Pizza Amici delivered one of the best thin crust pizzas I’ve had in a long time. The crust was exactly how it should be—ultra-thin, but not cracker-crispy or floppy. It held up beautifully under the toppings, maintaining just enough crispness to support the generous layer of sausage without losing its structure. And that sausage? It had to be homemade. The flavor was rich, perfectly seasoned, and so authentic it felt like something you’d find in a small family-run pizzeria in Italy. It wasn’t greasy or bland—every bite was packed with depth. The sauce was another highlight: bright, balanced, and seasoned to perfection. It had a touch of natural sweetness without being sugary and avoided that overly acidic bite some sauces fall into. The cheese was used with restraint, melted evenly across the top, enhancing the flavor rather than smothering it. This pizza was a hit with our whole group—everyone kept going back for more. Pizza Amici absolutely nailed the balance of ingredients, texture, and flavor. It’s the kind of place you find yourself thinking about days later, and one I’ll return to anytime I’m nearby.

I had Pizz’amici again—and honestly, it still hits like the first time. This isn’t just pizza anymore, it’s a ritual. Every bite reminds me why I keep coming back. It’s comforting, consistent, and somehow still surprises me with how good it is. Like catching up with an old friend who just gets you—only crispier and covered in cheese.

Let’s talk about the crust. It’s cracker-thin, but don’t mistake that for weak. This thing’s got structure—cool under pressure, sharp where it counts. If crusts had secret agents, this one’s wearing a tux and defusing bombs. It’s crisp, it’s flavorful, and it’s actually earning its spot—not just moonlighting as a glorified plate.

The sauce? Absolute gold. Rich and smooth, with just enough attitude to stand out without stealing the spotlight. It’s the kind of sauce that shows up on time, does its job, and makes everyone around it better.

Now the cheese. This isn’t your usual melt-and-forget-it situation. It’s a flavorful blend with character—sharp, savory, and layered. Like a good book or a well-aged opinion, it sticks with you. It’s not here to be creamy; it’s here to be memorable.

But the sausage? It makes me question every previous sausage I’ve ever known. It’s elite. High society in meat form. Each piece could probably run for mayor and win.

Yes, the slices are small. But you need three to get the full experience. Like a trilogy. You wouldn’t watch just one Lord of the Rings movie, would you?

Bottom line: I don’t know why I’d eat any other pizza after this. Seriously. I think I’m in a committed pizza relationship now.

Final Score: 4.56

Pizz’amici, call me.