I’m going to go out on a limb here with a bold statement. I know where to find the best pizza in the world.
“Where is this sacred place?” you may ask. Exactly where you’d think it would be. I’m talking about Naples, Italy—the birthplace of that magnificent combination of bread, sauce, and cheese we call pizza.
If you take a stroll down central Naples, and are careful to avoid pickpockets, you’ll find Castel Nuovo to your left.
Photo by Sabrina Del Piano
And to your right, a couple meters down, stands Pizzeria Napoli in Bocca.
Photo courtesy of Nancy Yang
Literally translating to “Naples in the mouth,” Napoli in Boca is a classic Napolitano pizzeria in every sense. As soon as you walk through the door you are greeted by clusters of dried peperoncini (spicy red peppers) for good luck, along with copper pots and hand-woven baskets.
Photo courtesy of Nancy Yang
You are then rightly seated next to a stranger and have two choices of pizza: Margherita or Marinara.
My purist self chose the traditional Margherita. In a matter of minutes, what comes out of their wood-burning oven will change your perspective on the term “thin crust” and how you ever settled for that special at Dominos.
About a foot in diameter, this giant pie seems far too large for one person to consume. But then, you look at its surface.
Photo by Sabrina Del Piano
There are no flash of toppings or gimmicks of deep-dish. Rather, the pizza glows with an unassuming authenticity. With its paper-thin crust and fusion of savory tomato sauce, fresh mozzarella di bufala (mozzarella made from water buffalo milk), and fragrant basil, I found myself taken aback after one bite.
How something so simple could be so good? And all for five euros! As I chewed on the last fluffy ends of crust, I found myself a little discouraged. My pizza was gone, over, finished.
What am I supposed to do now? How could I go back to the American stuff? Did I really just eat a whole pizza?
As this mild depression came over me, I found myself questioning my state of being. I ruined pizza for myself forever.
But then an idea occurred to me, and I stopped acting like a dramatic pizza junkie for the moment. Everything was going to be okay. It was clear that there was only one solution, one which you will also likely turn to when you find yourself visiting Napoli in Bocca.
I politely called the waiter over, smiled nervously, and asked for another pizza.
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