Pizzeria Vesi

Margaret and I have dubbed Via Tribunali, a crooked crowded street in centro historico district of Naples, "Pizza Alley". Between the speeding vespas, ancient churches, and begging gypsies, there is some fantastic pizza. There's Di Matteo- a staple among Neapolitans, there's Il Presidente - the spot Bill Clinton went while visiting Naples, and there's, of course, Sorbillo- the favorite pizzeria of italian actress Sophia Loren. Just down the street from  these giants in the pizza world is Vesi, a lesser known but equally deserving pizzeria. After living here for two months, Vesi has easily become one of my most frequented pizzerias in all of Naples. The pizza here can hold its own against Sorbillo and Il Presidente, and if you pick the right pie, even surpass them. 

  The D.O.C. at Vesi

Try the D.O.C. Fresh mozzarella di buffala and pomodorini (small, sweet tomatoes) from the base of Mount. Vesuvius itself. Throw on a little extra virgin olive oil and that's it. This pie speaks directly to the neapolitan pizza philosophy that excellence is achieved through simplicity. If you are going to use ingredients of the highest quality, you don't need more than a few of them. In fact, I'd say that any additional topping might ruin the very delicate, almost perfect balance between the pomodorini and mozzarella. The first time I ordered this pie, I could smell the cooked pomodorini before the waiter had put it on the table. The juices of the pomodorini become infused with the cream of the mozzarella. You find yourself mopping on the oil and cheese directly from the plate. I've already made a few posts about soupy neapolitan pizzas and how, generally, I like a drier pie. But the D.O.C at Vesi is one of the few exceptions.

A "ripieno" styled pie at Vesi

Vesi has a wonderful outdoor patio on Via Tribunali. If you can ignore the honking of the passing cars (something you've got to do pretty much everywhere in Naples), you'll enjoy a wonder pie in a great location. The staff is friendly and very dedicated to making quality pizza. 

Fake it til you make it

My italian is not very good. In fact, I'd say that most of the time I barely squeak out more than two or three sentences in a row. But after three weeks in a pizzeria and another one at a language school, my comprehension has finally started to increase. As a result, I can understand more while remaining pretty frustrated with my ability to speak back. That all changed last friday when a Brazilian TV crew came to Pizzeria La Notizie and filmed a special program about Neapolitan pizza.

Enzo, the master pizzaiolo, had been in a bad mood all morning long. He was waiting for a call to tell him exactly when the TV crew was supposed to show up. He nervously peeled the stems from the fiori di zucca (zucchini flours) while barking off orders to me and Sam, the other canadian student. When they did arrive, Enzo's anxiety was lifted but in its place came a new problem. "Do you speak english?" asked the cameraman as he shook Enzo's hand, "we don't speak italian." A light must have gone off in Enzo's head because he immediately turned to me and said in italian, "I don't speak an english. But he does. He's from the US and speaks very good italian." This came as a shock to me. Not because Enzo was lying about my italian. He knew as well I did that my level of communication is on par with a 3 year old.  But rather,this came as a shock because he was entrusting me as the information guru, the almighty  translator. 

My first few translations were easy enough. It was mostly stuff I'd heard Enzo say two or three times before. 

"I run a pizza school here in the morning. That's why the pizzeria is closed for lunch. Every night we open up for the general public." 

When Enzo was finished he turned to me and aggressively nodded (which is something I've noticed only italians can do without making it look like a neck spasm). I went ahead and translated into english. A few Brazilian heads bobbed up and down in understanding. That was easy enough, I thought. Enzo continued.

"School goes for 4 hours every day and the students help out in the afternoon, preparing the food for the evening. I've taught students from all over the world"

Again I translated, this time even using a few of Enzo's hand gestures to illuminate his point. Again, more nodding. This translation thing is a piece of cake, I thought.  

"Italian italian italian italian italian italian italian italian italian il mare italian italian italian italian. " 

Enzo finished and turned towards me. The Brazilians turned towards me. It's true that comprehension follows comprehension. But what follows incomprehension? 

"Il mare?" I asked tentatively. Enzo stared at me.

"Si, il mare."

