atmosphere, Rizzuto’s puts forth a mediocre pizza that’s far from bad and just as far from good.

Establishment: 25/30
Pizza: 16/30
Hits the Spot: 4.5/10 
Large cheese: $10.95 (13")

Every year around this time, the Stamford Pizza Tour wakes from its slumber to give you its take on a few new pizzerias in our fair City that Works. Of course, this year (technically last year) will be no different. We give you, a mere two months after its doors opened, La Bellezza Pizza Restaurant.

Allow us to take you back to a kinder, gentler time: a few weeks ago, when the holiday spirit still carried some weight, strangers spouted “Merry Christmas” at passers-by, and the lighting in a certain pizzeria made all of our pictures completely unusable, save for this next shot of an elaborate cave manger scene outside the front door.

Establishment. With deep roots in the New York pizza scene, La Bellezza takes its act from the streets of Manhattan, the Bronx, and Brooklyn (home of some of the best pies on the face of the earth) to its new location on Atlantic Street in Stamford. La Bellezza struck us as a charming little place with a handful of tables, a welcoming staff, and rich, wooden furniture that would make Ron Burgundy blush.

Between the brick, the chalkboard menu, and the bright, open, counter service kitchen, this was as New York a pizzeria as they come—save for the whole “being in Connecticut” thing. The service was prompt, courteous, and extra attentive being as we were the only party in the restaurant at the time. That said, their menu was complete with what one would expect of a pizzeria and then some, including dinners, sandwiches, a surprising wine selection, and of course, pizza.

Pizza. As usual, our two pizzas were a plain cheese, and one with sausage. The pies came to the table steaming hot and were doled out by the slice to each undercover judge by our waiter, fully unaware that he was about to pose his pie in one of the less flattering food shots we’ve ever published.

Abysmal washout and color temperatures aside, this was actually a pretty good pie. The pizza’s thin crust held up reasonably well to a healthy amount of creamy, stringy cheese with its dense, yeasty bite; at the end of the day it wasn’t all that easy to keep this one from slip sliding away, though. The quality and quantity of La Bellezza’s cheese—while sacrificing something by way of texture—kept this pizza steaming hot until we had demolished the whole thing (we’ll be the first to tell you that there’s nothing more taxing than trying to finish a pizza that’s devolved into a gob of cooled cheese).

Cheese points notwithstanding, the sauce didn’t blow us away. Its subtleties were a bit too subtle, and there was really nothing there—good or bad—to go by. Fortunately, both their topping selection and specialty pizza offerings were quite good, making up for lost ground on La Bellezza’s shortcomings.

Bottom line. La Bellezza is a friendly, personable place to grab a pretty decent pie in an unfortunate area that doesn’t get a ton of foot traffic; welcome these guys to town, they’ll be happy to serve you.

Establishment: 21/30
Pizza: 20/30
Hits the Spot: 7.8/10 
Large cheese: $12.00

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Sure it has. The Stamford Pizza Tour awoke from its slumber over the holiday weekend, and now that the hustle and bustle is dead and the freshly fallen snow has got us avalanched indoors, we’re sounding off on Stamford’s latest pizza purveyor, Tappo.

Establishment. Tappo is located on Bank Street, nestled amongst ritzy eateries and men’s hair salons alike, and boy does it look the part. Between the dim-to-dark dining area, white tablecloths, and a fully stocked bar with a top shelf so high that no one can reach it—physically or fiscally—we couldn’t help but feel underdressed (nothing new, but still) in this modern establishment. Tappos’ smallish footprint is maximized with a good deal of small party seating and plenty of room to move around without feeling too cramped (a party of six might have been different, though).

The service was super friendly albeit a bit overbearing, as our water glasses never went more than three sips without being refilled. This is not to a fault, though, as we found ourselves to be very comfortable, especially relative to the sometimes abrasive, always greasy environments that pizza establishments often harbor. In the same vein, the menu is admittedly less pizza-centric than other places, but it includes all sorts of true-to-form Italian favorites as well as some more adventurous offerings in addition to their pizza.

Pizza. As much as Tappo is not your run-of-the-mill establishment, it’s also not your run-of-the-mill pizza, unless of course you frequent the Cappriccio’s of the world. Our benchmark pies of choice were the standby margherita pie and an adventurous Guanciale, Patate e Olio Tartufato (bacon, potatoes, and truffle oil) number.

