The crust! Oh, the crust! Born from a 300-year-old starter, massaged by a knowing knead, then slid into an oak-burning oven to blister and bubble, the pizza at David Myers' Pizzeria Ortica makes you feel like you're tasting pizza for the first time—at least, pizza as it's meant to be. You notice its tactile sensibilities first. It's light yet extraordinarily rigid. You bite, and the outer shell shatters. Then the pillowy, yeasty insides spring back at you. You chew. You taste. You grab another slice. It almost doesn't matter what goes on as toppings. This is not a pizza for the Monday-night game. This is pizza for when you want pizza.