Il mare meant the sea. This much I knew. My problem was all the other italian words that came before and after. Why would Enzo be mentioning the sea? A half a dozen possibilities raced through my mind. None of which were very good. Crap. Better just say something.

I turned towards the cameraman and said "The sea is just up the road. You might want to go get a shot of it for the program. It's a beautiful view. And afterwards you can start filming." 

The cameraman looked at me. I somehow managed to smile back.  "Okay," the cameraman said, "we'll go have a look". I turned to Enzo and said, in very broken italian, "They are going to film outside first and come film in here afterwards." Enzo stared at me, the kind of stare that said if I could call you out on your shit I would but lucky for you I can't. After that things went relatively smoothly. As it turns out, Portuguese and Italian are quite similar, similar enough that an english translator is not really needed. I mostly stayed behind the counter and watched the filming, only occasionally answering specific questions. Like they say, fake it til you make it. 

Here's a video of Enzo making the dough "traditionally" in a big wooden box. What makes it traditional? My guess: the box was very, very old. 

For your reading enjoyment

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/14/arts/design/14abro.html?pagewanted=1

That's my city!

I apologize in advance for the lack of posts. Margaret and I recently moved into a  new apartment, a cave really, and we just discovered that our cave will not be able to get internet. So I'm sitting in the only wireless cafe in Naples in order to write this. A brief summary of the last few weeks: I've finished my course with Enzo "Mad dawg" Coccia and have been attending language classes in the city center. Tomorrow, however, old Mad dawg himself has invited me back to work on my pizza making skills again. I'll be at Pizzeria La Notizie for the rest of the week and will actually start working at a pizzeria in another two weeks. 

Stay tuned for: a review on the pizza that wasn't called a pizza diavola but still was the best pizza diavola I've ever had, a short history on the origins of Italian Sticky Finger Syndrome (also called I.S.F.S.), and photos of street garbage! 

For now, enjoy these videos:

The flame at Pizzeria La Notizie

In this video, Enzo explains how if you are not careful, a Neapolitan oven can eat your arm. 

One Pizzaiolo, two cups: Spatula practice with Enzo Coccia

So my pizzas still aren't round. How do I know this? Because Enzo, the master-pizzaiolo at La Notizia, screams "non va bene!" in my ear every time I make an egg shaped dough. "Making the dough is not like massaging a woman, Gustavo" he says standing behind me. "You need more force. Piu forte! PIU FORTE!" How do my fingertips, the only part of my hands that should be applying pressure, gain more strength? Finger push-ups against the wall, of course. 

Besides finger push-ups we started another exercise today; working with the pizza spatula. Twenty minutes after working on proper foot stance, arm placement, and wrist flicking, Enzo brings us two plastic cups filled to the brim with water. Thinking that he has rewarded us for our hard work, I say "grazie". He gives me a look that says we are far from be finished. Check out this video to see our new exercise:

We worked in rotations of tens. Each of us had to slide the pizza in between the cups at a perfect angle. If a drop was spilled, we'd have to start over. Tomorrow, Enzo says we get to stick the spatula in the actual oven. 

Working at Pizzeria la Notizia

Yesterday I was scalded pretty bad for cutting  my sausage too thick. In italian. In the small back kitchen of Pizzeria La Notizia. I can't say I wasn't excepting something like this to happen. But when I saw Enrico, my short squat boss, look at my pile of half-cooked sausage links, I knew I was in for it. He came in screaming, making gestures that I've only read about in books. This went on for a few minutes while I stood there dumbfounded- being both slightly frustrated and slightly relieved that my lack of italian prevented me from explaining myself. At one point two waiters came in to see what the commotion was about. They saw Enrico waving his open palms towards the sky and quickly left the way they had entered. Ten minutes later he was patting me on the back and apologizing. Five minutes after that, we enjoyed our break by splitting a coke. "I'll do better tomorrow," I told him in italian. He flashed me a grin and responded, "no, tomorrow you just won't do the sausages."

