Marcello D’Erasmo

The bread arrives unbidden, crumbly and worth the detour on its own. This is a roomy pizzeria with a veranda in the Marche hills, where the dough is the whole argument: soft and feather-light in a way that makes the standard Roman-versus-Neapolitan debate feel beside the point. Ascolana olives and other classics fill out the menu for anyone who needs more than a reason to order another pie. The owner runs a tight room.

One honor, in evidence: