Pizzardi Artigianale, The Pizzeria That Dares to Call Itself Neapolitan and Actually Delivers

There’s a dangerous confidence when a restaurant claims to make vera pizza napoletana. In Bogotá, those words get tossed around like oregano: liberally, dramatically, and usually without merit. And yet here comes Pizzardi Artigianale in Usaquén, chest out, AVPN certification in hand, confidently declaring that they serve 100% Neapolitan pizza, audited and approved by the same Italian association that keeps half of Naples awake at night arguing about cornicione texture. It’s a risky promise. A bold one. And honestly, the kind of promise we love walking into.

We visited their Usaquén location, a neighborhood already spoiled with brunches, boutiques, and polished date-night energy. The area doesn’t need another pretty pizzeria. It needs one that can hold its ground. And what Pizzardi brings is not just pizza, but a proposal: that Colombians deserve the real thing, not approximations, not trend-chasing dough, not “Italian-ish” reinterpretations.
Here, the claim is authenticity.

From the first moment we sat down, we understood why this place keeps racking up awards. There’s the 50 Top Pizza LATAM ranking (#22 in Latin America, #1 in Colombia), the Best Entry of the Year Award, the La Barra recognition, and a sea of deliriously positive reviews that read like love letters from both locals and wandering Italians. Some restaurants talk about passion; Pizzardi has built an entire identity on it.

Where the Story Starts: A Pizza Born Out of Discipline, Not Nostalgia

Pizzardi’s origin story isn’t romantic. It’s disciplined. They didn’t set out to create a place with Italian vibes; they set out to create a pizzeria that could survive a technical inspection by the most unforgiving culinary gatekeepers on earth: the AVPN.

That certification — which they point out proudly and justifiably — isn’t a certificate you hang on the wall and smile at. It’s a commitment that dictates fermentation times, hydration levels, tomato origin, cheese specifications, oven temperatures, dough handling, and even how a pizzaiolo sets their hands on the counter. It’s a religion. And Pizzardi practices it with clerical devotion.

The dough is matured. The cheeses are DOP. The tomatoes are imported. The standards are almost militant. And all of that translates directly into what happens on the plate.

But Bogotá diners don’t care about technical parameters unless those parameters slap them across the face with flavor. Fortunately, Pizzardi’s pizza does exactly that.

Usaquén: A Pizzeria With the Confidence of a Flagship

Of all their locations, Usaquén might be the most strategic one to test the brand’s promise. This neighborhood does not suffer mediocrity quietly. The crowds are discerning. Families gather on weekends. Couples stroll in expecting excellence. If your pizza is bad, the neighborhood will let you know.

When we walked into Pizzardi Usaquén, the space had the kind of atmosphere that doesn’t beg for attention — it claims it. Soft lighting, an open kitchen that lets the oven roar openly, servers who actually know the menu, and a steady rhythm of dishes coming and going like clockwork. There’s nothing stiff or pretentious here; instead, there’s an Italian assertiveness masked under Colombian warmth.

The crowd is mixed: tourists who Googled “best pizza Bogotá,” food lovers who track 50 Top Pizza rankings like stock prices, and locals who simply found a place that makes date night easy. It’s loud enough to feel alive but balanced enough that you don’t have to yell across the table. In short: a restaurant that understands its neighborhood.

The Menu Is a Love Letter — But Not a Whispering One

Pizzardi’s menu reads like a museum catalog of Italian technique seasoned with Colombian openness. You can trace the entire philosophy in the way dishes are laid out — from the antipasti, burratas, and salads up through the rosse and bianche pizzas, all the way to their contemporary creations.

We started with what everyone told us to order: the burrata.

This thing should have its own Instagram account. Imported from Italy, lightly smoked, paired with sweet pepper honey or roasted vegetables depending on the variation, it feels like a table-setting moment. A way of saying, “If this is the appetizer, wait until you meet the dough.”
It’s creamy, structured, generous. It reminds you why burrata was invented in the first place.

Then the pizza flight began.

The Margherita, the ultimate benchmark, hits with balanced pomodoro, clean Fior di latte, and basil that tastes like it hadn’t been bullied by refrigeration. Simple, structured, correct. A necessary introduction.

The Prosciutto e Rucola is playful and elevated — salty prosciutto, peppery greens, Parmigiano Reggiano raining down like confetti. A pizza with swagger.

The Diavola is a well-executed heat; not a spicy assault. Totally manageable.

