Long before Neapolitans fell in love with dried pasta – a luxury food mainly reserved for the nobles until the late 1800s and only later a popular, filling meal – and earning their reputation as mangiamaccheroni (pasta eaters), they were called mangiafoglie – literally, “leaf eaters.” The moniker referred to the habit of consuming significant quantities of the vegetables that grow in the thriving farms at the foot of Vesuvius or in the countryside areas encircling the city center. Common folk cleverly found simple yet effective ways to amplify the vegetables’ flavor, often frying them or accompanying them with tomatoes, herbs, and other ingredients, while precious products such as raisins and pine nuts were – again – the prerogative of the noble class.

Often overshadowed by the ubiquity, convenience, and utmost deliciousness of the classic pizza – in this case, specifically the street version called pizza a portafoglio (folding pizza) – is another typical Neapolitan street food whose history is linked to the royal family: the parigina. Commonly sold, already cut into generous rectangular portions, found in bakeries, simple eateries, and deli shops, this is a different take on the Neapolitan savory tradition. The parigina tantalizingly combines various layers of flavors and textures: a variably thick leavened dough at the base, a well-calibrated filling of tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and baked ham in the middle, and a thin and flaky puff pastry to cover it all.

Among the many legends about pizza in Naples, the most famous and widespread – even though widely confirmed as inaccurate – is the one about the birth of the margherita pizza. Time and time again the story has been repeated, according to which this most beloved pizza was born in the summer of 1889, baked at the Capodimonte royal palace. Made by the cook and pizzaiolo Raffaele Esposito of Brandi Pizzeria, the pizza was intended as an homage to Queen Margherita di Savoia, wife of the first king of Italy (as a united nation) Umberto I, and to the country's three-colored flag.

The birthplace of pizza, Naples is awash with unbeatable pizzerias. Don’t want to miss out on the perfect pie? Culinary Backstreets has you covered. Our team of locals has handpicked the best of the best pizzas in Naples, highlighting the art of the city’s pizzaiolos – now recognized on the list of UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage.

Nestled in the smaller bay of the Gulf of Naples, on the northern side of the Posillipo cape, Pozzuoli is the main center of the Phlegraean Fields, a vast and fertile volcanic area still marked by craters, sulfurous fumes, and seismic activity, rich with natural and archaeological treasures. Pozzuoli was once a Greek colony and a main Roman harbor and trading port the later a fishing village. Today it’s a busy ferry terminal – ferries heading towards the islands of Ischia and Procida leave from here – and a lively coastal district.

Biting into a freshly-made globe of mozzarella, porcelain smoothness yields to a creamy interior and milk trickles down the cheeks. For any Neapolitan, this is true pleasure. And everyone knows the best spot for such an afternoon delight is at a cheese factory in the countryside – namely in the Caserta and Salerno provinces. There, some of the best Mozzarella di Bufala Campana DOP is shaped daily from fresh buffalo milk. For those of us stuck in the city center and craving that addictive bite of fresh mozzarella, one of Sogni di Latte’s two locations is our first stop.

The hordes of pizza lovers who descend on Naples usually head for Via dei Tribunali in the city’s historical center, famed for its parade of pizzerias. If they arrive by train, they will exit the central station, go straight through Piazza Garibaldi and head right for the Centro Storico, where the guidebooks they carry always (erroneously) say they will find the best pizzerias. Locals in the know, meanwhile, head ten minutes in the opposite direction, towards an area that has less foot traffic and appeal for tourists, but that is home to Carmnella – truly one of Naples’s best pizzerias. Evidence of this can be seen in the pizzeria’s dining room; by noon, Carmnella is already full, unusual in a city like Naples, where locals are used to having lunch between 1 and 3 p.m.

In Neapolitan dialect, “È Pronto ‘O Mangià” means simply: “Food is ready!” It is the perfect name for Mattia Grossi’s trattoria, a small, unassuming space on via Cesare Rosaroll. We are welcomed to this family-owned restaurant with an undeniably warm atmosphere: stone walls lined with old photos and newspaper clippings, smiling waiters, music and chatter. È Pronto ‘O Mangià matches the simplicity of its name: nothing sophisticated, nothing gourmet – just true, homemade Neapolitan cuisine.

The Galleria Principe di Napoli’s beautiful arcades and art-deco ceiling made of iron and glass – built in the second half of the 19th century at the site of an ancient grain storehouse – stood silent for long time. Once a buzzing commercial and cultural hub in the heart of the city, with two of its three wings connecting the National Archaeological Museum to the Academy of Fine Arts, the Galleria was confiscated during the Fascist era and used to project propaganda films, shutting down its shops and venues. In the eighties, it was used for public offices for a time before it was left abandoned. Recently, though, the space has been brought to life, thanks to a call for bids and a handful of businesses that took on the challenge, such as a bike shop, a B&B and the lovely Lazzarelle Bistrot, among others.

“It all started with a picture of a millefeuille…but we didn’t make any,” Luigi Lauri begins, as he tells us the story of how his family’s bakery, Antica Pasticceria Lauri, has become a unique fixture in the Neapolitan culinary landscape. In a city like Naples, having the word “Antico” (old) preceding the name of an eatery of any kind conveys a sense of comfort to the customer, a guarantee that the place sticks to the beloved, never-changing recipes of the Neapolitan tradition. This promise certainly doesn’t apply to Antica Pasticceria Lauri. Lard, one of the staple ingredients of Neapolitan patisserie, is banned here. And, although it seems impossible to imagine a babà, the local mushroom-shaped sponge cake, not soaked in the rum that defines its very essence…well, here, that’s exactly how it’s made.

Spring in Naples is the sweetest season. As in many Italian and Mediterranean cities, the sunlight is gentle and temperatures are mild, which makes walking the ups and downs of the hilly city more enjoyable. And, should the blue of the sky be shaded by the clouds, the white-and-blue celebratory flags which anticipate the long-awaited local soccer team’s victory at the national soccer championship – defeating the Neapolitans’ famous superstition – restore the appropriate shade at every corner of the city. If it’s still too early – for most of people, at least – to take a swim in the gulf or cruise it on a kayak, this is the perfect time to explore Naples on foot, discovering its unexpected green soul.

Long before Halloween – nowadays a popular event marked by pumpkins and costumes here in Italy, too – arrived in Naples, we had Carnival. A mix of pagan and religious festivity, celebrated with exuberance and (mainly culinary) excess before Lent, it culminates with Mardi Gras, the Tuesday in February which falls six weeks before Easter. In Naples, Carnival used to imply embarrassing homemade costumes and the desperate effort to escape egg throwing in the streets on the way home from school – as well as much more pleasant rites, including the food-related ones. Which, luckily, still endure. The widespread Italian habit of frying food for Carnival here takes the irregular, indented shape of chiacchiere – thin, crunchy fritters sprinkled with powdered sugar, which are also common in other regions of Italy but with different names – traditionally served with sanguinaccio, a decadent chocolate sauce originally made with pork’s blood, to honor the animal’s sacrifice.

Giovedì mezza giornata: “Half day on Thursday.” The writing in bold yellow and red on the closed shutter of the shop is not only a way to inform customers of the working schedule. It’s something more: an ode to the good old days when all grocery stores in Naples observed the half-day shift to enjoy a midweek break, a statement of respect towards unwritten “holy rules” and choosing personal time and human relationships over business. Sticking to old ways is what makes Salumeria Malinconico a special place. Yet nothing is dusty here; nor gloomy, despite the literal meaning of the family surname displayed on the sign, which translates to “melancholic.”

Despite the difficulties of the Covid-19 lockdowns, the pandemic now feels far away (even if it sometimes tries to raise its head). After months of empty streets, Naples is so full of tourists these days that some areas are nearly impossible to walk through. Hotels and B&Bs are full and restaurants and bars are doing booming business, with visitors and locals alike. But off the beaten track, we still managed to find little corners of peace and gastronomic pleasure this past year. Reuniting with old friends this summer at Spiedo d’Oro, a hole-in-the-wall eatery steps away from busy Pignasecca market, reminded us of just how glad we were to see the streets and little spots like this busy again.

Il Grottino (meaning “The Little Cave”) is a small wine bar located in an area of Naples still not explored by many tourists. Despite being situated in the heart of the old town, the upper Decumani area is off the beaten track and feels like a small oasis (hopefully for a long time to come). Here, we are just a few meters from the Naples Cathedral, and after feasting our eyes on its baroque beauty, Il Grottino is the perfect place to rest and enjoy a glass of wine and a bite. Il Grottino was born in 1980 thanks to Antonio De Luca 64, and his wife Maria, 61. When he was 10 years old, Antonio, the son of a carpenter, started working as a shop boy in a local delicatessen.

