Like unrepentant recidivists, Suzy and I returned to Italy today and returned right to the scene of the crime. A crime that we masterminded and executed just three months ago, a crime against sensible nutrition and moderate diet. Back in April we engaged in a two and a half day whirlwind pizza tour of Naples. This morning we arrived back in Italy, landing two and a half hours north of Naples in Rome, our first order of business to drive as fast as the Italian autostrada would allow us (and it has, in essence, no speed limit) to Naples. To return to the scene of the crime. And to commit it one more delicious time.

Our plan called for us to board an aliscafo (hydrofoil) from Naples port bound for the island of Ischia, our destination for the next four days. The trip to Ischia would be a homecoming of sorts, reprising our first visit, a wham bam thank you ma’am two day whirlwind survey of Capri’s bigger brother. An Ischia 101 as it were. Our return visit hopes to be more of the elective variety, with plenty of sun, sea and seafood, as well as local Ischia wine on the syllabus. And while our Ischia reiteration excited our imagination, it did not do so any more than the prospect of returning to Naples and Pizzeria Starita for the opportunity to savor their exceptional pizzas at lunch before boarding the aliscafo.

In travel, the return trip is a well known danger and is often approached with a degree of trepidation. For when the return visit does not measure up to the larger than life mythology of an original visit, it can forever taint the original. Think The Godfather III or the latest Alien remake and you’ll get my point. And so we returned to Starita, having braved Naples’ traffic, narrow streets, buzzing scooters and its general disregard for the common rules of the road (among drivers, cyclist and most of all pedestrians) with perhaps a touch of apprehension, although neither Suzy nor I would admit to this. But when the street signs started pointing out the direction to Starita and when the front door of this tiny establishment that truly gives meaning to the term pizza “parlor” came into view, our apprehensions began to wane. We were going to savor another margherita, a Montanara and other Starita delicacies. The sequel was about to begin.

And so the curtain rose, and we found ourselves reprising two pizzas from our earlier visit and ordering a third, one with salsiccia and pistacchio to share among ourselves and Wendy (who, in fairness and full disclosure, bore the brunt of the driving in central Napoli and deserved more than just a couple of pizzas). When the first two pizzas – the margherita con bufala (the classic Napoletana pizza topped with fresh tomato sauce, buffalo mozzarella cheese and a few shreds of basil) and the pizza con salsiccia e pistacchio) – arrived we repeated our ritual of April, heading straight for a piece of the crust, tearing off an inch and a half piece from the edge and feeling its heat first warm our hands and then our mouths as its hot, doughy goodness reminded us that pizza in Naples is not like pizza anywhere else in the world. It is pizza, the platonic ideal that Plato himself is no doubt savoring in some Elysian field or cave somewhere.

For Wendy, a transplanted Umbrian who over the years has had her fair share of Naples’ finest, the contrast was particularly pronounced. In place of the thinner, drier, crispier Umbrian pizza crust, this was heaven on earth. She quickly joined in our ritual of testing the crust before the rest of the pizza announcing that “I would be happy to eat just the crust for lunch.”

And just as in the original April edition, the margherita completely captivated. The simplicity of the ingredients – buffalo mozzarella, tomato and basil – interact with utter perfection, the rubbery texture and the rich softness of the cheese complimenting the sharp acidity of the tomato that bathed the crust and rendered it a gooey mess that matched with the cheesy softness that lay above. And the sausage and pistacchio measured up fully to the standard bearer, even though I initially had some doubts about this unusual combination. Indeed, the meatiness of the chopped pistacchios complimented perfectly the sausage, while the slight sweetness of the former offered a wonderful counter to the savory of the latter. And once again, the crust played the role of the faithful supporing actor in a performance worthy of an Oscar.

After a brief delay, our waiter, the same affable Neapolitan who had served us in April, arrived with the star of the show, Starita’s special Montanara pizza, an unforgettable offering made by frying the dough and then topping it with a baked tomato sauce that is at once rich and biting, but softened by the addition of a smoky provola cheese, pecorino Romano and a little basil. It’s enough to make one want to stand up and shout at the top his lungs in that crowded little pizzeria, “Thank you pizza gods, for doing this.” And in my jetlag it is quite possible that I did exactly that.

With time ticking down for us to get to the ferry terminal for our aliscafo to Ischia we did what any sensible traveller would do. We ordered a fourth pizza, the gluttonousness and sheer irresponsibility of it somewhat softened by calling this one a “dessert” pizza. But in the Italian version of the food pyramid, this pizza most definitely was designed to be eaten post pizza (main course, that is). And just when you thought things could not get better Starita proved us wrong again, with this pizza bianca with its thick layer of light, airy ricotta mixed with wild honey and filled with small pieces of chopped almonds if not surpassing the Montara, margherita and salsiccia/pistacchio, at least holding its own. And whatever the pecking order, the dessert pizza was perfectly timed to bring our sequel to its satisfying and memorable climax.

When travelling it is sometimes better not to retrace your footsteps, better that the Jedi not return. But after the curtain fell on today’s lunch, our first meal on our month long summer trip to Italy, we’re already planning the next chapter in the Starita trilogy.

Ci vediamo!
Bill and Suzy