Everything but pizza

When we draw into Napoli Centrale, my thoughts are on pizza and Goethe. The first for obvious reasons. And the latter because I’ve spent the hour-long ride from Rome reading Italian Journey, a memoir of his travels from 1786–88. “I can forgive anyone for going off his head about Naples,” he wrote. I’m keen to see why. “The food,” says my Italian companion; I smile politely. Happy as I am to consume an occasional pizza, the prospect of eating nothing else for three days fills me with little joy.

“What else is there?”

“Pastries.”

I cheer up a little.

That evening, to my surprise, we avoid the million pizzerias dotting the city. I’m ushered down Via Foria, a bustling arterial road, and under the shiny white awning of A Figlia do’ Marenaro. “Seafood,” I exclaim. Our antipasti of octopus with lemon is dazzlingly fresh, while the zuppa di pesce (which sadly translates into — drab — fish soup) is a cauldron drawn straight from the ocean. “One each,” we’d ordered, but our honest-as-daylight waiter warned that a single dish would be enough. It was, and more. A mollusced medley of mussels, clams, lobster, tuna, prawns, swimming in delicately tangy tomato — which we scooped onto biscuit-brittle bread laced with olive oil. Bellies aching, we could barely push ourselves away from the table.

“Are you sure that’s enough?” asks our waiter, grinning.

The next day, an eager hunt for more fruits de mer takes us to Quartieri Spagnoli, a lively neighbourhood of labyrinthine alleys lined with street stalls selling Maradona T-shirts. Here, life spills onto the streets — children play tag, grandfathers watch the world go by, youngsters zip around on noisy scooters. Hidden in Vico Sergente Maggiore, Osteria il Gobbetto is manned by the charming Pasquale, resplendent in his parrot-green Turkish şalvar and betassled fez. Living up to the city’s reputation of friendliness, he takes us on a tour of his spotless kitchen, overlooked by a photograph of Papa Pasquale. “We leave it to you,” we say, when he asks for our orders, and soon our table groans under the weight of antipasti. “We can’t eat this much,” we cry, and promptly demolish melanzane alla pullastiello (breaded aubergines with a heart of provola cheese) and scagniuzielli (fried polenta wedges). Just as quickly the paccheri fritti (paccheri pasta filled with ricotta) disappears. We tarry over peperoncini verdi fritti al pomodoro (green peppers with tomatoes) and pizzelle di sciurilli (fried pumpkin flowers). Fortunately, our primi plati are petite servings — a beautifully balanced linguine cozze e pecorino (linguine, mussels and pecorino cheese), and scialatielli zucca e vongole (scialatielli pasta with pumpkin and clams), its sea-saltiness tempered by delicate sweetness. I’d urge you to skip the mille-feuille (custard pastry slice) here, and wander through San Gregorio Armeno, brimming with artisans and their figurine-filled shops, toward Piazza San Domenico. There, permit the babà (cake saturated in rum) and sfogliatella (shell-shaped ricotta-filled pastry) from Antica Pasticceria Giovanni Scaturchio to lull you into gentle post-prandial slumber.

On our last day, we head to the coast, past the splendour of Piazza del Plebiscito, toward Chiaia, a residential part of the city, hugging the curve of the bay. The place we sought, the famed Cibi Cotti aka Nonna Anna in a traditional covered market, was closed, but we find the charming Osteria da Vittorio instead. Our seafood cravings mollified, we choose antipasti di terra (‘earth’ starters) — grilled zucchini, mozzarella and ripe tomatoes — and homely mains, a weighty pasta e patate (pasta in a stock sauce with potatoes and smoky provola) and robust potato gnocchi in a fresh tomato sauce. Dessert may be chanced upon at Bar Moccia, or at Red Wine Enoteca (try the refreshing granita of Sorrento lemons).

That evening, we broach the subject of pizza. In a place where the thing was invented, the options are overwhelming. We crossed out TripAdvisor favourites — Da Michele, featured in Eat, Pray, Love; Il Pizzaiolo del Presidente, visited by Bill Clinton, Di Matteo and Sorbillo, hour-long queues — and eventually settle on Lombardi 1892. We sit outside, sandwiched between a giggly tween birthday party and a family watching Napoli FC lose to Prague. We opt for the straightforward Pizza Gigi, topped with cherry tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella, and elaborate ‘Ripieno Lombardi’ stuffed with buffalo ricotta. The experimental Pizza Figone, with basil pesto and a centre of buffalo ricotta and parma ham, and the beautifully simple Pizza Marinara with olive oil and tomato. The toppings are startlingly fresh, but the base — light, elastic — convinces us there’s no place in the world to eat pizza apart from Naples.

We leave quite bereft, but cheer ourselves up with ‘foody’ souvenirs from Attanasio, conveniently close to the station. Hugging our pastiera (ricotta cake scented with orange blossom) and savarin (babà with custard filling), we head back to Rome, leaving, like Goethe, our hearts behind.

Travel Log

Get there

Lufthansa, Air France, KLM and Air India, among others, offer one-stop flights to Rome from Delhi and Mumbai. Hourly trains ply to Naples from Rome’s Termini station.

Stay

Comfortable and clean, Hotel Il Convento (hotelilconvento.it) is set within Quartieri Spagnoli. Napolart B&B (napolart.com) offers airy, contemporary rooms in the historic centre, while it’s hard to beat Partenope Relais’ (partenoperelais.it/en) gorgeous seafront location.

Eat

For seafood, head to Osteria il Gobbetto on Vico Sergente Maggiore, or A Figlia do’ Marenaro on Via Foria, which is also where you can get your fill of pizza at Lombardi 1892. Else, settle down to a hearty Neapolitan meal at Cibi Cotti aka Nonna Anna, in the Torretta market, or at Osteria da Vittorio. Save space for desserts at Antica Pasticceria Giovanni Scaturchio in Piazza San Domenico Maggiore or at Bar Moccia on Via San Pasquale a Chiaia.

BLinkTip

Steer clear of pizzerias that don’t use a wood-fired oven.

( Janice Pariat is the author of Seahorse)