Naples’s Quartieri Spagnoli, the "Spanish Quarters,” are a part of the city with a long and tumultuous history. Founded in 1500, the Quartieri Spagnoli were created by Don Pedro De Toledo to accommodate the Spanish soldiers who were residing or passing through Naples. With the arrival of the soldiers, the network of narrow streets became a hotbed for illegal economic activities, from cigarette smuggling to drug dealing to prostitution, earning the district a bad reputation that stuck for centuries – even Neapolitans from other neighborhoods were afraid of entering the Quartieri Spagnoli. In recent decades, however, the atmospheric district has become one of the city’s tourist attractions, recognized as one of the centers of Neapolitan gastronomy as well as a place of craftsmanship, cultural and anthropological initiatives.

The last wood-fired coffee roaster in all of southern Italy is located, appropriately, in Bacoli. This area of Campi Flegrei, the Phlegraean fields of Naples (from the Greek word flègo, which means “burn”) is a part of the Gulf of Pozzuoli known since Roman times for its active volcanoes. It is here that Nicola Scamardella is carrying on his family’s tradition of roasting coffee with a wood-burning machine. Nicola is known in Bacoli as the son of Pasquale Scamardella, a man whose nickname was Pasquale della Torrefazione (“of the roastery”). In the 1960s, Pasquale and his wife Delia were working for a commercial coffee roaster in Naples.

Chef owner Angela Gargiulo calls her restaurant Buatta a trattoria di conversazione – a “conversation eatery.” Tucked in a peaceful corner of Vomero, the Neapolitan shopping district, Buatta is “…a conversation restaurant in the true sense of the word,” Angela tells us. “After cooking, and now that I have excellent collaborators [to help] in the kitchen, I have time to sit next to my customers; I talk to them at the table about the strangest things; it's as if they came over to my house.” Little by little, the restaurant (whose name, Buatta, from the French boite, is a Neapolitan word that means “jar”) has become a destination for those who love simple and quality cuisine, and for those who love to chat.

In the tiny Italian town of Cuccaro Vetere, some 150 kilometers south of Naples, villagers are surrounded by nature and an incredible variety of local fruits. The town, which is in Campania’s province of Salerno, has just over 500 inhabitants, and – even more than their nature’s bounty – these residents are known for one thing: their long lifespans.

There are flowers all around us. Seeds and plants are scattered here and there. Herbs and fresh fruits rest in wicker and reed baskets. Sitting amongst all this glory is Stefania Salvetti, who is telling us about Paradisiello, where she lives. Meaning “Little Paradise” in Italian, Paradisiello is where Stefania has a home with 2,000 square meters of greenery, citrus trees and even chickens. The big surprise? What sounds like a glorious village outside of Naples is actually a quarter within the city, very close to the historic center. Il Paradisiello is a small, romantic, peaceful place just a few meters from the noisy city. A site where time seems to stand still, the air somehow more rarefied.

Two-and-a-half kilometers of curves and narrow alleys at 150 meters above sea level. Breathtaking views overlooking the sea. A coast dominated by the blue of the sky and dotted with arabesque domes. All around is the unmistakable perfume of the sfusato amalfitano – the Amalfi lemon.

We climb up, arriving at the edge of the ancient Roman thermal baths of Baiae, which date back to the 1st century BCE. It has been pouring rain, but we see no standing water here. "We take obsessive care of the soil, and the water is cleverly drained just as our predecessors used to do it,” Luigi Di Meo, 61, tells us. Luigi is the owner of La Sibilla winery and vineyards, the grounds of which spreads out around us on this dreary day.

The requirements for a place to qualify as an authentic Neapolitan trattoria are simple: It must be tiny, intimate and quiet, with a small menu and a genuine atmosphere. In other words, it must be La Cantina Di Via Sapienza. This is not a trattoria with fake antiques strategically placed inside to draw tourists or chic Neapolitans looking for “aesthetic” culinary experiences. Rather, La Cantina Di Via Sapienza is a true neighborhood spot that serves meals to the employees and nurses of the nearby polyclinic, and to the students and professors from the various universities of the historic center.

Behind the counter at the modest Spiedo d’Oro, owner Vincenzo Monzo and his wife Cinzia have something welcoming to say to every customer who walks in. “The eggplant parmigiana will be ready in 10 minutes.” “The pasta and beans have just come out.” “Salvatore! You alone? No wife? We'll make you a plate of Genovese, and the gattò is on its way.” With a few spartan tables and a glass-lined counter where you can see everything that is available for lunch, Spiedo d’Oro is the definition of a no-frills joint. Like everyone around us, we’ve come here not just for the warm welcome but also for the simple but excellent Neapolitan dishes.

It is 1760 and on the throne in Naples is King Ferdinand IV. Pietro Colicchio has opened Pizzeria di Pietro e basta così, and the name says it all: “Pietro's Pizzeria and that's enough.” A restaurant strictly selling pizza, it will become known as one of Naples’ first pizzerias. As we move into the 19th century, Raffaele Esposito and his wife Giovanna Brandi take over Pietro’s, which is located on via Chiaia, the city’s “good sofa” as they say in Neapolitan, meaning one of the best and more elegant parts of the city. It’s here that Brandi Pizzeria creates a legend of its own, without the help of Pietro.

In Naples, the postale (mail ship) arrives from Palermo every morning and leaves in the evening for the return journey across the Tyrrhenian Sea. Forget about the sensational yet tired connection made between the two cities in the popular imagination – that of the Mafia in Palermo and Camorra in Naples. For us, the postale represents a far more interesting link: The “mozzarella and cannoli connection.” On the Naples-Palermo route, dozens of people can be seen transporting plastic containers holding mozzarella from the Campania region into Sicily. On the opposite route, cannoli and Sicilian cassata (cake) boxes abound. This trafficking of edibles reflects a gastronomic relationship that has long existed between the two cities.

Historically, Naples has not been a city with a large number of cyclists. Too many uphill battles from the historic center to neighborhoods along Vomero Hill make it a difficult location for the casual biker. In recent years, however, environmental consciousness has grown and we are witnessing a rapid development of places dedicated to pedal power lovers. With Culinary Backstreets working at the intersection of food and travel, it often happens that after our walking food tours, visitors ask advice on other ways to explore the city – particularly by rented bicycle. Today’s Naples dispatch is not just about a café’s culinary offerings, but a service that, in times of sustainable consciousness, is becoming increasingly popular.

Naples’ Forcella district is known throughout Italy for the starring role it plays in the drama that is the city’s underworld; many Camorra (Neapolitan mafia) members call the neighborhood home. Today, this district is experiencing a moment of redemption both artistic and cultural. The former can be seen in the murals and old, repurposed cinema houses, which have become venues for art exhibitions. The latter has unfolded with the renovation and reopening of the 110-year-old Trianon Viviani theater, which is focused on putting “Canzone Napoletana” – Naples’ homegrown musical genre – back on the map. But for many, Forcella is famous for being home to another Neapolitan institution: Gelateria Al Polo Nord.

We are inside the renovated Galleria Principe di Napoli, right between the National Archaeological Museum and the Academy of Fine Arts. Tables line a corner of the gallery’s beautiful interior, and the art-deco ceiling arches above us– to sit at Lazzarelle Bistrot is a real pleasure, for the eyes and the stomach. But this cafe is more than a pretty little gem in the newly renovated galleria. It is a project long in the making for the Lazzarelle cooperative, which has been promoting the social and economic inclusion of women inmates and working to reduce recidivism for about a decade. In Naples, a lazzarella defines herself as a restless, lively girl, while others may use the definition “little rascal."

Naples is a city of history, art, culture and gastronomy. But the most beautiful surprises of this city are the people – women and men who have dedicated lifetimes to their work, making it a real passion. In the heart of the Quartieri Spagnoli (Spanish quarter) are two such men, the brothers Prigiobbo. Ciro (79) and Gennaro (76) have been chefs at the Pizzeria Trattoria Prigiobbo for truly a lifetime. We could say that they were born and raised here. Their grandfather Vincenzo opened the shop in 1917, it was taken over by their father Antonio in the 40s, and now, since the 60s, Gennaro and Ciro have been firing up the pizza oven.

