Deep-dish Chicago-style pizza. Photo by Meg Zimbeck

I spent many years living in Chicago, a city that (like Naples and New York) is incredibly proud to have its own style of pizza. The Chicago deep-dish pizza pie is a heart-stopping affair at least five centimeters thick. The butter-laden crust is topped with sausage, a mountain of cheese, and then a pool of spicy tomato sauce. This monster needs to be eaten with silverware, and anything more than two pieces will kill. I was young and impressionable when I tasted my first deep dish and became convinced, like all other Chicagoans, that this ooey gooey mess was the best pizza on earth.

Imagine how surprised I was, while on a recent visit to Rome, to fall in love with pizza bianca. It should be said that Naples, not Rome, is ground zero for pizza pilgrammage in Italy. Nonetheless, pizza in the Eternal City has its own style, one that's completely contrary to the thick stuff I once loved. Like many others, I've become a convert.

Scarcely more than a piece of crust, it's hard to describe why pizza bianca has such a devoted legion of fans. Its ingredients are limited to bread, olive oil, salt, and very occasionally rosemary. It's everything Chicago pizza is not: the ingredients are exceptional rather than industrial, and their minimalist treatment allows the tastebuds to register each individual flavor. It's thin and light, not coma-inducing. And the best part for travelers - it's completely mobile!

Pizza from Forno Campo de' Fiori. Photo by Meg Zimbeck

My first taste of pizza bianca came from Forno Campo de' Fiori. This unpretentious bakery on Campo de' Fiori 22 is according to many local experts, the best place in Rome to try a simple "white pizza." I ordered a sack of slices to go and walked out to explore the surrounding square.

Outdoor market at Campo de' Fiori. Photo by Meg Zimbeck

The Campo de' Fiori dates back to 1819 and has hosted everything from athletic events to capital punishment. Today, more cheerfully, it's the site of a bustling outdoor market. I wandered through the stalls looking at the long braids of garlic and purple endive - all the while pulling mouthfuls of pizza bianca from my sack. No need for a knife and fork here - the crust was airy and crisp, with the singular flavors of olive oil and good salt coming through. I was hooked. 

Pizza bianca at Volpetti Più. Photo by Meg Zimbeck

A few days later, the white pizza was spotted again down in Testaccio. This was at Volpetti Più om Via Alessandro Volta 8, the sister lunch table of the fabled Volpetti food store. I hadn't yet learned that no lunch is necessary before a visit to the next-door shop where there are enough free samples to constitute (more than) a full meal. No matter, I was moving my plastic tray along the cafeteria-style line, deciding between red and white arancini (rice balls) when I saw the much-coveted pizza bianca. It was similarly delicious to the one I'd found at the Forno - light and golden, an excellent foil to my olive-oily zuppa di farro.

Pack in Paris now, I keep trying every new pizza joint that opens, hoping that one of them will serve my latest obsession. If I don't find one soon, I may be forced to catch a cheap flight back to Rome. There are worse things in life, I suppose...