The margherita pie was everything we’d expect of a traditional Neapolitan pie. The sauce was naturally sweet and tangy, with a fresh, well-seasoned profile that cut through the acidity of the fresh tomato. The cheese was top-notch buffalo mozzarella, lending a deeper flavor than the regular stuff as well as a stringier texture and a nice, satisfying snap. The crust was rather tasty, but the texture was somewhat of a letdown. Fooled by the beautiful blistering on the pizza, we were expecting more of a bite and chew than we got with this light, bready crust that held up more like a wet pita than anything else. The whole was far less than the sum of its parts.

The specialty pie built upon that disappointment with a much more significant one. Had we known from the onset that guanciale was essentially jowl bacon, we might not have been so quick to order this potato-laced, expensive oil-covered abortion. Everything from the fried fingerlings, to the white, chewy, pig face bacon, to the incredibly rich and pricey fungus oil resulted in an unpleasant, umami overload that literally and figuratively left a bad taste in our mouths.

Bottom line. Tappo outclasses many of its pizzeria peers with a charming, cozy establishment but is hampered in the pizza department by a reliance on great parts rather than a coherent final product that had us licking our chops for some of the other, non-pizza entrees at surrounding tables.

Establishment: 22/30
Pizza: 17/30
Hits the Spot: 5.3/10 
Large cheese: $12.00 (12")

Our second venture into true NYC pizzadom took us to John’s of Bleecker Street in the friendly, sunny West Village (it was really part of our first venture, as we hit Grimaldi’s earlier in the day).

In an environment like New York City where there exists a “John’s” or a “Ray’s” on every other corner claiming to be “Famous” or “Original” or “Famous Original,” it’s hard to stand out as another “John’s Pizzeria.” John’s of Bleecker Street, however, has done just that by establishing a following dating back to 1929 with pizza that don’t need no stinking gimmicks.

Establishment. In many ways, John’s doesn’t look and feel like a typical New York Pizzeria, especially in Manhattan where a lot of them are by-the-slice walkups. John’s doesn’t do slices, only full pies as evidenced by their painfully long “specialty” menu that details every single combination of ingredients and toppings in list form. This restaurant is relatively large with a good amount of seating and eclectic decor in the way of mosaic painted walls, intriguing light fixtures and wall hangings, and the spoils of a carve-your-name-into-anything-made-of-wood policy.

In other ways, John’s is exactly like a typical New York pizzeria: popular, excellent at packing as many people as possible into cramped booths (we said a good amount of seating, not good seating), littered with autographs of celebrities (Johnny Depp) and pseudo-celebrities alike (Road Warrior Hawk, two of Vanilla Ice), and featuring a brick oven that spits out good pizza on a daily basis.

Pizza. Our brick oven fired pie of choice was a large sausage and fresh garlic pizza (we were hard sold on the garlic, this is important). This pie came to the table hot out of the oven with a well-charred crust, beautiful melted slices of mozzarella, and a shockingly bright red sauce.

(Again, this is a representative picture because of our camera issues, but just imagine that it has sausage and dark little specs of garlic on it…)

The crust was yeasty and delicious, but it was also rather toothsome and chewy, giving our jaws a more significant workout than even a bagel should. The cheese was of excellent quality and of lower moisture than we’re used to, lending the pie it’s nice, stringy snap with a more aggressive flavor. The sticking point with this pizza, however, was the sauce; while fresh-tasting and cleanly seasoned, the harsh bitterness of the tomato seemed overly concentrated, giving it the taste of a cooked down tomato paste rather than a good sauce. The toppings were nothing special either as the sausage was pretty forgettable and the fresh garlic that was so forcefully recommended to us ended up singed and bitter, not helping the sauce issues in the least. Still, despite its shortcomings, this is probably a better pie than many of the by-the-gigantic-slice, gas fired pizzerias on every other corner in Manhattan can serve up.

The bottom line. John’s of Bleecker Street serves a good pie with big flavors and textures that will hit or miss amongst different palates that stumble into their friendly, intriguing establishment.

Establishment: 15/30
Pizza: 20/30
Hits the Spot: 6.7/10
Large Cheese: $14.00

One of the reasons we’ve tried to keep up with our Pizza Touring is for places like this. While we started with the places we’ve known all our lives in Stamford, branching out into the pizza bastions of the northeast has exposed us to the cultures of textbook New Haven, and now New York pizza pies.

