Pizza in some form had existed in Naples for centuries — flatbread sold on the street, topped with whatever the poor could afford. The version the world recognizes dates to 1889, when pizzaiolo Raffaele Esposito reportedly made three pies for the visiting King Umberto I and Queen Margherita of Savoy. The queen’s favourite: tomato, mozzarella and basil, the colours of the new Italian flag. He named it after her, and the margherita has outlived every trend since.
The rules for doing it properly are strict enough to have their own association. The Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana specifies San Marzano-type tomatoes grown in volcanic soil, fior di latte or buffalo mozzarella, a dough risen slowly by hand, and a wood-fired oven hot enough — around 485°C — to cook the whole pizza in 60 to 90 seconds. Soft in the middle, blistered at the edge, eaten with a knife and fork or folded a portafoglio — “like a wallet” — and eaten walking.
Davide Ruotolo’s pizza, in the old city near San Domenico Maggiore — contemporary technique on a menu that still reads Neapolitan.
Ciro Salvo’s dough is the one every other pizzaiolo in the city gets compared to — long-fermented, barely-there crust, endlessly copied.
Enzo Coccia has run this one for decades and is as close as Neapolitan pizza gets to an elder statesman.
Brothers Ciro and Antonio Tutino, at Piazza Mercato — a contemporary take on the thick-crust ruota di carro (“cartwheel”) style.
Francesco and Salvatore Salvo’s Naples outpost, on the Riviera di Chiaia — the family made its name in nearby San Giorgio a Cremano first.
Raffaele Bonetta built his reputation on dough in Pozzuoli before bringing it into the city, to the Vomero.
Exactly what the name says — a Vomero institution running since 1916, more than a century of the same job done well.
Four generations, since 1892, a short walk from Napoli Centrale — one of the oldest names still standing.
Marcello Fontana’s pizzeria in Fuorigrotta, out past the old football stadium and away from the tourist trail.