The restaurant A Taverna d’ ‘e Zoccole has a Neapolitan name, but the translation is intuitive in Italian: la taverna delle zoccole, or “the tavern of the whores.” In other words, a disreputable inn (locanda di malaffare). It’s certainly blunt, and maybe even too explicit for some, but we actually find it kind of brilliant. The restaurant’s name offers a semantic connection to the history of the Quartieri Spagnoli (Spanish Quarter), the neighborhood where it’s located. Until not too long ago, the area was considered a den of sin, with high rates of prostitution and crime. It was a reputation that dated back to the end of the 16th century, when the quarter was built to house Spanish soldiers.

In 2017, when Francesco Cancelliere and his brother-in-law Oreste Improta opened their small trattoria in Piazza Cardinale Sisto Riario Sforza, a splendid little-known square behind Cattedrale di San Gennaro, they drew inspiration from a nearby masterpiece: Caravaggio’s The Seven Works of Mercy, which was made for, and is still housed in, the church of Pio Monte della Misericordia, located close to the cathedral. First was the name of their new trattoria: Caravaggio. But they really leaned into the theme. “All the tablecloths and napkins were inspired by a Caravaggio painting. But it happened that napkins disappeared every day, because tourists took them as souvenirs.”

Dreamers make the world more beautiful. These extravagant eccentrics fascinate us with their seemingly impossible, utopian ventures, while equally making us wonder how their projects endure. Mario Avallone, 62, is one of these people. Get to know him, and he’ll happily tell you his tale: his travels around the world, his years living in Sicily, his incredible projects and the Mediterranean goods that he sources from A-to-Z. It is this truly extraordinary expertise in gastronomic culture that feeds his Neapolitan pantry – Drugstore Napoli – and the attached tasting room, La Stanza del Gusto, which was created to satisfy the most discerning palates, Neapolitans and travelers alike.

For those wishing to get into the true Neapolitan spirit, a visit to the Porta Nolana market – traditionally famous for its fish – is essential. It’s a place where time seems to have stopped a century or so ago. The market is named after the imposing Porta Nolana gate, which itself is an important piece of the city’s history, despite being dominated by ugly housing blocks today. It was where villagers from the surrounding areas used to enter the city, and thus it was a common spot for saddlers to set up shop – travelers were always in need of repairs to their horse’s equipment. One saddler remains today, although it has morphed into a leather shop, selling beautifully crafted pieces.

Everything at NAM 43, from the exposed wood beams that extend across the space to the Neapolitan tuff, an ancient stone, embedded in the walls, reflects a philosophy of recycling. (Except the food, of course, which is fresh every day.) In fact, it was one of the basic principles that inspired 50-year-old Raffaele Montesano to take over the space, an old antique shop, in early 2016 and turn it into a bistro, one that would enhance classic Neapolitan offerings with gourmet touches. “I love minimalist furniture,” Raffaele tells us. “The tables came from a school canteen in Emilia-Romagna [a region in northern Italy] and were won at an auction.”

Naples and its people have a strong link to traditional pastries: For centuries the sweet trio of babà, sfogliatella and pastiera has dominated undisputed. But in the city’s historic center, a woman dares to challenge the sacred pillars of pastry, offering instead a tarte au citron or éclair au chocolat that wouldn’t look out of place in Paris. The pastry shop’s name – Mon Sciù – clearly spells out its love of French and Neapolitan culinary cultures. Mon is French for “mine,” while sciù is the Neapolitan word for “choux pastry” (it’s also used to describe a person who is particularly kind).

When the first lockdown began in March 2020, one of the few things to disappear from supermarket shelves in Naples was yeast. Everyone was forced to stay home, where many got the idea to make pizza – baked, fried and stuffed. The result was that by mid-March, yeast was almost impossible to find. Fights broke out in grocery stores over packets of yeast. But I had my own secret reserves: Antonio ‘o fresellaro’s mother yeast. You see, on March 20 (at which point going out for food shopping was allowed), I escaped from home for a brief trip to buy Antonio Di Paolo’s freselle (twice-baked bread). While I was there, Antonio gifted me a piece of his family’s most precious treasure: their mother yeast.

For Christmas, a Neapolitan wants to eat three things: fish, seafood and more fish. So important are the creatures of the sea for the holy evening that Christmas is also referred to as the festa dei sette pesci (“feast of the seven fishes”). And while all fish are welcome at the table, one is especially dear to every Neapolitan’s stomach: dried, aged Atlantic cod. It comes in two similar but distinct forms: baccalà, or salt cod, which, as the name suggests, is cod that has been heavily salted; and stoccafisso, known as “stockfish” in English, which is preserved by being dried in the sun and the wind. Before they are eaten, both are soaked in water to rehydrate and soften them.

The ancient Romans loved to eat well. Look no further than the food represented in many Pompeian frescoes and mosaics, like the bread, figs, pomegranates and baskets of fruit portrayed at the most famous villa at Oplontis, the so-called Villa of Poppaea, named after the second wife of the Emperor Nero. And from the buried cities of Pompeii, Herculaneum and Stabia, archeologists have uncovered many artifacts of a gastronomic nature, a sign of the culinary prowess of this ancient civilization. In particular, the Romans had a taste for garum, a funky sauce that, as Pliny the Elder describes, was obtained by mashing up fish entrails, layering them with salt and leaving them to ferment under the sun.

In the history of Neapolitan cuisine, the most important revolution, the one that transformed the culinary habits of people across southern Italy, is certainly the flourishing of dried pasta. Until the second half of the 17th century, Neapolitans were nicknamed mangiafoglie (leaf-eaters) – the volcanic land surrounding the city was incredibly productive, resulting in a large variety of vegetables that formed the basis of the local diet. But by the end of the 17th century, the ideal climatic and economic conditions converged in that bend in the sea between Naples and the Sorrento coast, where the towns of Gragnano and Castellammare di Stabia are located, to allow for the rise of dried pasta.

Giuliano Granata and Federica Palumbo first met while on holiday in Calabria, in 2009. At the time, Giuliano was working as an accountant, and Federica as a lawyer. But the two fell in love, and soon after decided to take a sommelier course together. And so two became three: Giuliano, Federica and the wine. This passion quickly consumed their lives. “We decided to leave our jobs and, in 2016, opened a bistro in Vomero [a hilltop district in Naples] with a very rich cellar called Granafine,” Giuliano, 42, tells us. After operating the bistro for two years, they closed their doors and turned to a new venture. “Vineria Bandita, a project focused on natural wines, was born,” he says.

It all began with some cheese. In 1997, Salvatore Cautero had the idea of setting up a simple shop that sold a selection of latticini (dairy products) and cheeses. That same year, on September 6, Caseari Cautero (a “caseari” is a dairy) opened its doors. The shop occupies a small storefront in the market at Piazzetta Pontecorvo, a busy hub where Naples’ ancient city center meets the newer, hillier district of Vomero. Salvatore is the fourth generation to work in the world of gastronomy – his father, Luigi, sells baccalà cod and stockfish next door. The idea behind his shop was to look for and select niche products made by small, high-quality producers, a sensibility that was passed down from father to son.

When it comes to buying wine, everyone has different tastes and priorities. Maybe you’re looking for a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino from 1945 (assuming you have €6,000 lying around) or a Château Lafite Rothschild from 2012 (a relative bargain at €880). Or maybe you’re looking to spend only a few euros on a bottle of good wine to drink with friends at a barbecue. Whatever the case, you’re sure to find what you’re looking for at Enoteca Partenopea, which has one of the widest selections of wine in the whole of southern Italy. In 1951, Raffaele Mangia (nomen omen, or “the name is a sign,” as the Latins would say) founded what would become the wine shop, although it was initially a trattoria where you could also buy wine.

Located south of Naples, Cilento is a region that has it all: sea (the Tyrrhenian), mountains (the Apennines), the second largest national park in Italy, and, perhaps most importantly, excellent food. Not only has Slow Food recognized eight products from the region that are worth protecting, but the area is also inextricably linked with the Mediterranean diet. In the mid-20th century, the American physiologist Ancel Keys decided to live in Pioppi, on the Cilento coast, where he had noticed that the inhabitants were living longer than most. It was here that he studied and began championing the Mediterranean diet, which has since been inscribed on UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage.

