A love letter to Neapolitan pizza
It starts, like most good things in Naples, with an argument. Flour, water, salt, yeast — four ingredients, and somehow forty opinions about them. Our dough rests for 48 hours because patience is the fifth ingredient nobody writes down. Then it meets a wood-fired oven at 450 degrees for ninety seconds — just long enough for the crust to puff, char and blister into something you'll tear into before it reaches the table. We've seen it happen. We no longer judge.
“The recipe survived three generations, two emigrations, and one very heated debate about pineapple the family still calls the incident.”
Giovanni, our chef, learned the craft from his grandmother, who learned it from hers, who — according to family legend — once refused to serve a mayor because he asked for ketchup. Every pizza that leaves our oven carries all of that history, plus exactly the toppings you asked for. Even the pineapple. Giovanni just needs a moment first.