Until quite recently, Dallas and environs have been deprived in the pizza department.

Oh, obviously, one could punch speed-dial for an artless, stomach-filling construct delivered by one of the national chains. And there are some solid, locally owned examples of midweight Americanized pizzas, with heftily spiced tomato sauces and cheesy mantles that unite into a satisfyingly oily slick. Rapidly expanding Fireside Pies fashions gooey, chewy flavor bombs that make for great hangout food.

But I'm talking about Neapolitan-style pizzas, the ne plus ultra craving for many connoisseurs: thin, aromatic crusts that seize the smokiness charred in by ferociously hot ovens. Toppings doled sparingly. (In Neapolitan tradition, quality trumps quantity.) Pies as appropriate for eating with utensils as with the hands.

Photos by COURTNEY PERRY/DMN

Grimaldi's in West Village tries to echo the feel of a New York pizza spot. Its white pizza (left) is enhanced with slices of fresh tomato.

Two recent additions to the pizza scene highlight this style, which is offered at only a few other area restaurants. Neither is an original location (one is the first Texas outpost of a growing New York-based company, the other a suburban outgrowth of a venerated local pizza joint), but both feed the yen for a more premium, Neapolitan-inspired experience.

The red-and-white-checkered tablecloths; the rich, dark woods; Sinatra playing overhead. We get it. We're supposed to be having a New York moment at Grimaldi's. But those hokey subway signs hanging over the bar? Overkill.

This shiny spot in the latest strip of shops in West Village is part of the spinoff concept of the funky original Grimaldi's, housed in a building over which the Brooklyn Bridge looms.

I've stood in the out-the-door line many, many times for that justifiably lauded Brooklyn pie. Once you're in, it's a no-nonsense affair. The menu advertises a basic antipasto platter and a couple of tossed-off salads, but the burly fellows in the kitchen focus their horsepower on cranking out crisp, elegant discs with basil-scented tomato sauce and a creamy veneer of homemade mozzarella.

Does the version at the Dallas Grimaldi's taste as magnificent? Not to me. But it is still a very good example of the Naples-via-New York school of pizza making.

And it's improving all the time. An early, much-anticipated visit deflated hopes for this place: The crust bore little flavor complexity and was even a little soggy, though the toppings were overcooked.

Problems resolved: Two recent meals yielded finely tuned versions. The pies are built so a concentrated circle of sauce leaves less than an inch of visible crust, which arrives richly browned and smoky from its short time in the coal-burning oven. (The outdoorsy, pleasantly singed flavor imparted by the coal-fueled oven is a signature trait of the Grimaldi pizza.)

The staff stepped up its game as well. At first scattered and friendly in a nervous way, these folks now exude some confidence. When we ordered a pizza loaded with five classic toppings, our server suggested that he request the cooks make it extra crispy so the center of the crust would be fully cooked. I watched the cook turning it in the oven frequently, until, indeed, the pizza supported its cargo without being unappetizingly blackened on the bottom. Nice work all around.

If you're a fan of the white pizza, they make a lovely version here that lets the lacy quality of the mozzarella show off. Pesto, I'm nearly positive, would be shunned at the original Grimaldi's, but it and some fresh tomato slices added to the white pie are worth risking heresy.

Salads are also given a bit more attention: The Mediterranean salad (the au currant name for Greek salad) is a respectable way to slip some vegetables into the meal pre-pizza.

And leave one last slice uneaten so you have room for a few bites of cannoli. Its shattering shell, soft-gritty filling of ricotta and generous scattering of micro-chocolate chips precisely invoke dessert time at an East Coast red-sauce joint.

It isn't easy finding Campania in Southlake Town Square the first time. And Google maps aren't much help.

The address says Grand Avenue, but the restaurant actually brushes against a parking garage on a sliver of side street. A hostess is kind enough to come out onto the sidewalk and flag us in from the main drag.

Thoughts of our driving challenges evaporate the moment we walk into Campania – before, actually. The tile work on the floor! It's breathtaking, an Italian Oz whose pink, brown, beige and green mosaic roads lead to two fire hydrant-red ovens puffing oak wood flames in the center of the room.

As if the name doesn't give it away, Campania takes its cues from Italy. The first Campania, in Dallas' West Village (a couple of blocks from Grimaldi's), could be credited with setting off the local flowering predilection for Neapolitan pizza when it opened in 2005. The founders, and new co-owner Jay Jerrier, took the first, cramped, everything-from-Italy locale and gave it the suburban American makeover: It's a 6,000-square-foot, three-floored compound.

And almost everything (the chandeliers, the furniture, the flour for the pizza) still comes from Italy.

Befitting the space, the menu has slightly expanded here. The restaurant makes its own pastas, including, most impressively, a Bolognese (read: ricottaless) lasagna that is meaty, creamy and so meltingly satisfying. It also bakes its own focaccia for panini filled with straightforward ingredients like cherry tomatoes, basil and buffalo mozzarella.

But, really, I want that buffalo's milk cheese oozing into perfect circles atop a margherita pizza. The crust has heart: crisp yet pliable, light in color but attractively pockmarked with dark splotches, fragrant and bready in taste. Slivers of sweet red pepper and fennel-zinged sausage complement the pie's stunning simplicity.

You can also choose from a diverse selection of composed pizzas. The Quattro Stagioni is a favorite, with layers of shaved artichokes, ham slices, salami chunks and mushrooms divided into four sections to represent the seasons. I've seen gourmet pizzas with roasted potato slices before, but the Sorrento includes dollops of mashed potatoes added after the pizza's speedy, blazing journey in and out of the oven.

And look for the Cornicone Vegetale: It's listed under the calzone section but is actually a cheese pie with a crust stuffed with ricotta. Watch out, Pizza Hut.

Unlike the West Village locale, this Campania serves a full gamut of alcohol: an affordable wine list with soft, food-compatible wines by the glass, cocktails, and beer on tap, including Italian Peroni.

The management needs to throw a tasting party for the servers. They're a young, green crew, and on both visits didn't know a great deal about the menu. Their eager-to-please earnestness compensated, though.

After your pizza, follow the tile path up to the third-floor rooftop patio, sure to be a primary draw in warmer weather. The view, with Barnes & Noble and the Cheesecake Factory gleaming in the distance, may not qualify as bucolic. But the smooth, pebbly feel of the mosaics under your feet reminds you how sweet it is to have a bastion of independence in the midst of this outdoor shopping sprawl.Grimaldi's

{star}{star}{star} (very good)

Food {star}{star}{star}

Service {star}{star}{star}

Atmosphere {star}{star}

Price: $-$$ (salads $7 to $12, pizzas $9 to $17, desserts $4.50 to $5)

Address: 3636 McKinney Ave.

Phone: 214-559-4611

Web site: www.grimaldispizza.com

Hours: Daily 11 a.m. to midnight (restaurant often closes earlier if business is slow)

Credit cards: All major

Wheelchair accessible: Yes

Smoking area: Patio

Alcohol: Full barCampania Pizza

{star}{star}{star} (very good)

Food {star}{star}{star}

Service {star}{star}

Atmosphere {star}{star}{star}

Price: $-$$ (salads and appetizers $4 to $15, pizzas $8 to $20, sandwiches $9, desserts $8 to $10)

Address: 291 Grand Ave. (next to the east parking garage), Southlake Town Square, Southlake

Phone: 817-310-3116

Web site: www.campaniapizza.com

Hours: Sunday-Thursday 11 a.m. to 10 p.m., Friday-Saturday 11 a.m. to midnight

Credit cards: All major

Wheelchair accessible: Yes

Smoking area: No

Alcohol: Full bar