Everything is ready at Mangia e Bevi. The tables are spaced out, the seats reduced from 60 to only 18, in the kitchen Marilena – owner Luigi Grasso’s wife and the trattoria’s cook – is dressed like an astronaut, the wine is chilled and wonderful smells waft from the kitchen. My favorite restaurant, “my” Trattoria Mangia e Bevi, has reopened after being closed for 80 days. And that’s already good news. “I’m so happy to see you again,” Luigi exclaims, while we touch our elbows, both protected by masks that hides our smiles.

Over the last three months, as the Covid-19 pandemic forced us indoors, the members of my family have put on an average of two kilos. We spent lots of time cooking and talking about food, planning out the week’s menu well in advance. We prepared everything at home: bread, pizza, noodles, cakes and biscuits. My daughters even made sushi! In supermarkets, yeast was nowhere to be found, and we witnessed frenzied scenes whenever flour arrived. But there are some foods that just cannot be prepared at home, and these were the ones we craved.

On Saturday, May 2, we were finally able to eat real Neapolitan pizza once again. No more homemade pizza, thank goodness (a timely measure as yeast is becoming harder to find across Italy). The threats of Vincenzo De Luca, the president of the Campania region, to use flamethrowers in response to those who violated the lockdown bans didn’t come to fruition. A fire, however, was finally rekindled in Naples: that of the city’s thousands of pizza ovens. Pizza is back but you can only buy it takeaway or have it delivered to your home, with a series of health rules to follow. It is not possible to eat in a pizzeria, and this, we will see, completely alters the relationship between the city’s residents and their pizza.

Neapolitans have a special affinity for pasta. It’s a staple pantry, sure, but also more than that – in Naples, pasta is part of the pervading spirit of the place. Not only do we have great respect for this ingredient, but we also appreciate the minute differences between shapes, differences that would surely be overlooked elsewhere. This sensitivity, like many gastronomic rules, has been handed down for generations. With the aim of sharing such knowledge (and taking inspiration from my Pantry Raid presentation on Instagram Live), I put together a pasta guide, which will allow you to make and order pasta dishes as true Neapolitans do, and avoid the mistakes that true Neapolitans would never make.

We’re launching a regular Instagram Live series with our walk leaders called CB Pantry Raid – each person will give a guided tour of the local pantry and discuss the staples that have sustained their communities over the years. Tune in on Thursday, April 16, at 2 p.m. EDT (GMT-4) to hear Amedeo Colella, our Naples bureau chief, talk about the Neapolitan pantry, with a focus on pasta. As Amedeo wrote in his Coronavirus Diary, the markets in Naples initially saw a run on pasta, with only smooth penne pasta (penne lisce) remaining on the shelves (he obviously didn’t buy it, as they eat only ridged pasta in his house).

Editor’s note: We don’t operate in Milan, but it's the home of our managing editor, Emma Harper. So we asked her to share her experience living under lockdown in the epicenter of Italy's outbreak. The first thing I noticed on lockdown in Milan, and the thing that has stuck with me the most, is the barking. Our apartment sits on a noisy thoroughfare, with cars and trams running by at all hours. But now, save for the errant tram, it’s quiet and still; the piercing, fearful dog barks ring out and bounce between the buildings that line my street, amplified by the silence. The only sound that can drown them out is an ambulance siren. It’s safe to say that the Milanese are dog people: Canines crowd the parks and streets, join their owners on the metro, and tag along for caffè and a brioche at the bar.

There’s some good news on the solidarity front. It’s especially nice to get good news since the coronavirus crisis in Italy goes beyond any disaster, any catastrophe I could have ever imagined. While there are few positive aspects to this experience, by nature I always see the glass half full. Professionally and psychologically, humanity will pay a high price, but I believe that we will recover soon. And my belief is buoyed by the solidarity shown in Naples (and that has sprung up all over the world).

A popular dessert in Naples and beyond, the zeppola di San Giuseppe, a deep-fried cream puff, is traditionally eaten on the Feast of St. Joseph (also called St. Joseph’s Day), on March 19, which is also when Father’s Day is celebrated in Italy. On this day, each Neapolitan traditionally eats several zeppole, despite their enormous size and rich filling. I have seen some that, with the addition of cream puffs, cream (inside and outside) and black cherries, weighed almost half a kilo.

In life, it’s never too late to try changing course. It’s not always possible, it’s not always easy, but when you succeed, what satisfaction. Seventy-year-old Raffaele Cardillo, with his smiling face and white beard, can attest to that. After 20 years spent working as a lawyer, shuttling between courts and meetings with defendants, and puzzling over lawsuits and problems to unravel, he decided to give up his law career and transform his passion – cooking – into a real job. Spending his evenings at the stove was a favorite pastime, the way he relaxed after a long day in court.

After a morning spent walking around the Fontanelle Cemetery, the oldest ossuary in Naples, and the Sanità market, we believe that we have created enough of a calorie deficit to face a fried pizza – the original pizza, born before the more familiar oven-baked variety, and a universally beloved dish in the Neapolitan cuisine – with self-acquittal. And in the Sanità neighborhood, there’s no question that we’ll be seeking out the fried pizza of Isabella De Cham. The 26-year-old makes creative and high-quality fried foods in an elegant and polished restaurant, with a black-and-white color scheme – not quite what you’d expect for a fried pizza joint, although the familiar warmth is still there.

Tomatoes, one of the joys of summer in most locales, thrive in Campania’s hot and sunny climate. Yet good tomatoes can be surprisingly hard to find in summer – the oval, longish, rather crisp varieties that are the region’s claim to fame are mostly used for cooking, and the best ones are canned or exported to richer parts of the world. Somewhat improbably, winter is the best time to eat fresh tomatoes in Naples. As soon as the days get shorter and the nights get colder, small cherry tomatoes with a distinctly pointy end start to appear at every vegetable stall and restaurant throughout the city – this particular version of the fruit is known as pomodorino del piennolo del Vesuvio, or simply piennolo.

The excavations at Oplontis, located in the modern city of Torre Annunziata, are often overlooked in favor of its much larger, much grander neighbor: Pompeii. Yet like all little-known things, this archeological site is full of incredible surprises, like the magnificent villa said to have belonged to Poppaea Sabina, the second wife of the Emperor Nero. A UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1997, the villa is certainly worth a visit (plus, you’ll avoid the tourists who come from far and wide to invade Pompeii). And after having “discovered” Oplontis, there is a small gastronomic treasure to be discovered: DocSicil.

In a city with such a conservative attitude toward gastronomy, it’s rare for new foods, new preparations and new trends to flourish. Naples has continued to reject the aggressive advances of globalized food: The number of fast food chains can be counted on one hand (although many have tried their luck in the city), and the latest international fashions, from poke to kebab, struggle to make inroads. There is one exception: the muffin, an American dessert that has become widespread in the city’s bars. But, of course, Neapolitans proceeded to modify this novelty according to the tastes and traditions of South Italy. It is not uncommon to find rustic savory muffins, made with ricotta and cigoli (pork crackling).

A philosophical bar with a throwback name, Cuccuma Caffè opened in October 2018 as a counterpoint to the Neapolitan coffee culture – unlike the many, many bars where you sling back a shot of espresso while standing at the counter, this spot prioritizes a slow coffee. Achille Munari, 32, fell in love with Naples when he arrived 10 years ago from Umbria and decided to stay here in our city. A brilliant guy, Achille prefers a calm, relaxed pace of life, one that allows for reflection and conversation. So he decided to set up a bar that puts his life philosophy into practice.

When the colder temperatures arrive, we stop by Lello’s stand for octopus soup, a beloved winter street delight for generations. Called the tea of Neapolitans, it’s a hot drink that tastes of the sea, as the water is flavored by the long boiling of the king of cephalopods. Discover Naples’ iconic street foods on our walk.

One tip often given to travelers is to look for restaurants full of locals. In fact, we do the same thing when dining out in Naples: If we see a spot packed with groups of employees or policemen on their lunch break, it’s almost a guarantee that we’ll eat well. Trattoria Avellinese, the late Peppino (Giuseppe) Cipriano’s restaurant near the central train station, is one place that’s always crowded with Neapolitans. Moreover, we can personally testify that this trattoria is a local favorite. Growing up, we lived near Piazza Garibaldi, and whenever our family went out for lunch – which, to tell the truth, wasn’t that often – we went to Peppino’s place.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Italians – particularly southern Italians – immigrated to the United States in droves. Seeking their fortune in a distant land, they boarded ships with cardboard suitcases containing only a few clothes. But there was no shortage of good food in those suitcases: bread, cheese and even soppressata, cured pork salami made with the best pieces of the pig (and thus low in fat content), a perennial favorite in southern Italy. Alas, once they arrived on American soil after the long journey, their soppressate were seized because of a law prohibiting the import of cured meat, among other meat products (a ban that still exists today).

