Finally, I found the pizza I've been waiting for.

Dolce Vita's ultra-thin and crispy version is always a good option, I like the creative toppings at Alto and I've been known to drive to Sugar Land for Grimaldi's. (I pretend it's the original Grimaldi's I used to go to under the Brooklyn Bridge, but the corny subway signs don't help very much.)

It's only been a couple months since Pizaro's Pizza opened in a nondescript shopping center on Memorial Drive and Kirkwood, but the simple and delicious pies they make are already some of the best in town.

What makes the difference is a crust that manages to be both thin and fluffy at the same time. That's partly because Pizaro's uses the famed "00" flour, partly due to the skill of owners Bill and Gloria Hutchinson, who are certified by Italy's Verace Pizza Napoletana in the traditional Neapolitan style, and partly because of the large wood-fired oven that dominates the kitchen area. The oven, which heats up to 900 degrees, gives just a touch of char on the crust — not enough by my New York-influenced standards, but not too much for the char-averse Houston palate.

The menu is relatively short, with a few salads and about a dozen pizzas from the classic (margherita) to some slightly more fusion ideas, like the Sweetpea with caramelized onion, roasted bell peppers, olive oil and mozzarella.

I started with the Campania, with Pomodoro tomatoes, mushrooms, artichokes, prosciutto and mozzarella. Normally that many ingredients could overwhelm a thin crust pizza, but the toppings were distributed lightly. Instead of competing for attention, one bite would have an earthy, mushroom focus, while another would be led by the salty-sweet prosciutto. If I had a complaint, it would be that the tomatoes were a bit wimpy.

Even better was a specialty pizza with olive oil, mounds of ricotta, thinly sliced fennel sausage and a sprinkling of basil leaves, which really let the pillowy dough shine.

The pizzas are about 12 inches in diameter — just small enough to eat the whole thing, but big enough to swear not to make the same mistake next time. Spoiler alert: I will make the same mistake again next time. And it will be so worth it.

It's tempting to veer into hyperbole because a pizzeria that balances smart toppings with flavorful dough and a just-right oven is strangely hard to find in Houston. In a town that can boast three Tex-Mex restaurants at a single intersection should have pizza just like this in every zip code, if not on every block.

But until it does, I'll be heading to the west side for my fix.