Tucked away under the bridge in Brooklyn’s eclectic DUMBO neighborhood, Grimaldi’s is the quintessential New York pizzeria. Staking the claim to countless prizes bestowed by locals and foodies alike, Grimaldi’s is indisputably iconic and renowned throughout the country as one of the best pizzas you’ll ever have the privilege of eating. Or so we’re trying to confirm.

Establishment. As is the case with many local institutions, Grimaldi’s sports a sizable line that often stretches the length of Old Fulton Street as well as some little quirks (cash only, no slices, takeout line and eat-in line are the same) that everyone begrudgingly deals with. After waiting in the sun (a welcome departure from our usual waits in the cold winter night) for about an hour, we were ushered in, bouncer style, to a packed but deceptively comfortable dining room. Cafeteria-style seating fills the restaurant to the rafters, seating eight to a side in what can be described as a mildly roomy feeding trough. The darkened, close quarters atmosphere is reminiscent of just about everything else in the city (as is the abysmal parking) and, like any respectable big-name pizzeria, Grimaldi’s incorporates photographs of its famous patrons and Frank Sinatra into the decor. Our server was predictably terse and largely pragmatic, doing his damndest to dart from table to table in order to bring menus, take orders, drop checks, and usher a new party into the restaurant.

Pizza. The time we did spend in Grimaldi’s, however, was nothing short of divine. Our pie of choice was a classic Neapolitan topped with crumbled Italian sausage and fresh garlic, delivered steaming hot, no less than five (!!!) minutes after we ordered it.

(full disclosure: this, and all of the other pictures in this post are the best representative photographs that we could find…our camera kind of crapped out on us)

The crust was an oven-blistered masterpiece, delicately thin with a huge, yeasty flavor and the bitter notes of a perfect coal oven char. The cheese was a beautifully fresh, sliced mozzarella that melted into stringy pools of delicate flavor. Slicing through the mildness of the cheese was a phenomenally well-seasoned, fresh and tangy tomato sauce with light notes of natural sweetness. Full leaves of fresh basil complemented the sauce nicely, giving the pie a brightness amidst its inherently strong flavors. The crumbled Italian sausage and fresh, crushed garlic that topped this pizza were very complementary as well, moderately portioned as not to overpower the pie but contributing a good deal of savory, salty notes and working to deepen the flavors of the sauce. Our only criticism—and we’re really reaching here—was with the pizza’s overall texture: it was super thin, especially in the center, and as a result, some slices were on the floppy side. That’s it. This was one good pizza.

The bottom line. If you can stand to wait in line for upwards of an hour and you don’t mind little establishment idiosyncrasies, this isn’t just one of the best pizzas you’ll find in New York, but one of the best you’ll find. Period.

Establishment: 16/30
Pizza: 26/30
Hits the Spot: 9.7/10
Large Cheese: $14.00

We’ve gotten quite a few requests for this place, some going so far as to deem it a “local institution.” Located on the Post Road in the heart of Darien (or at least the middle of Darien), Post Corner has a bit of a long-standing following and—as we’ve been known to do—we’re determined to see if it’s the nostalgia or the pizza that’s keeping them in business.

Establishment. Post Corner Pizza is a family staple and borderline landmark in Darien with a menu that goes far beyond pizza. A Greek diner ambiance complete with urns on display, an indoor adobe tiled roof and ample seating set the stage for a hauntingly familiar dining experience complete with quick service and a family-friendly atmosphere. In past visits, Post Corner has been jam packed on a pretty consistent basis (especially on a Friday night) however, we were met with quite the opposite, as the dining room was pretty dead when we stopped by and flat-out empty once we left (don’t expect this to be the norm). Post Corner attracts many fervent regulars with children in tow with its deep, Greek-influenced menu featuring salads, sandwiches and grinders, kabobs, souvlaki, moussaka, gyros, and other fun-to-say items in addition to Greek-style pan pizza. Also, if it seems like we just cut-and-pasted our Establishment blurb for Hope Pizza in Stamford, it’s because we pretty much did.

Pizza. Post Corner Pizza regulars often claim that this is the best pizza in Darien and rightfully so, as Darien isn’t exactly the most competitive of pizza hotbeds. Still, this is not a bad pie. Our pizza of choice was a large, bacon and green peppers number, infuriatingly cut up into stupid square slices.