On Sunday around lunchtime, the streets of Sanita can get almost eerily quiet. Where normally children play, scooters zoom past, shopkeepers haggle loudly with old ladies, and neighbors stick their heads out of their windows and discuss the latest gossip, suddenly nobody is to be seen or even heard. Sanita is still a very traditional working-class neighborhood in the heart of Naples, and tradition has it that on Sunday afternoon everybody feasts: The whole family gathers around mama’s table for an hours-long lunch. If you happen to wander Sanita’s deserted streets at that time of the week, you’ll constantly catch whiffs of familiar smells: frying garlic, roasting onions, and meat simmered in sauce for many hours. And, more and more often, the tempting, spice-scented smell of curry.

Opening a pizza joint in a city that’s world renowned for its pies requires some gumption. Maria Rosaria Artigiano, 56, the energetic owner of Pizzeria ‘Ntretella, which opened a few years ago, certainly has it; so does her brother, the brilliant chef Gennaro Artigiano. The beautiful restaurant they built together has quickly become a “new classic” in the panorama of Neapolitan pizzerias. Gennaro, 57, owns Locanda Ntretella, an old restaurant in the Spanish Quarter known for its excellent cuisine. Yet he is a restless man, always on the lookout for a new challenge. So in 2013, when he heard of an old carpentry shop in the heart of the Spanish Quarter, he visited the space and realized it would be a perfect place to open a pizzeria.

Imagine the most extraordinary location for a vineyard that you can. Got an image in mind? Well, we think Cantine dell’Averno, a four-hectare vineyard in Pozzuoli, has it beat: Not only are its vines growing inside the caldera of a volcano that is theoretically still active, but they also surround the ruins of a Greek temple. We are on the shores of Lake Avernus, a volcanic lake that formed thousands of years ago and is part of the wider Campanian volcanic arc, which includes the Phlegraean Fields. It’s a place shrouded in an aura of mystery – legends and tales about this somewhat eerie body of water have been passed down since antiquity.

The typical Neapolitan trattoria is a place where you go to eat like you would at home: the cook buys everything fresh in the morning, just like at home, and then spends the rest of the day in the kitchen, which he rules like a maestro. For the quintessential trattoria experience, we head to Fuorigrotta, a working-class district on the west side of Naples. There, close to the border with the seaside suburb of Bagnoli and not far from the Cavalleggeri Aosta metro stop, stands Cucina da Vittorio, a small trattoria with a few tables and a steady rotation of regular customers.

The seaside district of Chiaia, perhaps best known for Via Caracciolo, a boulevard with sweeping views of the Bay of Naples, is the most elegant neighborhood in Naples. Long the seat of the Neapolitan aristocracy, the area is studded with Art Nouveau palaces, elegant boutiques, and Villa Pignatelli, a house museum with an impressive art collection. But our favorite corner of the neighborhood is Piazzetta Ascensione, a quiet little square at the top of Via Ascensione (the Latin phrase nomen omen, “the name [is] a sign,” applies here, so be ready for a climb). It’s so dear to us in part because there’s a small, charming restaurant just off the square, one with a very distinctive name: Cap’alice.

Entering the family-run freselle (dried bread) bakery on our walk in Naples is like traveling back in time – they’ve been using the same sourdough starter since the Second World War. It appears not to have changed over the past century (except for the electric pasta maker).

One of the problems for travelers with celiac disease is that they often can’t taste local gastronomic specialties. This is particularly true in Naples, a city famed for its pizza and pastries, such as the mythical babà; pastiera, the queen of Neapolitan sweets; and the ancient sfogliatella. Until about 20 years ago, it was very difficult for someone with celiac disease to eat in Naples; the number of restaurants equipped for gluten-free cooking could be counted on one hand, and they often had to resort to processed food products sold in pharmacies.

The typical Neapolitan breakfast is fast, often consumed standing at the espresso bar. A croissant and a quick coffee – and, boom, the day begins. Many people in the English-speaking world, however, will use coffee bars and cafès as a place to relax or work. They bring computers, connect to the Wi-Fi and, ordering just one coffee, may even sit for hours. Three years ago, a group of entrepreneurs decided it was time Naples had a bar where people could indulge in a lazy morning breakfast, a slow midday meal or a long afternoon tea – a place where the chairs are comfortable, the tables are an inviting wood and you are encouraged to stay and make your phone calls, write your papers and chat with friends.

On our Naples walk, we stop at one of the city’s storied “water banks” for a taste of the Neapolitan gazosa, a relatively simple concoction made of lemon juice, bicarbonate and sulfur water. The digestive power of this drink is extraordinary – it’s perfect if you went overboard with pasta or pizza (or both), or woke up with a killer hangover. 

The Neapolitan stairs are ancient urban routes that connect the upper city (the Vomero district) to the lower city (the historic center). The most famous of these stairs is the Pedamentina di San Martino, a staircase of 414 steps dating back to the 14th century, which starts from the old center and reaches the Castel Sant’Elmo, on the Vomero hill. Along the way there are beautiful panoramic views of Naples. One reason to walk these Neapolitan stairs (besides the views) is to look for Totò Eduardo E Pasta E Fagioli, an old tavern with an amazing terrace overlooking historic Naples. The name is dedicated to two great masters of Neapolitan theater and cinema: Totò (Antonio de Curtis) and Eduardo de Filippo.

If a gastronomia or delicatessen prepares good food, it can survive for decades. But if a gastronomia also promotes a social cause, there is a risk that clients will visit once to silence their consciences, and not return. At Sfizzicariello, a “social gastronomia,” the food is at once excellent, and the cause worthy. A group of 10 people with mental health disorders run the deli, an example of commitment but, above all, quality dishes that will keep people coming back. Here is one of the best eggplant Parmigiane in Naples, an exceptional endive pizza, and a number of unparalleled meatballs. Come for a quick snack, a long lunch break sitting at one of the few tables scattered about or to order take away. The environment is modern in design, with eight seats inside and four out.

Come summertime, Carmine, a street vendor for all seasons, prepares refreshing granita on Via dei Tribunali in Naples. The semi-frozen dessert made from sugar, water and various flavorings, counters the oppressive heat. Don’t leave before exchanging a few words with Carmine, who is renowned for his ability to strike up a conversation with anyone.

We are in the Vasto district, a difficult to navigate maze of narrow streets that criss and cross, a market area squashed between Naples’ central station and Centro Direzionale, the business district. The district’s Via Nazionale, a street adjacent to the station, is a shrine to local gastronomic treasures, and we consider it a true paradise for lovers of good food. It’s a jewelry box of flavors, ideas, and unique and original products. The daily street market on Via Ferrara, another local artery, is one of the city’s most colorful and fascinating – mentioned several times in renowned author Elena Ferrante’s “My Brilliant Rriend.” It was here, in 2016, that Dario Troise brought to life a project 15 years, if not centuries, in the making: a panini bar that serves only cuzzetiello (which roughly translates to bread bowl sandwiches).

When the other butcher shops in Naples are closing for lunch and at the end of the day, activity at D'Ausilio Macelleria is just picking up. The cooktops are lit, sandwiches are being made and this Italian butcher shop becomes a quality burgeria. “I come from Vomero (the hill district) to buy Raffaele’s hamburgers. My children love them,” says customer Rosaria Esposito at 8 p.m., when the macelleria is an hour into its transformation as a burgeria. But this is no trendy burger bar; the menu is steeped in local heritage. Rosaria leaves the burgers to the kids, choosing for herself the delicious home-style dishes created at D’Ausilio. Parmigiana alla Genovese stands out among those on display. Here are two sacred words of Neapolitan cuisine – Parmigiana and Genovese, a simple yet miraculous sauce made of meat (veal, beef or pork) and a heap of onions (red or white) – cornerstones in the history of local cooking.

An espresso coffee is an integral part of most Neapolitans’ morning routine. We start off our walk with a (small) cup of this potent brew and sfogliatella, a pastry first created in a Catholic convent near Naples.

