Here’s the thing about Italian pizza. To Americans, it all tastes divine. I never met a pizza in the motherland I didn’t like. BUT, I’ve had it enough times here, that I’m now at the point where I have met pizza I like more than others. I’m getting downright picky.

Also, I’m a purist. Give me a margherita pizza over any other kind. Cheese, red sauce, and basil. Even better if the cheese is mozzarella di bufala. If you don’t know what this is, don’t worry. But do take the time to look it up before visiting the motherland — you can thank me in between bites of goodness.

I was pleased to receive an Operation Vicarious request for a huge slice of pizza. Not that I needed an excuse, I was going to chow down anyway.  Eating pizza in Italy is similar to breathing. You do it unthinkingly.