But the moment that really sold us — the moment we looked at each other with that silent yes — was when La Bella Carbonara hit the table.
This is indulgence with thesis-level justification. Fior di latte, guanciale that crackles, Pecorino Romano, Parmigiano DOP, yolk-rich creaminess… it’s a pizza that makes no apologies for being decadent. It is the kind of dish you order when you want your evening to have personality.

Then came the La Mia Bologna, a crowd favorite with its mortadella, pesto, stracciatella, and pistachios. The kind of pizza that feels engineered for both Instagram and legitimate palate pleasure.

We could go on — Tartufo Nero, Quattro Formaggi con Miele al Tartufo, Pesto e Noci — but the truth is simple: this kitchen knows exactly what it’s doing. It’s not experimenting; it’s perfecting.

The Cocktails Are Not an Afterthought — They’re a Statement

Something Pizzardi brags about — and fairly so — is its collaboration with Giancarlo Mancino, one of Italy’s celebrated mixologists. Many Bogotá restaurants add a cocktail menu as an accessory. Pizzardi wields theirs as a weapon.

These drinks aren’t sugary distractions; they are crafted expressions of Italy’s aperitivo culture. Bitter, aromatic, elegant, not shy. They pair with pizza instead of competing with it. And in a city where cocktail programs often feel rushed, this one stands out as intentionally curated.

If pizza is the headline, the bar is the sub-headline that makes the whole project feel complete.

Service: Warm, Human, Predictable in the Best Way

Usaquén’s staff runs the place with two core traits: warmth and rhythm. You’re greeted. You’re guided. You’re not oversold. You’re checked on without being hovered over. The servers speak confidently about the AVPN certification, the ingredients sourced from Italy, and the differences between their contemporary versus traditional pizzas.

Does service slow down on busy weekends? Yes, a bit. But Bogotá’s restaurant scene has taught us that there are two types of delays: the ones caused by disorganization, and the ones caused by demand. Pizzardi’s occasional slowness belongs to the second category. The dining room moves, but it moves with intention.

And, importantly, diners consistently point this out in reviews: even when the restaurant is full, respect and attentiveness never disappear.

The Room Confirms the Reputation — Whether You Ask or Not

We didn’t need to scroll reviews to understand Pizzardi’s reputation. It was already happening around us.

At the table next to ours, a couple debated—half joking, half serious—whether this pizza actually beat what they’d had in Naples. Behind us, a family explained to visiting friends that this was the place they bring people when they want to play it safe and impress at the same time. And when we asked a few people we know who had been here before, the answer was almost identical every time: “Sí, es así de bueno.”

That chorus is familiar if you’ve eaten out enough in Bogotá. When a place truly lands, people don’t whisper about it — they repeat it. Often. Sometimes too often.

Of course, the praise isn’t blind. Everyone mentions the same caveats: the wait during peak hours, the firm reservation rules, the dining room that fills up fast and stays loud. But none of that seems to shake the verdict. The consensus — spoken, not typed — is remarkably consistent: this is serious pizza, and it holds up.

After sitting there, listening, tasting, and comparing notes with people who had no reason to sell us on anything, we understood why the reputation sticks.

And honestly?
We agree.

So… Does Pizzardi Deserve the Hype?

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: most restaurants don’t. Bogotá is full of pretty spaces that crumble under scrutiny, menus designed for Instagram, and kitchens that chase trends instead of flavor.

But Pizzardi?
Pizzardi has receipts.

Receipts in the form of awards.
Receipts in the form of Italian partnerships.
Receipts in the form of AVPN inspectors who have nothing to gain from flattery.
Receipts in the form of dough that behaves like it should, not like the city’s typical underproofed attempts.

We’ve eaten enough pizza in Bogotá to know when someone is selling nostalgia versus technique. Pizzardi, especially the Usaquén outpost we visited, executes with rigor — the kind that earns respect even before you take a bite.

Final Verdict: A Pizzeria That Isn’t Trying to Be Italian — It Simply Is

There’s a quiet arrogance in Pizzardi, but it’s the kind we appreciate: confidence born from mastery. They don’t need to shout about authenticity; it’s written in every step of their process. It’s baked into the cornicione. It’s echoed in their collaborations. It’s recognized in their awards.

Usaquén gets many restaurants that cater to trends. Pizzardi is not one of them. This is a place built on discipline, certified tradition, and a refusal to lower standards in a city that often rewards shortcuts.

If you want pizza that tastes like a plane ticket to Naples without the layover in Miami, this is where you go.
If you want a cocktail that understands bitterness the way Italians do, this is where you go.
If you want a restaurant that respects your palate instead of just your camera… you get the point.

Pizzardi Artigianale Usaquén is the rare Bogotá restaurant that promises authenticity and then actually, unapologetically, delivers it.