Confession: I’ve never been a pizza fan. (I know, I know.) But even as a kid, I’d fake a smile during Pizza Fridays or when I won a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut through the Book It! (IYKYK). Maybe it was growing up in California, but even after moving to New York City, I’d only grab the occasional obligatory slice.
I had spots I liked, of course. Lil’ Frankie’s in the East Village became a favorite—though more for its arugula and burrata than the pies themselves. When New Jersey’s pizza scene began stealing the spotlight, takeout from Razza and Bread and Salt carried me through the pandemic. Later, when I couldn’t get a table at Lucali—yes, the date spot of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce—I stumbled into Table 87 in Gowanus and was pleasantly surprised.
Still, pizza was never something I craved…until I spent a week in New Haven, Connecticut, in the summer of 2023 while attending the Yale Writers’ Workshop.
My first brush with New Haven pizza actually came two years earlier while driving back from Cape Cod. I preordered a pie from Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana for pickup. I knew the city had its own pizza style, but I’d mostly chosen the stop for convenience.
Then I turned onto Wooster Street and saw dueling lines outside both Pepe’s and Sally Apizza. Clearly, this wasn’t just another local specialty.
“Everywhere else, pizza is just overshadowed by big cities and other attractions; here, our coal-fired ovens are quite literally the eternal light,“ Michael Pollack, founder of New Haven Pizza Club, told Travel + Leisure. “We have turned pizza into art, and art into impact. It’s no longer just about the pizza; it’s a cultural movement that’s helping our entire state thrive.“
For me, it was infatuation at first bite. The thin crust was chewy yet charred, simple but deeply satisfying. The sweetness of crushed Italian tomatoes shone through in a way I’d never experienced before. The origins trace back to Frank Pepe, an immigrant from Maiori, Italy, who drew inspiration from pizza in nearby Naples. While working in a New Haven bakery, he began making his own “tomato pies,” carrying them through the streets on his head using a specially designed tray. By 1925, he had opened the bakery and opened his own pizzeria, serving the style now known as apizza—pronounced “a-peets.”
Imitation, of course, is the sincerest form of flattery. In 1938, Salvatore “Sally” Consiglio opened Sally’s Apizza with his own take on the recipe.
So when I returned to New Haven in 2023, my priority—after checking into Graduate By Hilton New Haven—was plotting my pizza meals. Still haunted by those lines from my earlier visit, I slipped out of class and hurried to Sally’s around 5:30 p.m. When I asked how long the wait might be, a staffer smiled and said, “Good things come to those who wait.”
That evening, the wait was only about 30 minutes before I was seated in one of the 15 booths inside the no-frills dining room. Served directly on a metal tray, the first thing I noticed was the sauce: light but flavorful, tomatoes pushing forward with a sweet richness that reminded me of farmers market cherry tomatoes.
One thing was for sure: I had come to New Haven for writing inspiration—and its pizza quickly became my muse.
Throughout the week, apizza was everywhere. Since the main institutions were just beyond walking distance from campus, classmates often met at Bar, a spot that began serving pizza in 1995 and became known for inventive toppings like mashed potato and bacon or BBQ brisket.
Naturally, I began asking locals their favorite spot—quickly learning that’s a loaded question. Everyone agreed there were three major players: Frank Pepe, Sally’s, and Modern Apizza, founded in 1934 by Antonio Tolli and known for its oil-fired brick oven. But choosing a favorite? That was another story.
Sadly, I never made it to Modern during that trip. When the week ended, I drove home feeling oddly defeated, like I’d failed to complete a pilgrimage to New Haven’s so-called holy trinity of pizza.
That feeling lingered until last summer, when my 10-year-old niece asked to take a weekend trip—just the two of us—while the rest of her family was in Boston. Conveniently, New Haven made the perfect destination. There were plenty of kid-friendly stops, from the recently renovated Yale Peabody Museum to the delightfully quirky PEZ Visitor Center. More importantly, there was plenty of pizza her auntie had been craving.
I drove up the night before and checked into Hotel Marcel, just a short drive from Wooster Street. I warmed up my pizza palate by recalibrating with Sally’s. Anticipating the inevitable wait, I ordered ahead. Even so, the Friday night crowd meant the pie arrived about 40 minutes late. As I waited, I worried time might have romanticized the memory. But the first slice felt like reuniting with an old friend—that red sauce alone was worth the wait.
The next morning, I visited Lost in New Haven, where collector Robert Greenberg chronicles American history through the lens of his hometown—including a deep dive into the city’s pizza legacy. Seeing how central Modern was to that story, I knew where dinner had to be.
That night, my niece and I slid into a booth at Modern Apizza. Even at first glance, it felt different: thicker crust, heartier toppings, and pies built on a mozzarella base. Often voted the best in Connecticut, it is still family-owned and operating with its original recipe. I tried ranking the three in my head but quickly realized I couldn’t. Each offered something distinct. (My niece, a budding baker and meticulous food reviewer who logs meals in her notebook, agreed.)
They’re simply different. All three trace back to the same century-old tradition rooted in Naples, yet each delivers its own personality, its own version of apizza.
My feelings about pizza in general may not have changed, but when it comes to New Haven pizza, I’ll gladly go the distance. As Pollack puts it: “Not only do we have the best pizza, but we have a gorgeous city to explore with a rich history. They come for the pizza, and they stay for the rest.”