Founded on a spongy, buttery, unmistakenly Greek pan crust, this pie delivers what we’d expect with a few shortcomings in the texture department. For one, it was greasy even for a Greek pie (blame it on the bacon if you’d like), sapping the overall product of its crispness despite the crust’s beautiful golden brown color, forcing us to go the dreaded knife and fork route on some slices. The sauce was pretty tasty, but it felt thick and cooked down, again taking away from the overall texture with an unwelcome clunkiness. Speaking of clunkiness, avid readers might recall our fiery opposition to square slices which incidentally, has not changed. Pulling the pizza together however, was a deliciously creamy and stringy blend of bright, fresh-tasting cheeses that did their damndest to salvage this markedly heavy pie. Additionally, the toppings—while partially to blame for the pizza’s texture issues—were doled out generously and absolutely delivered in the flavor department (as bacon tends to do).

The bottom line. While Post Corner might chalk up its following to having the best pizza in Darien, it’s much more plausible that their popularity has something to do with the personable, family-friendly environment they foster, as the pizza’s just north of mediocre.

Establishment: 23/30
Pizza: 20/30
Hits the Spot: 7.0/10
Large Cheese: $13.00

We went to Pepe’s shortly after we concluded our tour of Stamford, we ate at Modern shortly after that, and then—inexplicably—we waited another six months to tackle the final piece of New Haven’s holy pizza triumvirate, Sally’s. Yes, we finally braved the arctic winds waiting in yet another out-on-the-street New Haven line to round out our tour of the city’s heaviest hitters.

Establishment. As it turns out, New Haven pizzerias are all kind of the same: minimal parking, old coal-fired ovens, and long lines in the street (which can be charming on a summer evening, but painful and borderline infuriating in the dead of winter). Sally’s is no exception, with its requisite long, dimly lit, wood-paneled, ceramic-tiled, drop-ceilinged dining room spattered with pictures and articles attesting to its fame and/or Italian-ness (apparently, Ol’ Blue Eyes was a big fan of the place).

(sorry for the lack of photos, the garish, stained glass “PIZZA” bar lamps blew out all of our good interior shots).

Once we found our way inside, thawed, and were seated (no small feat in its own right) we waited a good 10 minutes to be helped, and another 35 or so to be served. In this time, we witnessed an obvious regular strut in and feed his family of six, a family of eight leave in absolute disgust after their one hour wait yielded no pizza whatsoever, and the brazen neglect of the time-honored “I’ll be with you in a sec” promise about 40 times over. But Sally’s (and the rest of the city in general) isn’t known for its kindly interest and goodwill, especially toward newbies like us; we never expected much. The menu is more or less a list of toppings, among which are the New Haven-specific white clam pie and an extraordinary emphasis on mozzarella being considered a topping. Oh, New Haven, you and your disconcerting ways.

Pizza. Once we absorbed the horrible one-two punch of waiting and terrible, impersonal service, we sunk our teeth into a medium mozz (“mootz”) pie topped with sausage. That’s two toppings if you’re keeping track.

The crust was less chewy than expected, but it was super thin, yeasty, and blistered with a hearty New Haven char in places (and burnt to a friggin’ crisp in others), making for a markedly unique taste and fingers resembling those of a chimney sweep. Crust aside, the sauce was the true crown jewel of this pizza with a strong, well-seasoned tanginess and the chunky texture of whole crushed tomatoes. The mozzarella, while somewhat of a outcast in New Haven, was superbly creamy and stringy. Further, it brought the pie together both physically and in terms of flavor, mellowing the sharp flavors of the sauce and making us wonder why it’s so much of an afterthought in these parts—without it, this is just a big cracker with sauce.

We weren’t particularly crazy about the sausage topping as Sally’s uses sliced sausage rather than crumbled, which tends to shrivel into little grease-filled cups in the oven. Plus, it tasted pretty bad. Also, as is the case with ultra thin pies like these, it cools ultra fast; even when you put it away with ravenous Pizza Tour speed, your last slice is just south of tepid. That said, we can see how Sally’s simple core product keeps people coming back, especially favored regulars that can traipse right in and throw back a few well-rounded, iconic pies while suckers like us play the waiting game on the street.

The bottom line. Sally’s certainly earns its reputation as one of the big three with a clean, textbook New Haven pie, but the unwritten rules here will leave you scratching your head.

Establishment: 13/30
Pizza: 21/30
Hits the Spot: 5.0/10
Large Cheese: $15.80 (18")

Nonna’s has been taunting us for months to the point that we even tried to hold off on the Stamford Pizza Tournament back in July until they opened, but to no avail. While they may have not made our summer deadline, Nonna’s is now open and serving pizza. And where there is pizza to be eaten, so too is the Stamford Pizza Tour.

