The Editors of AOL City Guide say:
“The Park Slope outpost of La Villa, already a successful Neapolitan pizza shrine in Howard Beach and Mill Basin, was a hit from day one. The local fire department was first in line, and now relies on La Villa's wood-burning oven to feed its hungry men on Bloomberg's budget. The conservative decor, reminiscent of the Olive Garden, belies the authenticity of the food -- especially the thin-crust pizzas, certified D.O.C., meaning that all the ingredients are of controlled origin: San Marzano tomatoes, mozzarella di bufala, fior di latte, basil, olive oil, fresh garlic, and Reggiano Parmigiano or Pecorino Romano.
The gigantic menu offers a large range of toppings and pizza combinations, including a stellar stuffed Romano pizza with paper-thin slices of potato, house-made fennel sausage, pepperoni and mozzarella: Eat your heart out, Pizza Hut.”
Tina Barry of the The Brooklyn Papers says:
“The pizza is the real draw and it's worthy of the hype. Cooked in enormous, wood-fired ovens, the pies arrive at the table as hot as coals in a cloud of wood-scented steam. In some pizzerias the pie is all about the topping; at La Villa it's the crust that sets the pizza apart.
The Napoletana's crust is as thin as a cracker, almost brittle yet chewy. Its edges are charred in spots and the bottom blistered. The wood's smoky flavor permeates the dough and perfumes the pizza's topping. Thick-crusted Sicilian pies fare just as well.
Focaccia di Nonna, or "Grandma's Pizza," is layered with homemade mozzarella, crushed San Marzano tomatoes, fresh basil leaves, a touch of fresh garlic and olive oil. Served with nothing more than the tomatoes, the rich cheese, the garlic and the basil, it's a lovely treat. Add additional toppings, like sweet, caramelized onions and slowly sauteed peppers, as carefully prepared as each was, and the pie becomes heavy and detracts from that supernal crust. Order a simple pie and you'll be happy....”
Robert Sietsema of the The The Village Voice says:
“The focaccia di nonna is a perfect evocation of the kind of pizza you might find in Naples—the crust heavenly brown from a wood-burning oven that flickers on the other side of the room, the crushed tomatoes strewn by a devil-may-care hand, the rich mozzarella profuse and puddled on the surface, with little rivulets of pungent olive oil irrigating the entire pie. Bits of crushed garlic here and there seal the deal. Noting our astonishment at the first bite, the waitress revealed that the whole-milk mozzarella is made on the premises. This "grandma's pizza" deserves to take its place among the city's greatest pies. There were 14 other selections, too, each available in a bewildering array of formats—Neapolitan and Sicilian, large and small, square and round. Plus a list of independent ingredients that can be ganged up on any pie. I girded my loins for the tasting work ahead.”