At any time of day you’ll see crowds of people at the ancient, welcoming restaurant. At lunchtime, many regulars come daily not for the pizza, but for Maria’s home cooked dishes. “Here we serve traditional Neapolitan dishes,” says the 74-year-old. “Pasta and potatoes, pasta and beans, pasta sorrentine style or bolognese. The menu changes every day, and the bread is made every morning, here, directly in the pizza oven … with my hands.” There’s something about the pizzeria that transmits a sense of history, particularly its inner room, the walls of which are covered in declarations of love for the restaurant and drawings made on paper napkins by loyal customers over the decades. “It is as if customers wanted to leave something of themselves,” Attilio tells us proudly. “They wanted to return some of the goodness they just tasted with something that would last.”

Being a street butcher in Naples is not for the faint of heart. “Rain, sun, wind, heat, cold… being on the street seven days a week means knowing how to face every type of weather,” says Gaetano Iavarone. He is part of the invincible team behind Macelleria Iavarone, a butcher shop in Naples’ Sant’Antonio Market run by Domenico (Mimmo) and his three sons, Gaetano, Lorenzo and Davide. The so-called “street butcher shop” has a huge display of meat outside with only a small cash register inside. Also inside is a larger photo of Gaetano the elder, Domenico’s father, who opened the butcher shop 60 years ago. Domenico took over the reins 30 years ago and now runs it with his close-knit team of sons.

Pizzeria Gino Sorbillo has been serving pizza made with bio flour, which is made from grains that haven’t been exposed to fertilizers or other pesticides, and mother yeast, the proportions of which are top secret, since 1935.

Sold for one or two euros, the spritz, which at its most basic is a combination of bittersweet liqueur, sparkling wine and seltzer, has been dubbed “the champagne of the poor” – no wonder it has been the king of cocktails in Naples for at least a decade. Aperitif time – often starring a cool spritz – is the most relaxing, and thus most awaited, moment of the day. And Neapolitans have made an art of this pre-meal ritual. In a city that is known (although sometimes unjustly) throughout Italy as the city of the idle, the aperitif has come to symbolize living well, in the company of friends.

Like the Proustian madeleine, sweets can stir up all kinds of feelings in the minds of those who eat them. In Naples, struffoli (small, round doughnuts glazed with honey) and cassata (sponge cake with ricotta and candied fruit) speak of Christmas, while chiacchiere (sugar-dusted fritters) and sanguinaccio (literally “blood pudding,” but actually made of chocolate) bring to mind Carnevale. And then there’s pastiera, whose very scent and taste make us think of Easter and spring. These days, pastiera can be made all year long, not only when the wheat has just sprouted, as was the case for our ancestors. Yet, when Easter approaches, all Neapolitans dream of this tart.

The handywork of Pasquale De Stefano, better known as Pasquale ‘o nummararo, “the number man,” can be seen all over Naples. His signs, which he hand paints on wooden boards with ancient paintbrushes, are used by food businesses and fruit and vegetable vendors across the city. On our Naples walk, we visit his workshop to chat with the master himself.

Some people might tell you that the patron saint of Naples is San Gennaro, a 3rd-century bishop who died as a martyr. But that’s not actually true. The patron saint of Naples is, in fact, Diego Maradona, the Argentinian-born soccer player who, in 1987, propelled Napoli to win the Serie A Championship (Italy’s top football league) – it was the first team ever from the impoverished Italian south to do so. To this day, Maradona’s portrait is everywhere in the city. Just like any good patron saint, his picture watches over shopkeepers, restaurant owners and families in their living room. So when someone on the street called Francesco Sepe the “Maradona of wine,” you can imagine how proud he felt.

Rua Catalana is a very ancient road, a corner of Naples where time seems to stand still. Located next to the financial district and now squeezed by 19th-century buildings, it is curiously the only road in the city that, instead of the Italian “Via,” uses “Rua,” a distortion of the French “Rue.” In the mid-14th century, Queen Joanna I of Naples welcomed merchants from all over Europe to the city as part of her efforts to promote trade. She donated this area to the Catalans, and tinsmiths and junk dealers settled here. Even though 700 years have passed, a smattering of small copper and tin artisans continue to practice their craft on this street, now making artistic copper and tin objects for the increasing number of tourists roaming the city.

It almost never snows in Naples. Yet in the last decade, the city has seen an invasion of snowflakes. We’re not talking about an atmospheric phenomenon – rather, it is Pasticerria Poppella’s il fiocco di neve (“the snowflake”), a true gastronomic prodigy that has quickly become a “new classic” of Neapolitan pastry, as evidenced by the long lines at the bakery every day of the week. Ciro Poppella is quite a character: not only an important figure in the Sanità neighborhood, where Poppella is located, he’s also an icon of Naples. The inventor of the snowflake, Ciro is a living example of how there are no limits to what you can achieve when you believe in a project.

Manuela, like many Neapolitans who emigrated abroad, used to make periodic trips home to see her family. On one such trip in 2012, she went to her grandmother’s house for Sunday dinner. As one does in Naples when a relative returns to the ancestral home, her grandmother prepared a ragù sauce for her. It was a simple meal, but one that would forever change Manuela’s life. When she finished eating, Manuela made the ceremonial scarpetta (dipping bread in the remaining sauce). Then a flash of inspiration came to her. “I thought, ‘Why isn’t there a place where you can eat only meat sauce? Where you can do the scarpetta like at home?’” she tells us.

On our Naples walk we plunge into the bustling market streets, which is where we spied this colorful meat stand adorned with signs made by the city’s last traditional sign painter. Shopkeepers, bakers, olive sorters and vendors are all part of the market’s warm community, into which we are so kindly welcomed.

Some people believe that a cup of coffee is the same everywhere. We like to think that they haven’t been to one of the Mexico cafés in Naples, where even a coffee novice can understand he has come face-to-face with a very special brew, one that took years to perfect. When you enter a Caffè Mexico – there are three in Naples – an extraordinary smell envelops you. It is the smell of history, one that often seeps into furniture and timeworn objects. The main source of this smell is coffee (the Passalacqua brand, named after the café’s founder), both from the grinder, operated by a dedicated member of staff, and also the retail counter, where coffee beans are constantly being scooped and weighed and packaged, releasing their aroma throughout the room.

With a gastronomic culture that dates back almost 3,000 years, it’s no wonder that tradition plays an important role in Neapolitan restaurants. Many of our favorite places in the city have been run by the same family, in the same spot, for four or more generations. In fact, we often view this doggedness as a quality guarantee of sorts. But that doesn’t automatically discount new entries to the dining scene. Even some of the most recent additions can still be steeped in tradition, like Januarius, a restaurant born under the star of San Gennaro (Saint Januarius), the patron saint of Naples – it has solid cultural, aesthetic and culinary roots despite only opening late last year.

Throughout Italy, Naples is known as the “city of coffee” – the Neapolitan caffè is synonymous with high-quality brew. And drinking coffee in the city is a true ritual, a complex set of unwritten norms, customs and ancient habits. We spotted some coffee paraphernalia, such as the ubiquitous moka pot, on our Naples culinary walk.

On a stormy night sometime in the mid-9th century, as the legend goes, a Greek pilgrim named Pontus sought refuge underneath a Roman aqueduct in Salerno, some 50 kilometers south of Naples along the Amalfi Coast. With rain pounding down on the town and debris flying everywhere, Pontus took a terrible blow to his arm and found himself gravely wounded. Just as he sought treatment for his wound, Pontus noticed that a fellow Italian traveler called Salernus was also wounded, but applying seemingly innovative dressings to his injury. Fighting back superstitions and embracing his medical curiosity, Pontus approached Salernus to inspect his bandaging technique. As Salernus explained his methods to the Greek, two additional travelers, Helinus, a Jew, and Abela, an Arab, passed under the same aqueducts.

There’s a famous Italian saying that goes, “Christmas with yours, Easter with whomever you want.” In Naples, this piece of advice has practically become law, meaning that the Christmas holidays are spent with family – no ifs, ands or buts about it. So on December 25, Neapolitans can be found at home, surrounded by relatives (which is not always pure holiday joy) and enjoying together the gastronomic delights of Neapolitan Christmas fare. Of course, there is constant debate over what should go on the holiday table. There are certain dishes that have long been linked to the Christian calendar in Italy.

Since mid-December of last year, it’s felt like Naples has been at the center of the world, at least gastronomically speaking. Most significantly, UNESCO added the Neapolitan art of pizza making to its list of “intangible cultural heritage.” It’s not merely recognition of Neapolitan pizza as a beloved dish, but also of the important ancient art that was developed in the city and passed down from generation to generation of pizzaioli. The Mediterranean diet also continues to dominate the news cycle. In fact, a department was created at the Città della Scienza (“City of Science”) museum in Naples specifically to study this diet. And many of the city’s restaurants are also, in a way, doing something similar: the focus has lately been on researching ancient gastronomic traditions and recreating them with only the best raw materials.