Establishment. Nonna’s is a pretty by-the-book pizzeria, sporting a takeout counter, a display case full of specialty heat-to-order slices, and a pretty sizeable dining area for eat-in parties as well. The atmosphere is a bit hackneyed and confusing, melding the otherwise unfamiliar themes of classy Italian plates and artwork hanging from the walls and Hewey Lewis and the News blaring out of the speakers above them, but we were comfortable nonetheless.

Seating was ample and almost excessively private due to the cubicle-styled divider splitting the dining room in half. As a result, we felt just short of neglected, staring into our empty drink glasses as our waitress went sprinting by, stopping only to take our order (she dropped the bill in full stride). Nonna’s menu is very broad, featuring Italian specialties, pasta specials, dinner specials (countless iterations of chicken, eggplant, veal, and seafood dishes), soups, salads, sandwiches and wraps. Interestingly enough, conspicuously absent from the first menu we received was pizza, but rest assured, Nonna’s carries it in the form of traditional, gourmet, and Sicilian-style pies complemented by a charming offering of calzones and other dough-rolled, pizza-like delicacies.

Pizza. For all the knocks we had on this establishment, the pizza itself is pretty good. Our pies of choice, a plain pizza and a gourmet spicy chicken (sauceless, topped with chicken breast and sautéed hot cherry peppers) came out screaming hot (albeit not at the same time…which was weird) and were considerably larger than advertised.

The crust was dense, chewy, and flavorful with an excellent crispy bite and surprisingly faint brick oven char. We were pretty split on the sauce, as it had the clean natural sweetness and tang we’ve come to expect and was portioned almost perfectly, but it was starkly underseasoned and couldn’t exactly wow us with its bright subtleties. As advertised on the door, Nonna’s uses a healthy amount of Grande brand mozzarella cheese which, with its a creamy flavor and stringy snap, complemented this pie very well.

Nonna’s really sets itself apart with its dedication to freakishly overtopping its pizzas with excellent gourmet toppings to the point that it’s almost comical but still greatly appreciated. Every square inch of our spicy chicken pie was covered with chicken and red peppers, and was packed to the brim with amazing flavor for a slow, spicy burn in conjunction with the smooth, creamy cheese. All in all, a very good pie.

The bottom line. If you can get past the inherent strangeness of the service atmosphere as a whole, Nonna’s certainly delivers with a very big, very good pizza, and very flavorful gourmet topping options.

Establishment: 19/30
Pizza: 23/30
Hits the Spot: 7.8/10
Large Cheese: $12.95

Flying their unmistakable neon banner over Bull’s Head, Coalhouse Pizza is one of the newest pizza establishments in Stamford and the subject of many, many requests; some glowing recommendations, some just out of curiosity.

The Pizza Tour returned to Stamford with a vengeance on our excursion to Coalhouse, toting along an absurd number of guest judges including fellow Stamford bloggers, JR of Streets of Stamford and Kate of Stamford Notes, as well as about six other disciples of the Tour clawing themselves back onto the bandwagon.

Establishment. Coalhouse Pizza sports a snazzy blues- and jazz-inspired feel that, once you get over how wildly out of place it is in Stamford, is rather unique and charming, albeit approaching obnoxious levels of trendiness. Prints of blues and jazz icons dot the walls and cover the tables while their sounds flood the warmly lit restaurant for some top-notch ambiance. Unfortunately for us (and fortunately for them) the place was absolutely jam-packed, so we had to wait outside in the Arctic tundra and take what we could get table-wise (which is mostly our fault for not realizing that the triumphant return of the Stamford Pizza Tour would draw such a crowd of guest judges). That said, Coalhouse is set up well enough for moderately large crowds and was very accommodating to our stupidly large party, equipped with a couple outdoor propane heaters and serving us rather quickly once we got inside. The menu at Coalhouse includes hearty salads, a limited selection of pasta dishes and sandwiches, and a conversely extensive selection of ribs and chicken wings in addition to a very wide spectrum of specialty pizza offerings and high-quality, gourmet topping options.

Pizza. Once we got settled, we ordered a large Blue Skies (marinara, mozzarella, basil, olive oil—a margarita pie) and a large Freight Train (margarita + crumbled sweet Italian sausage, onions, and mixed peppers).

