A month of eating Italian pizza had me craving Australia’s version

The celebratory chorus was deafening when my fiance and I announced our move to Italy: “Endless pizza and pasta – you lucky ducks!”

I, too, was giddy at the idea of living in the promised land of pasta and pizza, but after being there a while, the simplicity of pizza, while delicious, started to feel a touch one-note.

Credit: Jamie Brown

Florence, a city bathed in Renaissance magic and tear-jerking sunsets, was our new home (though fate would eventually take us to Puglia). It wasn’t exactly the birthplace of pizza, but I assumed Italy dispensed superior pizza no matter what city you’re in. New York or Tokyo couldn’t compete, right?

Twelve tiring hours on a train from Paris had us stumbling into our Airbnb at dinnertime, with an empty fridge and zero energy, so we surrendered to Mister Pizza, a cosy corner shop with €8 pizza.

It was exactly as expected. The blistered crust yielded a satisfying crunch, the tangy tomato sauce was a flavour burst and the stretchy cheese (possibly fior di latte) added a creamy touch. Simple, yes, but in that simplicity lay a depth of flavour missing from international slices.

Over a month, we devoured Florence’s pizza scene with gusto. Margherita, diavola, the mortadella, burrata and pistachio one everyone seemed to be ordering – each one a delicious ode to simplicity, a simplicity bordering on divinity.

A week before we left (or more like fled the tourist throngs of Florence), we tried one last pizza, this time skipping the authentic pizzerias and trattorias for something a little more edgy and contemporary.

From the outside, Berbere Pizzeria Santa Croce looked like your ordinary pizzeria, checkered tablecloths and all, but inside, arched stone walls give way to vintage posters and trendy orb lights that wouldn’t be out of place in a Sydney wine bar.

We ordered the ’nduja sausage pizza, which arrived with a classic Neapolitan crust, light and airy, standing defiant against the onslaught of cheese and fiery sausage. It sent me on a delicious nostalgia trip, reminding me of the Netflix & Chill pizza from Pocket Pizza Manly – a flavour combination of ricotta, ’nduja and a swirl of honey. I just wish I had some hot honey in my bag.

Italian pizza is the result of centuries spent perfecting it, but perhaps that’s the problem. Travel to any Italian city and you will find an unrelenting dedication to tradition. In Naples, the pizza-making techniques even have UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage status.

Australia, on the other hand, brings a youthful energy to the table, unbound by tradition. Chicken on pizza might raise eyebrows in Italy, but for Australians, it’s a nostalgic reminder of backyard barbecues. Kangaroo and crocodile on pizza? Sure. Korean beef bulgogi pizza? Sign me up.

The beauty of pizza lies in its ability to transform across continents, morphing into a reflection of local cultures. It’s not about a single best pizza but the joy of experiencing its endless variations, from a seaweed-infused slice that required a leap of faith on a trip to Bath, to the 99-cent slices that kept me fed as a penniless student in New York City.

Indeed, no adventure is complete without exploring the local pizza scene.