In the early 18th century, before there was the Spinning Jenny, the Cotton Gin and the steam engine, a new machine was making waves in Gragnano, the grain capital of the Kingdom of Two Sicilies. It was the torchio, the pasta extruder. And it would radically and permanently change the diet of Italy. Just beyond Naples, the ancient Roman town of Gragnano, whose very name indicates an abundance of grain, was tentatively beginning to mechanize the production of dried pasta, theretofore a luxurious oddity throughout the Italian peninsula. Local entrepreneurs gradually capitalized on what their forbearers had known for several millennia – not only was Gragnano ideally situated due to its storied cultivation of durum wheat and semolina, but it also offered access to thirty water mills. Perhaps even more curiously Gragnano offered something very rare at the time: the perfect air for drying pasta.

There’s a saying in Naples: “Anything fried is good, even the soles of shoes.” So it’s no surprise that we stop for some fried goodies on our Naples culinary walk. Our favorites are the panzerotti, soft potato croquettes filled with salami and mozzarella, and the arancini, golden and crispy rice balls.

Take a small space in a strategic location, add two young and idealistic owners, and finish with traditional Neapolitan dishes made with the finest raw ingredients – this is Taverna a Santa Chiara’s recipe for success. Everything began with the passion of two young Neapolitans, Nives Monda and Potito Izzo, for specialty artisanal food products from the Campania region. These types of products are not necessarily hard to find – Campania is home to many excellent small producers. Yet high quality often comes at a high cost, especially when compared to mass industrial products sold through large distribution chains.

“His name was Mr. Antonio, and they called him the captain,” says 35-year-old Giusy Aiese, launching into the story of La Taverna del Buongustaio. “He was a wine producer from the province of Caserta, and he established a wine-making cellar here in the Fascist period, around 1930.” As we listen to Giusy recount the history of the tavern, we can’t help but think about hers: she comes from a family tree brimming with lovers of Neapolitan cuisine. Her 65-year-old father, Gaetano, a genius in the kitchen, has run La Taverna del Buongustaio since 1996, the year he bought the restaurant from Francesco de Micco, another excellent cook and, funnily enough, Gaetano’s wedding witness.

Throughout Italy, Naples is known as the “city of coffee” – the Neapolitan caffè is synonymous with high-quality brew. And within the city, there are a number of stories and legends that swirl around the black stuff. Coffee is far and away the most popular caffeinated drink in the city. Neapolitans are not tea drinkers. In fact, most see it as a kind of medicine, probably because when you’re sick to your stomach the doctor recommends eating white rice and drinking tea. But it’s not just about the coffee itself. In Naples, drinking coffee is a true ritual, a complex set of unwritten norms, customs and ancient habits.

We recently spoke to author Elizabeth Minchilli about her new book, “Eating My Way Through Italy” (St. Martin’s Griffin; May 2018). After a lifetime of living and eating in Rome, Minchilli is an expert on the city’s cuisine, as evidenced by her popular blog, her Eat Italy app and her book “Eating Rome: Living the Good Life in the Eternal City” (2015). In her most recent title she writes about the dishes, customs and recipes that she’s discovered during her travels across Italy. Rather than an encyclopedic guide to the country, the book is a spirited and intimate look into Minchilli’s own experiences and the meals that have led her off the beaten track.

We’ve got a thing for small, family-run spots in Naples, particularly those that are multigenerational. If a restaurant or bakery or producer has been open for at least a century and has always stubbornly stood in the same place, continuity and quality of product are all but guaranteed. Take, for instance, Cantina del Gallo in Materdei. Established in 1898 and run by four generations of the Silvestri family, this is one of the few real outdoor taverns left in Naples. Over the years, this cozy, simple spot has attracted artists, intellectuals, musicians, travelers and many Neapolitan students looking for good food at reasonable prices.

Roaming the narrow cobblestoned alleys of Centro Storico in Naples, we visit a limoncello production lab in a most unusual place. The dazzling bright yellow drink, most often served chilled, is particularly welcome on a hot summer day.

On a recent visit to the market of Sant’Antonio Abate, a pilgrimage site for fresh produce, we made friends with Salvatore, a young Neapolitan chef who was buying fruit and vegetables for his restaurant. We thought nothing of it until we bumped into him again, this time when he was buying fresh bluefish, the symbol and pride, he told us, of his restaurant. Our curiosity piqued, we asked where he worked. Mimì alla Ferrovia, he told us, a name we immediately recognized – it’s one of the custodians of Neapolitan gastronomic orthodoxy. And Salvatore Giugliano, an innovative young chef of 27, is now at the helm of this historic restaurant.

Several thousand years ago, or so the story goes in Naples, Lucifer and Jesus had a massive showdown in the rarified kingdom of heaven. After a raging session fueled by sibling rivalries, and which likely included satanic petulance and the occasional errant lightening bolt, God, as any parent of battling children can grasp, had had enough of the celestial brawling. One can almost imagine Jesus yelping, “He started it,” as Lucifer tosses a fireball in his direction. So God cast Lucifer into the depths of hell – consigning him to an eternity of fire, brimstone and heat. (In the original pagan legend, this quarrel was between Bacchus and Pluto; after Christianity swept across the region, Neapolitans changed the names of the main characters, but the story remained the same.)

Naples has a lot of iconic eateries and shops, but one of the lesser-known city icons is the kiosk of the fresh-water-seller. Scattered throughout the city, the banks of the acquafrescai – some of which are very famous – sell various mineral waters and refreshments. These kiosks were born to provide relief in the summer months, and for that reason they are widespread in other southern Italian cities, particularly in the Sicilian cities of Palermo, Catania and Syracuse, where the coolness of a granita, a semi-frozen dessert made from sugar, water and various flavorings, counters the oppressive heat.

All morning, as we zoomed down south from Naples on a motorcycle, inky clouds threatened rain. So when we arrive at Rivabianca, a mozzarella di bufala cooperative in the village of Paestum, with our clothes still dry, we exhale deeply, not realizing that we had been holding our breath. Inside the dairy’s production center, separated from the small shop by large windows and a big metal door, it looks as if the rain has already come and gone – the tile floor is covered in water. “Wait just a sec, you’ll need these to go inside,” says Rosa Maria Wedig, the owner of Rivabianca, handing us two plastic bags. Before we can make a move, she’s bending down and shoving them on our feet, using duct tape to secure them around our ankles.

Dozens of urban legends swirl around the city of Naples – strange stories repeated a thousand times that, somewhere along the line, become credible. One of those urban legends concerns biscotti all’amarena, or black cherry cookies: people often say that they are made from day-old cakes. To create this typical Neapolitan sweet, bakers chop up pan di spagna (sponge cake) – the bit that is supposedly reused – and then mix it with black cherry syrup, cocoa and cinnamon. The mixture is then covered with a short-crust pastry shell and baked as a loaf, after which they’re cut into small rectangles.

“Mamma mia!” exclaims our Californian friend, as he tastes a slice of cod carpaccio for the first time. Better yet, let’s call this dish, made by one of the oldest fish shops in Naples, Norwegian stockfish sashimi. We are in Porta Capuana, and Vincenzo Apicella is carefully slicing dried fish (stockfish is an unsalted fish preserved only by cold air and wind) that has been rehydrated. He seasons the very thin fillets simply, with the juice of a fragrant Sorrento lemon, and serves them together with Sicilian green olives. The dish is proof, if it was needed, that good food tastes best when it is prepared as simply as possible.

FICO Eataly World has been described in a number of ways – agricultural park, glorified supermarket, mall, bazaar, and production center have all been tossed around – but it was the moniker “the Disney World of food” that grabbed our imagination, conjuring up fanciful images of a log flume powered by wine instead of water and Mickey Mouse transformed into a giant ball of mozzarella. The reality isn’t quite as whimsical (although the venue does have an animated fig mascot, a plump green character whose rotund belly recalls the Kool Aid Man). The self-described “agri-food park,” which occupies a former wholesale market on the outskirts of Bologna, is like Eataly, the Italian food hall and market “concept” that has seen success across the world, but also not.

Towards the end of our Naples walk, we visit a family-run bakery where we make our own Neapolitan caponata, a salad made with the bakery’s special bread, called freselle, mozzarella and heirloom piennolo tomatoes.