As expected, the pies were extremely thin and unfortunately, considerably smaller than their 16" billing would lead us to believe. The crust had a distinct yeasty flavor, a surprisingly slight char, and very little bite relative to the coal-fired pies we’ve sampled in New Haven. The sauce was in rather short supply on such a delicate pizza, but had the natural tang and sweetness of crushed tomatoes and was very well-seasoned. As for the cheese: what cheese? While Coalhouse prides itself on their use of “preservative-free, fior di latte mozzarella” (cow mozzarella for us laymen), and while it tasted very fresh and delicious, there wasn’t nearly enough of it on any of our pies to make a difference. The biggest knock we could find on this pie (and it’s pretty big) was the texture. This pizza was pretty floppy and insubstantial, especially for a coal-fired pie, lacking the characteristic crispness and char that we’ve come to expect from such pizzas.

As such, this pizza absolutely needs toppings, but boy do they deliver with some top-shelf ingredients. We were very happy with our sausage, pepper, and onion number featuring delicious, bright, and fresh flavors that set this pie (and to an extent, this restaurant) apart from other, less ingredient-conscious ones.

The bottom line. Coalhouse Pizza, the trendy new kid in town, clearly has the best of intentions with its use of quality ingredients and close attention to detail, but has yet to work out all of the kinks and live up to its neon-soaked hype.

Establishment: 22/30
Pizza: 19/30
Hits the Spot: 5.4/10
Large Cheese: $12.75

Located in the heart of Greenwich on fancy pants Greenwich Ave., Pizza Factory is a comfortable eatery amidst couture shops, high-end jewelers, and purveyors of luxury stemware, as well as countless other places where people who are better than us buy things. This restaurant also serves as somewhat of a teen hangout during the week (which pisses off said fancy pantses) and allegedly cranks out good pizzas by the gross. Ideally, pies would all come out on a conveyor belt and be assembled by robots, but it’s not that kind of factory.

Establishment. What struck us first upon entering Pizza Factory is the incredibly eclectic decor, seemingly in spite of the overwhelming stuffiness that usually comes with being on Greenwich Ave. Decked out in antique road signage and promotional tin doodads, this restaurant comes across as a comfortable little nook complete with paneled walls, creaky wooden furniture, and plenty of low-hanging tavern lights. Our server was quick to take our order, extra personable, and very helpful with suggestions, but the food came out slower than usual (which we’d normally attribute to the crowd, but this place was dead).

Being a pizza factory and all, the menu carries but a few non-pizza options ranging from hearty, cheese-filled salads to sandwiches (paninis and traditional wedges) and not a whole lot else. The menu’s crown jewel is, quite unsurprisingly, the litany of pizza options including a huge list of specialty pies (less traditional Mexican, Chicken Burrito, and Hawaiian, for instance), gourmet pies (classic margarita, pesto-having, and other Italian-sounding options), a virtual arsenal of unique, one-off toppings, and the unique (at least around these parts) offering of either deep dish or thin crust.

Pizza. Our pie du jour was Pizza Factory’s CBT, or chicken, bacon, and fresh, sliced tomato in it’s thin crust incarnation.

How about that? Founded on a crispy, pan-style thin crust, this pie had an overwhelmingly chalky, breadstick-like texture with a muted yeasty flavor to match. The crispness was welcome, however, and a stark contrast to the creamy, stringy, subtle presence of the delicious mozzarella provided by our good friends in Wisconsin at Grande cheese. The sauce was underwhelming for the most part and clearly under proportioned but seemed a bit bland when isolated. We wouldn’t be at all surprised if this lackluster profile was intentional as this restaurant doesn’t seem too keen on serving plain pies.

Pizza Factory clearly thrives on its toppings and specialty offerings, and for good reason. Our CBT came with a healthy amount of chicken—breaded, seasoned, thinly sliced cutlet strips, to be specific—as well as plenty of crispy, salty bacon pieces and the fresh tang of sliced tomatoes (which were surprisingly bright and flavorful considering it’s December). This combination was clearly thought out (take notice, everyone who puts every available meat on a pie and calls it “special”) and very complementary to the overall flavor of the pie. That said, the pizza staples that we hold near and dear—cheese, sauce, and crust—were solid, but nothing extraordinary. They act as a vehicle to hold the pizza together, carry specialty toppings into your gullet, and little else.

The bottom line. Pizza Factory is just that, a quirkily decorated establishment that bangs out all sorts of specialty pies,  flavorful ingredients, and unique combinations that act as accessories on a solid, but underwhelming core of a pizza.

Establishment: 16/30
Pizza: 18/30
Hits the Spot: 5.7/10
Large Cheese: $14.49