On Thursday night I had the best pizza I have ever had in my life. I was in Connecticut on business and my colleague and I went to New Haven to try what our hosts called “Pepe’s” pizza. They described it as one of 3-4 best pizza places in the state. Upon arriving at Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana in Wooster Square we were surprised that there was a line of about 20 people outside the restaurant waiting to get in. We joined the line and as we waited in the cold we began to have misgivings. Could any pizza really be worth this? Would we eventually get too cold and have to find a plan B for dinner?

But the line moved pretty quickly as a couple of large groups got up from their tables and left the restaurant. Soon we were seated at a rocking square table in an old-timey dinning room. It was not fancy, but small and cozy with several high sided wooden booths and a clear view of the kitchen. The place smelled of fresh baked bread and a hint of pickled peppers. Our waitress was friendly and helpful. She took our wine orders and helped us understand the menu.

That’s where my second round of misgivings kicked in. I am fairly flexible on my pizza toppings, but I do have preferences. Pepperoni is a go-to. It’s just table stakes for me in the pizza ordering game. Pepperoni and what? is kind of my starting point. After that I like things like Italian sausage, black olives and mushrooms. The only thing I really try to avoid is green peppers. They take over the flavor of the pie with a sharp aroma that I don’t love. However, my dining companion had her preferences, too, so I resolved myself to whatever compromises were necessary to get the order in. When she suggested we order “the special” I quickly agreed and the order went to the kitchen. I didn’t really know what the special was.

We were just beginning our second glasses of wine when it arrived at our table. The crust was very promising. Visible char from the coal-fired oven was spotting the outer rim. The toppings seemed…subtle, even understated. I was pleased to see pieces of bacon, slices of mushroom and what looked like coin-shaped slices of Italian sausage links. But there were also slivers of green pepper. Not a lot of them. And they seemed thoroughly cooked. But they were there. And no pepperoni at all.

I took a bite. And another. We quickly agreed that this was excellent pizza. We could tell that this way of making pizza wasn’t a modern one. There was cheese, yes, but not in the amounts you would expect a contemporary American pie would have. There was tomato sauce, and it did seem to contain a generous amount of olive oil, but I barely noticed it. The other toppings were, as I said, sparse and thinly dispersed. No one here had been concerned with “coverage.” Your slice may or may not have had a 3/4 inch square of bacon. It may or may not have had a sliver of green pepper. And yet each bite delivered mouthful of delicious pizza flavors. The edges of the crust were delightfully crunchy and nice pallet cleanse in preparation for the next slice.

The bacon was not overly smoky or salty. The sausage was mild and sweet. The green peppers were thin short strips that were mild and fully cooked. It was a beautifully balanced pizza. After my third slice I decided that discretion was the better part of gluttony and we had the remaining slices boxed up to take with us.

On the 20 minute drive back to our hotel my companion and I discussed our experience further. I reminisced about a few of the really excellent pizzas I have had in may lifetime. Before we parked the car I acknowledged to myself and my companion that Pepe’s was the best pizza I had ever had. And consider this: the “special” did not have my favorite topping and it did have one of my least favorite ones. Yet it still was still undeniably the best pizza I’d ever eaten.

Knowing the takeout box wouldn’t fit in either of our hotel refrigerators, we left it in the back seat of our rental car. After we concluded our business the next day, we found ourselves dropping the rental car off at the airport at around 2pm. Not knowing what else to do with it, I opened the box, took out a slice and ate it right there in the parking garage. Even after such criminal neglect it was still nearly as magical as it had been hot out of the oven some 20 hours earlier.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to return to New Haven. But when I do I can guarantee you this: it will include a meal at Pepe’s.