One day, or so the story goes, a group of tourists asked an elderly priest in Naples which churches were really worth visiting. The priest replied, “There are many churches, but have you tried the spaghetti with clams?” Even a man of God recognizes the sacred bond established between two people sharing a plate of spaghetti with clams in a Neapolitan trattoria. So we consider it our moral duty to advise you how to order your spaghetti with clams and where to eat it.

Once the Christmas nativities are packed away, after the New Year’s cotechino sausage and good luck lentils have been eaten and the Befana witch has filled epiphany stockings with candies, something strange happens in the old center of Naples. It erupts in flames. As the January sun sets, just as the days begin to lengthen, Neapolitan men light small bonfires in the dark alleys and decadent piazzas that lurk beyond Via Foria, the ancient boulevard that slices through the town’s Forcella and Rione Sanità quarters. The fires begin small. Men merrily douse bits of the Gazzetta dello Sport with gasoline, searching specifically for errant wrinkled pictures of Higuaín, loathed former Napoli footballer traded to Juventus.

There’s a saying in Naples: “Anything fried is good, even the soles of shoes.” You may laugh, but we wholeheartedly agree ¬¬– frying may have a bad rap in some parts of the world, but it can add a richness and flavor to any type of food (and, perhaps, even footwear). Think of a dull, bland zucchini or eggplant; when fried right, it becomes a pleasure. We normally get our fried fix by ordering a cuoppo, a paper cone filled with crispy morsels. This symbol of Neapolitan fried street food is our typical mid-morning snack – while going about our morning errands, we munch on the small bites of fried deliciousness that are swaddled in the plain brown paper.

Sweets can stir up feelings and evoke memories of particular times of the year in a way that other foods can’t. This is particularly true in Naples, where there is a dessert for every holiday: struffoli (small fried dough balls doused in honey) and cassata (sponge cake with ricotta and candied fruit) call to mind lively and colorful Christmas celebrations, while the pastiera (a cake filled with ricotta cheese, eggs and custard) reminds us of the exuberance of Easter. While those sweets are certainly indulgent, they don’t hold a candle to chiacchiere (a sweet crispy pastry sprinkled with powdered sugar) and sanguinaccio (black chocolate pudding), which immediately bring to mind the most eccentric and unruly party of the year: Carnival.

Neapolitan cuisine is an impure thing, the result of culinary influences from every part of the old continent. One of the most famous dishes this cross-pollination has produced is the Neapolitan potato gattò, a potato tortino rustico (a tall, square cake) with layers made of mozzarella, scamorza, ham, salami and more. A baroque dish, this gattò transforms the simple potato into a true miracle of gastronomy. The word “gattò” (not to be confused with “gatto” without the accent, which means “cat” in Italian) is the Neapolitanization of the French “gateaux” (cakes). But the Neapolitan potato gattò recalls the French gateaux only in form – taste-wise, it’s very far from a sweet French cake.

Pummarola ro piennolo (hanging tomatoes) are an essential ingredient in many Neapolitan dishes. These cherry tomatoes are harvested in the summer and then hang in ventilated cellars until Christmas time; their flavor becomes extremely concentrated in the intervening months.

No visit to Naples is complete without a pit stop for pizza, especially now that the Neapolitan art of pizzaiuolo (pizza twirling) has joined UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage. Our Napoli walk calls in on some of the best pizza makers in the city.

Pasquale the Number Man is one of the last of his kind in Naples, and his colorful, hand-painted signs can be seen adorning the goods of vendors throughout our walk in the city. 

The Neapolitan pastry landscape is dominated by three sweet treats: sfogliatella, a shell-shaped pastry with a variety of fillings; pastiera, a type of tart flavored with orange flower water and most commonly served at Easter; and babà, a small yeast cake soaked in a liquor syrup. The first two cakes were born and raised in Naples, thanks to the gifted pastry-making skills of the nuns and monks in the Neapolitan convents. But babàs, although considered by many Neapolitans to be homegrown, are not, in fact, an indigenous sweet – our beloved baba was imported from France, where they were invented by a Polish gourmet.

His name is Pasquale De Stefano, but everyone knows him as Pasquale ‘o nummararo, “the number man.” In this era of plotters and laser printers, De Stefano continues to hand-paint his signs, using ancient paintbrushes on wooden boards, which are then planted in the baskets of all Neapolitan fruit sellers. And even the wooden signposts are still cut by hand. In 65 years of work he has by now created tens of thousands of signs advertising the prices of apples (€0.99) or peaches (3 kg for €2). They can be small or large, on canvas or on wood, promising a “special offer” or “great value.” Sometimes Pasquale’s signs will feature a more pointed message: “Whoever touches the fruit will be touched by the fruit seller,” is one that comes to mind.

Pizza, as you might already know, was born in Naples. What you might not know is that in Naples, fried pizza existed before baked pizza. And although Neapolitans have raised pizzamaking in the oven to an art form, their skill at turning out fried pizza is even greater. As with so many local specialties in this city, it’s hard to say who makes the best fried pizza here; there are improvised pizzerias in every corner of Naples, street vendors that make a really good pie. There’s a saying here, voce e’ popolo, voce e’ dio (the Neapolitan version of vox populi vox dei), which means that something is certain – there’s no doubt. And that applies to Masardona's pizza being one of the best in the city.

We caught these sisters enjoying Naples' famous pizza alongside a cold Peroni. Such simple yet brilliant delicacies can be sampled on our culinary walk in the city. 

The rustic Neapolitan tarallo, made of 'nzogna (lard), pepper and toasted almonds, is a true delicacy. It can be considered the first popular snack in Naples, a bite that combines the punch of black pepper with the sweetness of almonds, the whole united by lard. It’s a dangerous combination for the waistline, that’s for sure. Taralli are offered to celebrate a new home, shared with friends during soccer matches, enjoyed with one’s significant other on the rocky shore, given to guests at parties, taken aboard boats (it’s the very height of yuppiness to eat them accompanied by iced spumante while out at sea). Until a few years ago, taralli were sold by tarallers, roving vendors who carried a basket full of taralli on their heads.

In past centuries, ones of economic hardship, Neapolitans’ ancestors feasted only during religious holidays. It was easier then to distinguish the piatti delle feste, feasting foods, by their richness and variety. In these more prosperous times, and with the availability of raw materials throughout the year, these lavish dishes can be prepared or purchased virtually any time, which makes it seem difficult to talk about “festive meals.” However, with the approach of Easter (and Christmas), many Neapolitans, beyond their religious beliefs, are seized by an irresistible desire to return to family traditions and to eat the dishes prepared by their forebears.

It’s Sunday morning at La Pignasecca market in Naples and time is in flux. Picture a Boccioni painting: movement is blurred, there is an inter-penetration of objects, speeding vehicles and sound – a frenetic moment in the Futurists’ imagination. The city rises as engines splutter, traders hustle, klaxons yelp. Santa Maria di Montesanto spews punters out into the marketplace after mass; men peel off, heading home to check on the simmering ragù; groomed teenagers peacock on mopeds as groups of women push in line to pick up their last-minute order of fresh pasta, charcuterie and squid. The church bells chime: it’s lunchtime. Anticipation is in the air.

To make excellent octopus broth, you must first fill a huge pot with water to the brim – at least 20 liters – bring it to a boil, add salt and pepper in industrial quantities and immerse four large octopuses. After 33 minutes (and not one more) of simmering, it’s ready: the octopus has reached the perfect consistency. Yet in Naples there’s a saying, “The octopus cooks in its own water” – a proverb that means that a person needs to get to the truth on his own and in his own time. Lello tells us that what this saying is referring to isn’t actually true, since clearly, an octopus needs much more water than what it comes with to actually cook.

It was a great disappointment for Francesco, owner of this tripe shop in Naples, to learn that the website, Tripadvisor, was not just about entrails. Wouldn’t it be great if it were?

Neapolitan cuisine encompasses such a variety of dishes, ingredients and preparations that sitting down for lunch in Naples is always a feast of smells, tastes, colors and sensations. Menus here are populated by numerous meat dishes and equally many seafood options, and the extraordinary variety of vegetables are complemented by unique dairy products, preserves and sweets steeped in history and quality. Restaurant kitchens know how to be baroque (as demonstrated by menesta maretata, a complex soup that “marries” a variety of vegetables and cuts of meat), sumptuous (as in eggplant parmigiana), or deceptively simple (as in the classic spaghetti aglio e olio, which combines the basic trio of pasta, garlic and oil to great effect).