We've all had our food-epiphanies: a key lime pie in the Florida Keys, fresh-caught salmon along Alaska's Copper River, or maybe just a really good macaroni salad close to home. Those moments set the standards we use to measure all future experiences. One of my edible epiphanies arrived in the shape of a unassuming little pizza.

OK, it was a pizza served in the impossibly beautiful coastal town of Positano, Italy - the kind of place where epiphanies fall like autumn leaves - but that pizza was offered in an unpretentious trattoria and arrived as little more than a thin crust topped with chunks of raw tomato, arugula and local olive oil.

That pizza, nevertheless, changed my life.

I'd never tasted such a crisp crust, richly flavored tomatoes or fresh, fruity olive oil. That pizza converted me into a disciple of elegant, no-frills Neapolitan-style pizzas.

The Idaho potato pizza ($7.99 for small) at Flame Neapolitan Pizzeria in Eagle is a long way from Positano - and doesn't stick to the rigorous guidelines of the Neapolitan pizza association based in Naples - but it speaks the same understated language.

A restrained layer of creme frache over an almost cracker-crisp crust topped with translucent slices of Yukon Gold potato, chopped bacon and green onion delivers a persuasive message: when it comes to pizza, less can be a whole lot more.

So, too, Flame's caramelized onion, prosciutto and peach pizza ($8.99 for small). An unorthodox combination for a strip mall, it nevertheless pairs fruit with cured ham in a classic Italian way. A crescent of peach placed on each slice plays nicely off the savory sweetness of those long-cooked onions and prosciutto ribbons.

"I love the clean simplicity of it," says Todd Lancourt, Flame's operations manager, of Neapolitan-style pizza. He researched the possibilities a long time before finalizing Flame's menu. "I bought a dozen different books on pizzas," he says. "I've probably been on every wood-fired pizza Web site in existence." A restaurateur for decades, Lancourt says his ultra-thin crust took 30 tries to fine-tune. (It seems simplicity, at least in the pizza world, requires hard work.)

Lancourt cautions that his pizzas are more delicate than pizzas based on a deep, durable crust. "This style of pizza just doesn't travel all that well" he says. "It wasn't developed for American-style delivery." Thus, Flame doesn't deliver. (But I've taken them away with good results.)

There's another hazard that comes with a pizza based not on buckets of sauce and a thick foundation, but balanced on artful composition and inventive, if slightly austere ingredients. One time the prosciutto and peach pizza came jumbled with toppings that were too thickly sliced, too poorly arranged. With the delicacy gone, so too went the pleasure of eating that pizza.

Thankfully, that incident was isolated. On other visits to Flame, the chicken and artichoke pizza ($7.99 for small), with its drizzle of garlic-flavored olive oil, tasted fresh and light; the Athena ($7.99 for small), with feta, kalamata olives, red pepper and fresh spinach, had the briny tang of the Mediterranean; and the scampi ($8.99 for small) with baby arugula, pesto and a simple white cheese sauce, was delicate, yet satisfying. Oh, and the sweet fruit pizza $5.99), with mixed berries and little dollops of vanilla gelato, was a smile-inducing twist on dessert.

Flame's interior, like its pizza, is understated but thoughtfully designed, its walls painted flame-orange to mimic the wood fire burning in its black tile and chrome oven. On my visits, the service, too, was warm and inviting.

For anyone hankering for a cheesy, saucy, casserole-with-a-crust style of deep-dish pizza, Flame Neapolitan Pizzeria is not the place to go. But for those who've been struck by their own thin crust pizza epiphany, it's worth a visit.

Guy Hand's "Edible Idaho" show airs monthly on NPR at 91.5 FM. E-mail: guyhand@mac.com.