The Quest for Pizza in Naples
Frances Mayes mentions in her "A year in the world" that a lot of travel writers have biased or preset opinions about Naples but she herself actually has quite a fond memory of the place. She quotes that her Italian gardener, when hearing she's going to Naples, says "Napoli. Son' tutti cattivi. Tutti." (They are all bad. All.) Most travel books/tips I read/heard before we went to Italy was to watch out for thieves but especially in Naples, or if we should at all go there. Reading her passages on Naples reminds me of our short stop over in Napoli on the way from Pompeii to Rome.
We take a day trip from Rome to Sorrento and Pompeii. Because of the guidebook cautioning that Naples is pretty chaotic and full of petty thieves, we don't want to spend more than a few hours there at night. In late afternoon from Pompeii, we hop on the circumvesuvius commuter train that will take us to Naples, where we can catch our night train back to Rome. Naples is supposed to be the birth place of pizza. The only time we have reserved is to find the popular local pizzaria "Antica Pizzeria da Michele".
An impeccably dressed Italian business man sits across us on the train. The entire time, he's reading and we haven't exchanged any words. Right before I am stuffing my book and drinks into the backpack to get ready for Naples, he raises his head, points to my engagement ring and wedding band and says, "Naples? I will put that away." Surprised by this unexpected act, I respond in astonishment, "Really?!! Thanks." I turn both rings around my finger, make a fist so the stones are hidden inside, "This will do?" I seek his confirmation. He smiles and nods. Wow, what in the world! I have never experienced that anywhere before. That incident make Mike and I both wonder what kind of city we are stepping into.
Da Michele is not far from the train station, but we walk many blocks and pass so many men loitering in the street. My stomach starts protesting. We can't find the street. It's getting dark and cold. I try not to look like a tourist but it's quite obvious that we are not locals. Every time we pass someone staring at us, I grab tight into Mike's palm. Finally we decide we've gone too far and it's not right and we turn back towards the train station. At one intersection, I spot a cop. I run up to him and try to ask for direction in my broken Italian, which I pick up only a month before the trip. "Ah, Michele!" He apparently knows this place and loves it since he bursts out a quick chain of words in such excitement, but I could barely grasp one or two words. One of them is "left". Seeing that I am still puzzled, he slows down and repeats. I kind of get it now: we are on a totally wrong path, we need to turn left then go straight ahead... We get lost again. Being hard-headed, neither of us give up especially after we've already invested almost 40 minutes looking for the place. We continue walking and searching for the mysterious street. Now it gets completely dark and all the street lights are on. Fashionably looking teenagers all come out to hang out on the streets and in the road side shops. Street vendors are selling fake name brands, sunglasses, purses, watches, you name it... An hour later, we find Da Michele, we have passed the street twice but missed it because it's tucked in a tiny lane between two bigger streets. From the get-go, instead of turning to the 11 o'clock of the train station, we turn the sharp left into 9 o'clock, then continue into 12, 2, 4 till we find it back at 11 o'clock. No wonder we get lost.
It's a great relief to have finally found it... Da Michele is filled with locals since it's dinner time. We grab the last two seats at the corner table and share with two other people. I am surprised they only serve two types of pizza.: margherita (tomato sauce and mozzarella) or marinara (tomato sauce, oregano and garlic w/o cheese). The pizzaiolo (pizza makers) are making the dough on one side, the other side the pizzas are being shoved into the wood burning oven by a giant spatula. I order one marinara for myself and Mike orders the margherita. It's really cheap. Each costs 3.5 euros. Mine comes out with thin crust but the texture is chewy, red tomatoes decorate the 10 inch pizza, with a fresh green basil leave in the center. It tastes simple, pure, and wonderful.
Two years later, when we recall the hours spent in Naples, breaking our legs to try to find Da Michele, we wish we each had two pizzas because they are among the best we've ever had. My marinara is truly worth every minute of my leg work. I would do it again in a heart beat.
We take a day trip from Rome to Sorrento and Pompeii. Because of the guidebook cautioning that Naples is pretty chaotic and full of petty thieves, we don't want to spend more than a few hours there at night. In late afternoon from Pompeii, we hop on the circumvesuvius commuter train that will take us to Naples, where we can catch our night train back to Rome. Naples is supposed to be the birth place of pizza. The only time we have reserved is to find the popular local pizzaria "Antica Pizzeria da Michele".
An impeccably dressed Italian business man sits across us on the train. The entire time, he's reading and we haven't exchanged any words. Right before I am stuffing my book and drinks into the backpack to get ready for Naples, he raises his head, points to my engagement ring and wedding band and says, "Naples? I will put that away." Surprised by this unexpected act, I respond in astonishment, "Really?!! Thanks." I turn both rings around my finger, make a fist so the stones are hidden inside, "This will do?" I seek his confirmation. He smiles and nods. Wow, what in the world! I have never experienced that anywhere before. That incident make Mike and I both wonder what kind of city we are stepping into.
Da Michele is not far from the train station, but we walk many blocks and pass so many men loitering in the street. My stomach starts protesting. We can't find the street. It's getting dark and cold. I try not to look like a tourist but it's quite obvious that we are not locals. Every time we pass someone staring at us, I grab tight into Mike's palm. Finally we decide we've gone too far and it's not right and we turn back towards the train station. At one intersection, I spot a cop. I run up to him and try to ask for direction in my broken Italian, which I pick up only a month before the trip. "Ah, Michele!" He apparently knows this place and loves it since he bursts out a quick chain of words in such excitement, but I could barely grasp one or two words. One of them is "left". Seeing that I am still puzzled, he slows down and repeats. I kind of get it now: we are on a totally wrong path, we need to turn left then go straight ahead... We get lost again. Being hard-headed, neither of us give up especially after we've already invested almost 40 minutes looking for the place. We continue walking and searching for the mysterious street. Now it gets completely dark and all the street lights are on. Fashionably looking teenagers all come out to hang out on the streets and in the road side shops. Street vendors are selling fake name brands, sunglasses, purses, watches, you name it... An hour later, we find Da Michele, we have passed the street twice but missed it because it's tucked in a tiny lane between two bigger streets. From the get-go, instead of turning to the 11 o'clock of the train station, we turn the sharp left into 9 o'clock, then continue into 12, 2, 4 till we find it back at 11 o'clock. No wonder we get lost.
It's a great relief to have finally found it... Da Michele is filled with locals since it's dinner time. We grab the last two seats at the corner table and share with two other people. I am surprised they only serve two types of pizza.: margherita (tomato sauce and mozzarella) or marinara (tomato sauce, oregano and garlic w/o cheese). The pizzaiolo (pizza makers) are making the dough on one side, the other side the pizzas are being shoved into the wood burning oven by a giant spatula. I order one marinara for myself and Mike orders the margherita. It's really cheap. Each costs 3.5 euros. Mine comes out with thin crust but the texture is chewy, red tomatoes decorate the 10 inch pizza, with a fresh green basil leave in the center. It tastes simple, pure, and wonderful.
Two years later, when we recall the hours spent in Naples, breaking our legs to try to find Da Michele, we wish we each had two pizzas because they are among the best we've ever had. My marinara is truly worth every minute of my leg work. I would do it again in a heart beat.
posted by Koshka at 12/11/2006
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