restaurant reviews and foodie travels

Oh. My. God. I used those words a lot yesterday, for various reasons, the last of which was pizza.

Nearly ten years ago, I visited Naples. Clearly, I had to eat pizza. What I ate was the Platonic ideal of pizza, the essence of pizza, a pizza so perfect I thought I would never be able to eat regular, mortal, layman’s pizza again.
What I ate was the Platonic ideal of pizza, the essence of pizza, a pizza so perfect I thought I would never be able to eat regular, mortal, layman’s pizza again.

Over time, of course, I got over my feelings about the Neapolitan pizza, and managed to bring myself to have its non-Italian sibling – and even enjoy it. But I never quite believed I would fall in love with pizza again – not the way I had the first time…

That is, until I went to La Perla. With its large wood-fired brick oven, Jordanian Little-Italy location and genuine-article Mozzarella di Bufala Campana made by the Chiari family (yep, that’s right – they know exactly who made it) in the Naples area, La Perla looked more than promising. I ordered the pizza carciofo, and impatiently awaited the bubbling bread oozing with tomatoes and mozzarella, scattered with artichokes, capers and olives.