While in many parts of Europe consumer capitalism has brought an invasion of chain supermarkets and restaurants, contributing to the extinction of independent family-run grocers, Naples and the small distinct districts of its old town have magically managed to resist. The neighborhood markets retain a charm that is reminiscent of a by-gone era when Europe’s streets would smoke and hiss and the ground would be covered in cabbage crusts and fish entrails. The city’s cobbled and narrow streets revolve around civic life, which still brims with stalls selling fresh mollusks, sacks of nuts, knots of garlic and onions, rounds of cheese and hanging hams.

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.

The city of Naples sits nonchalantly in the shadow of Vesuvius, which has remained quiet – yet active – since the famous eruption in 79 A.D. that destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum. Despite its prominence, Vesuvius is not even the most powerful volcano in Napoli. That distinction belongs to the Phlegraean Fields, an underground caldera that forms the Bay of Naples. Around 12,000 years ago this super volcano exploded so violently that it shaped the continent of Europe. You might think that with all these active volcanoes around, Neapolitans would be afraid. They aren’t. In fact, most seem to relish the nearby volcanoes, claiming that they make the food here taste better.

In 2017, the Naples food scene took many steps forward by taking a step back: Restaurants resurrected ancient ingredients and most importantly, in a city famed for its pizza and pasta, old flours native to southern Italy made a comeback. The renewed interest in quality can be observed in all corners of this great city, from fast food joints to starred restaurants. My favorite eats of 2017 centered on those spots that attach importance to the basics, serving Neapolitan cuisine made with only the finest traditional ingredients. But it wasn’t the food alone that hooked me: The special people who manage these places played as large of a role, if not larger, in drawing me back to their tables time and time again.

Sometimes we crave salty, sometimes sweet. But there are those inexplicable moments when we want both at the same time. At these moments of mixed signals, we make our way to Ciro Pace Bakery on Via Nazionale for a rustico soffiato. This perfect mix of salty and sweet is made of short pastry and pâte à choux (cream puff dough), and stuffed with ham and cheese. Its lower half recalls the typical Neapolitan rustico (a savory cake), while the upper part resembles a huge hat (this is where the pâte à choux dough comes in) – the truly innovative feature of this pastry.

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.

The best pizza in Naples is a family affair, but perhaps not in the way you may think. Gino Sorbillo, the man behind the eponymous Pizzeria Gino Sorbillo, belongs to one of the oldest pizza-making families in Naples. In 1935, his grandparents Luigi Sorbillo and Carolina Esposito opened a tiny pizza shop with only four marble tables on Via dei Tribunali, the epicenter of Neapolitan pizza production. While this history is certainly interesting, the way that Sorbillo broadcasts it is what we delight in. Take, for instance, our favorite pizza, the Raimondo. Who is Raimondo? He’s one of Gino’s uncles; twenty-one out of the 23 pizzas served at Sorbillo’s are named after his father and his father’s 20 siblings (all were pizza-makers).

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. 

Earlier this year we launched our dedicated Naples section, a decision inspired by the city’s divine culinary heritage. Although many Italian cities are celebrated for their cuisine, Naples is one of the few to resist the global invasion of chain supermarkets and restaurants. The city’s cobbled and narrow streets revolve around civic life – the late filmmaker Pasolini accurately described it as “the last great village in Italy.” We recently asked Gianni Cipriano and Sara Smarrazzo, photographers who regularly shoot for CB, to go along the route of our Naples walk and document what they saw.

As a port city, Naples has seen several civilizations come and go over the years. The Normans, Swabians, Angevins, Aragonese, French, Spanish… they all had an impact on Naples’ architecture, language and, most importantly, its food. Neapolitan cuisine reflects these centuries of foreign domination, which has led to culinary cross-pollination and gastronomic innovations. While foreign conquerors may no longer be putting their stamp on Neapolitan cooking, local chefs and bakers still look outside for inspiration as they continue to innovate, searching for new ingredients, new flavors and new methods. The aim is not to abandon the city’s rich culinary heritage, but to build upon it.

La pizzaiola, played by Sophia Loren, peddles pizza from a counter on the doorstep of her street level apartment. She kneads dough while crying out for custom in a thick dialect and as clouds of flour fall to the cobbled Neapolitan street. This scene comes from one of the great cinematic homages to a city: Di Sica’s L’Oro di Napoli (“The Gold of Naples”), a 1954 a film that grapples with the bittersweet tastes of comedy, tragedy, hustling and the art of making do. There’s nowhere better to see Naples in all its “golden” glory than in the very neighborhood in which the film’s star, the inimitable Totó, grew up and where parts of the film are set: La Sanità.

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.

We like to begin our Naples walk in the morning fresh espresso and sfogliatella. Make sure to show up with an empty stomach, for this is just the beginning!