The Best Pizza in Rome Is Not in Rome—It’s in a 200-Year-Old Mill Outside the City

I’ve eaten pizza in Naples. I’ve had the famous slices at Da Michele, the fried pizza at Di Matteo, and the wood-fired pies at Sorbillo. I’ve been to Rome’s Bonci Pizzarium, where the pizza al taglio is legendary. So when my Italian friend Marco told me the best pizza in Italy is in a town called Subiaco, 70 kilometers east of Rome, I laughed.

Then I went there. And I ate crow. And I also ate the best pizza of my life.

Subiaco isn’t on any tourist map. It’s a medieval hill town with a monastery where St. Benedict lived. The main square has a fountain that’s been there since 1300. And on a side street, behind a wooden door that looks like a garage, is Pizzeria Da Nino.

Da Nino is run by a 68-year-old man named Nino Rossi and his daughter Chiara. They use a 200-year-old stone mill that was originally built to grind wheat for the monastery. Nino restored it in 1998, and now he uses it to mill his own flour. Not just any flour—he grows his own ancient grain called Senatore Cappelli, a durum wheat variety that was popular in the 1920s before industrial farming took over.

The pizza itself is simple: margherita, marinara, or one special per day. I had the margherita. The crust was airy and light, with a deep nutty flavor from the fresh-milled flour. The tomato sauce was bright and acidic, made from San Marzano tomatoes grown 20 miles away. The mozzarella was so fresh it squeaked against my teeth.

But here’s the thing that got me: the texture. Because Nino mills his flour daily, the gluten structure is completely different. The dough has a chewiness you can’t get from store-bought flour. It’s elastic but tender. It’s the kind of crust you dream about.

I asked Nino why he doesn’t move to Rome and open a bigger restaurant. He laughed and said, “The water here is clean. The air is clean. The flour is clean. Why would I leave?”

The train from Rome’s Termini station takes 45 minutes and costs €6. The pizza costs €8. If you’re in Rome and you don’t make this trip, you’re missing out on something genuinely special. Just go on a weekday—weekends are packed with locals who already know the secret.

I’m not saying Rome’s pizza is bad. It’s great. But Subiaco’s pizza is transcendent. Sometimes the best thing in the world is hidden in a place nobody looks.