11 Maryland Pizzerias Locals Pick Over The Chains

Maryland’s true pizza scene doesn’t glow with neon or churn through conveyor belts. It hides in row houses, corner markets, and family-owned spots where dough still gets slapped by hand and ovens roar hotter than reason.

Each pie feels personal, marinara tweaked with stubborn pride, crusts guarded like heirlooms, toppings layered with obsession. In Baltimore, legends endure, refusing extinction, while suburban kitchens feed cult followings that inspire fierce loyalty.

Arguments break out over whose slice wins, but everyone agrees on one thing: after eating here, chain pizza tastes like cardboard cosplay trying and failing to pass for the real thing.

1. Matthew’s Pizzeria — Baltimore (Highlandtown)

The dining room at Matthew’s feels lived-in: wood paneling, cozy booths, and a wall of framed nostalgia. The vibe is pure neighborhood comfort.

Since 1943, this place has been Baltimore’s longest-running pizzeria, famous for its thick-crust squares loaded with molten cheese and toppings that push to the edge.

Sit down, order the crab pie, and watch the regulars treat it like ritual. The crust crunches, the cheese strings, and you finally understand why it has lasted eighty years.

2. Joe Squared — Baltimore

Exposed brick and live music give Joe Squared its artsy heartbeat. The space hums with energy, beer glasses clinking to match the kitchen’s rhythm.

Their coal-fired, square pies define the menu, layered with house-made toppings like risotto sausage or ricotta. The crust is charred just enough to whisper smoke.

Locals warn not to skip the chicken and bacon pie. One bite in, the creamy ricotta balances the salty crunch, and suddenly the music feels like part of the flavor.

3. Hersh’s — Baltimore (Federal Hill)

Hersh’s greets you with a modern glow: chalkboard menus, cocktails balanced with care, and servers who know their mozzarella from their pecorino.

The menu leans toward Neapolitan, with dough fermented until it blisters and bubbles in a wood-burning oven. Seasonal toppings swing from house-made fennel sausage to wild mushrooms.

I sat at the bar with a margherita and swore it hummed with basil’s perfume. It was delicate yet intense, the kind of pie you eat slowly because each bite feels curated.

4. Johnny Rad’s — Baltimore (Fells Point/Upper Fells)

Skateboards mounted on the walls, loud music bouncing between tables, and arcade games buzzing in the corner give Johnny Rad’s a punk edge.

The menu stretches from creative pies to vegan slices, proof that irreverence doesn’t skip quality. Their wings and craft beer list don’t hurt either.

Order the Spicoli pie and let the crushed red pepper hit you mid-bite. It’s reckless, delicious, and perfect for anyone who wants their pizza with a side of chaos.

5. Inferno Pizzeria Napoletana — Gaithersburg (Darnestown Rd)

The oven here burns hotter than your instincts, blistering Neapolitan pies in ninety seconds flat. Flames leap like dancers behind the counter.

Chef Tony Conte opened Inferno after time in fine dining, and his dough shows discipline: airy, chewy, with charred spots that sing of fire.

The seasonal pies are a revelation. In autumn, toppings like delicata squash and sage drift across the crust, turning pizza into something fleeting and unforgettable.

6. Pizza John’s — Essex

Pizza John’s radiates that classic suburban glow: neon signs, big booths, and a line of families grabbing takeout.

Founded in 1966, it’s a staple in Essex, known for its thin crust pies that lean more New York than Baltimore.

Grab a large pepperoni and a root beer. Watching boxes stack at the counter feels like proof of community trust, each one destined for a kitchen table nearby.

7. Ledo Pizza — College Park (Knox Rd location)

Thin square pies arrive at Ledo’s cut into rectangles, an aesthetic that’s become signature since its 1955 founding. The sauce is sweet, the crust flaky.

College Park’s location feeds a steady stream of students who crave affordable pies that carry nostalgia.

It’s not delicate pizza, it’s hearty, shareable, and designed to stretch across dorm tables. Locals defend it fiercely, proof that flavor trumps fuss when comfort is what you’re chasing.

8. Vace Italian Delicatessen — Bethesda

Vace doesn’t court ambiance. Fluorescent lights, deli counters, and the smell of cured meats are the setting. Pizza is ordered, boxed, and gone.

The thin crust pies here are straightforward and affordable, often just cheese, pepperoni, or sausage. They’re built fast, meant to travel, but taste like care went in.

Regulars grab a pie while ordering Italian subs or fresh pasta. It’s utility food elevated by tradition, the kind of place you stop at twice in a week.

9. Coal Fire — Ellicott City / Gaithersburg / Frederick / Gambrills

he name tells you everything: coal-fired ovens searing pies with a dark, smoky kiss. The crust crackles audibly when sliced.

Opened in 2008, Coal Fire quickly expanded, each location serving the same style: three house sauces (classic, signature, spicy) over dough baked until nearly charred.

Visitors swear by the spicy sauce on a sausage pie. The coal’s flavor lingers in the air, haunting in the best way long after you’ve left.

10. Pizza Kingdom — College Park

Steps from the University of Maryland, Pizza Kingdom is a student’s late-night salvation. The vibe is fluorescent lights, quick counters, and oversized boxes.

Their claim to fame is the jumbo slice, triangles so large they require folding twice to carry.

Alumni recall 2 a.m. treks for those slices. Even sober, the crust and sauce hit with messy satisfaction. It’s not refined, but it’s beloved for exactly that reason.

11. Vince’s New York Pizza — Smithsburg

Smithsburg might feel far from New York, but Vince’s channels the city with foldable, grease-sheened slices. The décor is minimal, the focus entirely on the pies.

Family-run, Vince’s makes everything by hand: dough, sauce, and toppings. The results are simple, direct, and deeply satisfying.

Locals rave about the white pizza. Garlic, ricotta, and olive oil shimmer against a crisp crust. One bite convinces you that Smithsburg doesn’t need chains, it already has Vince’s.