It was two in the morning and we were lost within the city of Cinque Terre.  What was intended to be a relatively easy 4 hour journey, turned into a 8 hour disaster.  Within our group of 9 there was nothing but turmoil.

I used to think of myself as a stubborn person, but the power of an agitated woman suffering from the paranoia that she may be sleeping on the street for a night is terrifying.  For an entire day I subdued to the wrath of that which is man’s ultimate kryptonite; women.

After hours of subservience a far greater issue emerged; I was hungry.  And not just any kind of hungry, I was slowly dying.  I hadn’t eaten since 7 in the morning, at which point, I had the pleasure of taking down a half-rotten banana.  NOW, I was contemplating cannibalism; and then I saw it.

From the start, I had been relatively disappointed with pizza in Italy.  Considering the absurd hype surrounding it, I had high expectations.  One unfortunate aspect of pizza here in Italy, is the “take away,” option; or as we say “to go.”  If you want legitimately delicious pizza, you must sit down in a restaurant.  Sure, some of those restaurants will allow you to take a pizza to go, but the preparation time turns it into a sitting experience nonetheless.

If you walk into a random shop that bakes bread and makes pizza, you will often find a slew of delicious slices sitting under some glass; similar to the United States.  However, if you point to one of those slices they will simply hand it to you.  Any New Yorker, privy to the beauty of NYC pizza, knows this should be illegal.  A slice of pizza MUST be thrown into an oven, preferably brick, in order to melt the cheese and spark the flavor.

If you’re a typical New Yorker who’s in a hurry, the best you can do with Italy’s “to go,” pizza is a cold slice. There’s nothing more depressing than running to Italian class with a dilapidated, chilly piece of pizza.  Talk about disappointing.

Your second option is pizza from the train station.  As you might imagine these aren’t particularly good places to eat, however, they do employ the use of a microwave, if you want your pizza hot.  Yet, if any New Yorker is reading this, you’re probably agitated.  It’s common knowledge that microwaves are an insult to pizza.  Then again, don’t go looking for gourmet meals in train stations.

To say the least, Italy’s pizza had yet to impress me.  That being said, I’ve been told the further south you head, the better the pizza tastes.  I look forward to tasting Naples pizza.

What did I see? I had stumbled upon a legitimate “to go,” pizzeria in Cinque Terre.  I could smell the aroma of the freshly cooked pizza dancing out from the brick oven.  Immediately, there was an argument and of course, the girls argued against the pizza.  “Let’s get to the hostel first!”  I responded, “It’s been NINE HOURS!”  There was no real reason behind their logic.  They were arguing out of misguided paranoia and fear; as most women do.  It didn’t matter, I wasn’t budging.  It was time to eat.

I walked in and simply pointed towards a large pizza pie.  The man behind the counter said, “piccolo o grande?”  For you unilingual folk, that means, small or big.  The answer was obvious.  I watched as he cut a large portion of the pizza with what had to have been a machete.  Then he put it on a scale and charged me by weight.  This was certainly strange, but I didn’t care, because it was surprisingly inexpensive.

Before handing me the slice he chopped it into several vertical pieces turning it into 8 finger food appetizer-type slices.  I was in heaven, and the pizza?  Phenomenal.  Unique to the region, it was cooked on thick focaccia bread which was healthily seasoned with butter, salt and oil.  The seasoning combined with the thickness of the bread made the crust, one of my favorite parts, unforgettable.  Mounds of fresh mozzarella and a sweet basil based tomato sauce topped off my sicilian slice on steroids.  Absolute perfection.  Even the girls couldn’t ruin this moment.

Upon returning to Milan after my Cinque Terre trip, I made more of a conscious effort to find some legitimate pizza.  The result was astounding.  Around the block from my apartment, in it’s own hidden corner of the world, is the greatest pizzeria I’ve ever been to.  What’s so strange about this place is how ordinary its considered in Milan.  Sure it gets plenty of business, but if this place opened in New York, we would all lose our heads.

Firstly, a major difference between ordering pizza in a restaurant in Italy versus America, is you won’t get a slice, but a personal pie.  Also interesting to note, these personal pies are intended to be one course; that’s why there so cheap.  The owner of the restaurant expects one to continue to order and Italian families always plan to do so.  By now he’s realized that we were a bunch of broke kids just looking to survive.

Anyways, the first time I walked into the pizzeria- my friends and I decided to do some “halves action.”  Halves action, is our label, for splitting our meals.  In other words, two people order two different pizzas and eat half of each.  The most common pizza here is Margherita, which is simply a plain slice.  My first time ever, I went with Margherita.  I know, I know, lame choice.  My friend however, went for the Quattro Stagioni.

The Quattro Stagioni is a remarkable mix of ham, artichokes, black olives and mushrooms.  I curiously watched the owner of the restaurant as he made the pizza from scratch.  In the future, I would watch in fascination as he made the pesto sauce for my pizza from scratch.  Truly, an art form.

Thank the Italian Gods, my friend had the sense to order the Quattro, because I was converted into a pizza loving whore after that meal.  Not to mention, I had never tried an artichoke in my entire life.  Since then, I have ordered several pies solely comprising of artichokes.

So I’ll give Italy credit, it’s got some incredible pizza. The final aspect of this competition however, and in my eyes, the deciding factor, is diversity.  I have to say, I miss the wonders of New York’s “Specialty slices.”  Buffalo chicken, chicken marsala, spinach, grandma, calamari and ziti slices, among others, are something Italy does not offer.  Of course, all of these slices have the versatility of “going,” or “sitting down.”  I miss few things more than a buffalo chicken slice with a slide of blue cheese, for dipping of course.  However, my sickening American tastes cannot be satisfied here in Italy.

So, whose making the better pizza in the end?  Going into a sit down restaurant, in Italy, and ordering a pizza made from scratch is nothing short of a lovely dining experience.  However, in terms of “to go,” pizza, Italy (Milan at least) has NOTHING on New York.  Not to mention, speciality slices will always steal my taste bud’s heart.  You successfully impressed me Italy, but you’ve got some learning to do.  Sit down and take notes, New York City’s where it’s at.