W hen I moved from Brooklyn to Pittsburgh for grad school in 2012, it was a sort of homecoming, since I’d grown up in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, about two hours away. I doubted that the food in Pittsburgh could possibly compete with New York’s — cue the melancholy marathon of one more chocolate mousse cheesecake at Junior’s, a final slice from Joe’s, a last everything from H & H — and in some ways, I discovered that I was right: The best place to start the search for bagels and pizza in Pittsburgh was at the airport, where you can buy...