Wood-fired Neapolitan pizzerias. The first few great ones were a revelation. But these days, it seems like every new neighborhood restaurant opens with a flame-throwing dome-shaped hearth imported from Italy. As a result, a great trend has been watered down with too many bad, soggy, overdone pretenders defeating the minimalist pleasure of a properly done, puffy crusted Margherita. I am intrigued by the variety of the newer wave of square Roman-style taglio pizzas (Rione, Alice) and deeper-dish "Detroit-style" pies like the ones being made by Pizza Gutt at its regular pop-up in the W/N W/N Coffee Bar. But it's a polarizing style around here, even in my house, where anything square or thicker than a quarter-inch makes the native Philadelphians at my table smugly unhappy. As a Midwesterner raised on that style, I find it a comforting taste of home. So we agreed to disagree. You can take the boy out of Detroit, but you can't take a love of Detroit pizza out of the boy.