This past October, we walked the streets of Naples looking for a specific pizza place.  I held tightly to my map, but as we all know maps become useless when there aren’t any street signs.   I had a bird’s eye view of the city in my hands but a mouse’s view of the streets.  In the past, I have found (usually by being lost in unfamiliar cities) that by using the Duomo (the main cathedral) as my starting point, I can usually find what I’m looking for.   Of course, I couldn’t see the Duomo from the street.  Neopolitan streets are narrow, the buildings about 5 stories high.  So, I used my backup plan – find an older woman wearing a house coat and a sweater.  Scusi?  Dove el Duomo, per favore?  Seems to work every time.  Gracie!!

The pizza shop was a tiny little place.  We walked into the entrance room which is where the pizza is made. There was a small seating area next door.  The walls were lined with family photos going back several generations.  This was why I wanted to eat pizza here.  It has been owned and operated by the same family for over 5 generations.  They know something about Pizza.   I was there for the 5 Euro “special”  – fried pizza and a coke.  1 Euro more for table service.   A woman in a house coat greeted us.  Well, not really greeted us, she nodded at us.  She glistened slightly from the heat of the stoves.  Without smiling she pointed at the ingredients set out on her table to make sure I understood what she would be making me.  Fresh mozzarella, fresh ricotta, salami, pepperoni – none of it looked like what I was used to calling by these names but I was in an adventurous mood so I nodded yes and smiled.

We’re not talking about  pre-made dough.  She made the dough from flour and water right in front of me, placed all the ingredients onto the 1st small round of dough, covered it with a second small round of dough and placed the whole concoction in the fryer.  I was dubious as to what the final product would be like.  She shuffled around in her slippers, setting out the cokes, the napkins and the forks and knives.  I couldn’t help feeling that we had disturbed her, that we were one more set of tourists to serve, the faster gone the better.

When she brought over our pizzas, they were HUGE!  They were hot and they were delicious.  The dough was more like a sweet pastry dough – the stuffing was magnificent with a slightly smokey, salty meat flavor.  You could taste every ingredient and you could taste how they worked together to create something new.  It was pizza but nothing like pizza.  “Molto Bene!” I said to her.   She smiled.  A big beautiful smile.   I asked her if I could take a photo of her at her pizza table.  On the way to stand behind her table, she stopped at a mirror and fixed her hair.    I took her picture, we laughed, hugged each other and bid Buona Sera – good night.  Now I got it – we weren’t bothering her – we were too far off the beaten path, too deep into the neighborhoods.  People from the cruise ship don’t come here.  She didn’t know what to make of us as we weren’t quite sure what to make of her and her pizza.  We were both shy and unsure.  That’s what I love about travel – being unsure, trying not to insult, allowing them to show me what they are most proud of and showing them how much I appreciate their sharing.

Naples is known for its beautiful women, they count Sophia Loren as their own.  The teenage girls are indeed breathtaking with their deep brown eyes and languid eyebrows.  Beautiful eyes set deep into lovely olive skin surrounded by jet black hair.  They are all over Naples, standing in doorways touching and being touched by equally lovely teenage boys.   The women, however, have exchanged the luster of black hair for softer, lighter browns and instead of tight jeans, they wear house dresses, simple skirts and sensible shoes.   Even though they aren’t the lovely young women they once were, they still feel their beauty.  Working all day in a tiny pizza kitchen can’t take that away from them.  It didn’t take it away from our pizza maker.  At the moment she allowed me to photograph her, I thought she was the most beautiful woman in Naples.  I think she felt that she was, too.