It's strange being an immigrant dishwasher (I'm working at La Notizia through a course program in Naples). My seven weeks at Middlebury's intensive language program hasn't done me much good when it comes to communicating in the kitchen- a place where its less important to know the conditional and more important to know the word for ladle, dustpan, and lettuce. By the time its taken me to formulate a grammatically correct response they either a) have told someone else to do it or b) have grabbed me by the arm and attempted to show me my task through a rough pantomime. Either way, my responses of si or capito are rarely trusted. In fact, I'd say that over the last week of working under Enrico, I've learned less italian from him than I have italian gestures; the finger point below the eye, the palms pointed towards the sky, and my favorite, the italian wink. The italian wink should not be confused with the american wink- with is usually expressed as a sign of congenial complicity. No, the italian wink is used far more liberally and is generally directed towards speechless american dishwashers who are actually paying to dry pots and chop half-cooked sausages. On second thought, maybe the italian wink has the same meaning as the american one. 

 

Pizzafest 2008

Okay. This was it. Every year Naples puts on the world's biggest pizza celebration. For ten days straight, over two dozen pizzerias from all over the planet compete for bragging rights when it comes to true Neapolitan pizza. Before lthe night began, I had a vague concept of what "true" meant when it came to Neapolitans and their pizza. But now I've been set straight. Neapolitans are purists when it comes to culinary tradition and Pizzafest-which felt as much like a laboratory experiment as it did a food festival- might best exemplify their idiosyncratic, almost stringent nature . "Fair is fair," seemed to be the underlining motto of the night. The creators of Pizzafest set out to create a controlled environment where each pizzeria had to work against the norm to come up with something special. Each pizzaiolo was given the same space and same tools and told to make the same pizza (only margherita and marinara). The theory here being, that the only thing differeniating one pie from another is the talent and hardship gone into the creative process.  To help level the playing field, each pizzeria, I counted 25 in total, had to use a special wood burning oven that was no different than their fellow competitors . That's right, someone paid for 25 wood burning pizza ovens to be brought into the Mostra d'Oltremare fairgrounds.  I don't want to give the impression that all these pizzas were the same. They weren't. But for Neapolitans, true greatness in the pizza arena is found in the most

 minute differences. For them, the scrutiny in dissecting every aspect of a pie is almost as fun as the actual eating. 

Margaret and I showed up around 7:30, a half an hour after the fest was

 supposed to begin. We found ourselves waiting in a long line full of angry, pacing italians. Twenty minutes later that pacing had turned into shouting and banging on the ticket booth window. If I've learned one thing so far it is this: don't keep italians from their pizza. Despite the excruciatingly long wait (I had been purposely starving myself all day), we eventually were able to buy tickets. I was pleasantly surprised to find that for ten euros, you get a ticket for a pizza, coffee, beer, and desert limoncello. 

Last year's Champion 

In a fairgrounds dedicated to the art of pizza filled with 25 of the best pizzerias around, where do you start? Last year's winner, of course, Makoto Onishi from Salvatore Cuomo's Japanese pizzeria. By the time we had arrived at Cuomo's tent, a military band was already there to greet last year's champion. Margaret and I both split one margherita and one marinara.  What can I say other than it was delicious pizza? I preferred the margherita over the marinara but I think that will almost always be the case. The dough was especially thin, even by neapolitan standards but held everything together remarkably well. It was pliable, chewy, and the bottom was crunchy. The charred spots on the dough were more than just a sign of a good oven . Each spot was really baked into the dough, adding a completely new taste that helped the pizza as a whole. Each ingredient was fresh and distinctive, but nothing dominated the overall flavor. Everything worked together symbiotically sort of like Live Aid or a phish concert. Okay, maybe not a phish concert. 

    Pizza from Salvatore Cuomo

I wanted to show how pliable the crust was, 

but instead, it just looks like I'm holding up a slice of pizza...

Our next stop was at the Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana (VPN) tent. Margaret and I debated our margherita. She claimed that the overall flavor was better than the Cuomo pizza while I said that there was too much oil and mozzarella. After a slow digestive walk around the fair, we tackled our fourth and final pizza at L'antico Molo. We were both pretty stuffed and decided to go with a marinara. I can't say that I'm able to give this pie a fair description. I was too full. But I will say that there was a nice spicy kick to the tomato sauce. 

For your viewing pleasure...

Pizza tossing with the VPN guys

Me (dumb tourist) and them (pizzaioli)