speaking of porchetta…

it is with regret that i admit i was in rome over christmastime last year, and not a sliver of porchetta, which originated in that region a century ago, was eaten. that enormous log of rolled meat up there is not porchetta. it is a mortadella as big (bigger than, in this case) as a child. none of this was eaten either. look. in rome, i concentrated on gelato, ok?

what we did eat, in rome, once, and in other parts of italy, was pizza. in retrospect, not even enough pizza. but while we’re all thinking about pizza — well, i am anyway: delicious sausage and broccoli puree pizza — i thought it was about time i dug up those holiday snaps from last year.

when we were planning where to go in italy, i was really very interested in naples, for the reasons of pizza and industry. the reality turned out to be a chaotic melange of all-day-and-night police sirens (norrrrrr-ni-nor-ni-norrrrrr-ni-nor-ni-norrrrrrrr) and garbage piled high on every street corner, sometimes for the length of the entire block. also: possibly the worst pizza ever, which was adorned in spirited swirls of some kind of cheese product: a claggy, cloying, unholy amalgamation of three kinds of cheese, squeezed out of a tube, shudder. fortunately, though we never came across the best pizza ever, naples did deliver some tasty specimens.

I.
just off the overnight ferry from sicily (after waiting a couple of hours on board to disembark, an epic journey on foot from the port to our hotel, an hour or so of whooping in wonder at our hotel, and a long-awaited bath for the kid), we wandered somewhat aimlessly (aimless for some, apparently; i thought we were on a mission for lunch) along the narrow grubby streets until i was faint and grumpy enough to steer proceedings in the direction indicated by the arrow on a dubious-looking sign for pizza. we ended up at the counter of a steamy, spartan little room, with two women assembling pizza and a wizened man at the end of the line stirring a cauldron.

there were only a couple of options on the blackboard menu, though the counterwomen seemed open to customisation. you picked from a handful of ingredients, and they were placed on a small disc of dough, and then — here’s the thing — another circle of dough was placed on top, the whole thing sealed and handed to the man, who dropped it into his pot of boiling oil. it swelled up like a blimp, turned blistered and golden brown, was fished out and placed on a bit of butcher’s paper, and then handed over the counter. pizza fritta!

i had inadvertantly lucked into a curbside luncheon of famous neapolitan street food. my salsiccia and broccoli rabe pizza — marked with a little squiggle of an S — was utterly delicious: crunchy crust gave way to chewy bread, the steaming tangle of green on the inside just perfect for a cold grey day. the boy was somewhat less enamoured of his mozzerella and salami pizza, although the kid was quite happy to finish it off the gooey innards.

II.
i went the more traditional route another lunchtime, with a pizza marinara. the kid was flummoxed by the lack of cheese, but the light, classic topping of tomato passata, garlic, oregano and a drizzle of fruity olive oil meant there was plenty of room for gelato after.

III.
the day we went to pompeii, the road up to the volcano was closed due to bad weather, so we spent all our hours roaming the excavated ruins of the ancient town. this is the kind of thing that will make you increasingly hungry and slumpy. just short of “resentful”, the boy led us to a very modern cafeteria he had found at the end of a cobblestoned street. here the pizza is no better (though no worse) than the kind you find sitting behind glass at those takeaway places in kings cross: congealed cheese, assorted salted meats, but the bonus is the counter staff slice it to fit perfectly in the wedge-shaped trays.

IV.
another day we caught the funicular up vomero. we were looking for a particular fritteria, but instead stumbled upon what we thought was a political riot, and which turned out to be… i dunno… high school kids let out for lunch, or something. so we made a detour towards civilisation, which turned out to be the lunch bar on the corner.

from the very desirable array of prepared foods, i picked an almost-pizza. a bready pie filled with, yes, of course, sausage and broccoli (rabe). i tell you, i will never be sick of this magical combination. the countergirl cut a wedge as large as i wanted and then placed it on the counter, from whence it fell to the ground, seconds later, with a damp splat. i was very pleased that she cut me another slice.

now if you will excuse me, i must go assemble a meatball sandwich for lunch.