The One True Religion

Nope, it ain't Catholicism. It's pizza. And with few exceptions, Neapolitan pizza is only to be found here. Of course, as with any good religion, there's schisms and factions and occasional skirmishes, but for the most part everyone just worships at their temple of choice.

And so, like anyone new to a community, we sampled the local sermons to seek out the right high priest, gorging ourselves on scripture written in dough and anointed with sauce. It should be noted that the local manna is one-pie-per-paisan, and at 3-6 Euro per, it's considered unorthodox to split (though sharing is okay). It should also be noted that toppings are limited and predetermined; no such thing as build-your-own. And it's probably better that way. Three pizzerias in three days; here's what we found:

Veri: strong local following, good range, thicker crust than others. Karen, cheese addict that she is, devoured the Quattro Formaggio. I, heretic that I am, order smoked mozz, mushrooms and speck (similar to prosciutto, but instead of salt cured leg, it's smoke cured jowl). It didn't work out so well. The shrooms were canned and the cheese coagulated too quickly, resulting in a rubbery mess. I resolved that cheese had no place in my pantheon.

Il Presidente (pictured): packed, attentive and delicious. There's a school thought among some that pizza comes in two varieties: Marinara (sauce, garlic, oregano, basil) and Margharita (sauce, mozz, basil). There is no third. I can see their point. Sauce this good really is the main event.

Sobrillo: lines out the door, faster than a rocket-powered popemobile. This is the sanctum sanctorum. Pillowy crusts so ethereal the cherubim would find themselves at home. A marinara so luminous you would not be judged harshly for confusing it with the works of the old masters. Simply unearthly.

Kneel before the magnificent oven. Offer alms to the benighted monks of bread and marinara. This is the one true religion.