Americans collectively scoffed last spring when John Kasich, still on the trail for the Republican presidential nomination, picked up a knife and fork and took down a slice of pizza in New York.
This was, by all American standards, a faux pas of epic proportions. Everyone knows you fold a slice of New York-style pie in half, lengthwise. Shove in face. Chew. Repeat.
But Kasich ate the pizza with a knife and fork, and now Donald Trump is president. Thanks a lot, Kasich — look at what you’ve done.
If Kasich had been eating a slice of Neapolitan-style pizza at Lucky Pie Pizza and Taphouse, his knife and fork technique would have been applauded (no guesses on what effect it may have had on our federal government) because that’s exactly how you eat Neapolitan-style pie.
Let me tell you why: It’s saucy and the crust is thin. That’s why.
This can be off-putting for Americans accustomed to heftier crusts. I remember my mother once telling me she didn’t enjoy pizza when she lived in Italy, as it was too “soggy.” She loved every other aspect of Italian cuisine.
But I find soggy to be a harsh adjective for Neapolitan pizza. This pie’s got quirks, style and history, all reasons an award-winning joint like Lucky Pie chooses to focus on the little pizzas born of Naples.
First, Neapolitan pizza is a food of the common man — Italian peasants pioneered it in the 18th century. See, when tomatoes made their way into Europe from Peru some 200 years earlier, Europeans thought they were poisonous. Peasants in Naples, hungry and desperate, eventually put tomatoes on flatbread because, hey, they were either going to starve to death or this poisonous tomato would kill them. It was worth a try.
No one died of tomatoes (to my knowledge), and eventually rich folks were traveling to poor neighborhoods to get their hands on what was soon to be known as Neapolitan pizza (Side fact: The richest folks of them all, King Umberto I and Queen Margherita of Savoy, traveled to Naples to get a slice in 1889, and that version of Neapolitan became known as Margherita. Its tomatoes, mozzarella and cheese resembled the Italian flag.)
This all brings us up to speed and leaves us with what to expect from a great Neapolitan pizza.
First, this is basically a personal pizza, no larger than 12 or so inches in diameter — you can’t make a gargantuan, saucy, thin-crust pizza. Not gonna work. Second, a true Neapolitan is simple: made with highly refined Italian wheat flour, fresh brewer’s yeast, water and salt. Roll that dough by hand or with a low-speed mixer; no rolling pins allowed. You use fresh ingredients, specifically raw, pureed San Marzano tomatoes for the sauce and fresh mozzarella. The San Marzano tomatoes are important: These firm, deep red plumb tomatoes grow in the enriched volcanic soil at the base of Mount Vesuvius. They are sweet and low in acidity — perfect for sauce.
But the real mark of good Neapolitan is charring on the crust. These are cooked in super hot ovens. The charring adds another layer of flavor to the pie, a mild bitterness against the sweetness of the sauce and the savory nature of the toppings, whether that’s mozzarella and basil, sausage and ricotta, or salami and chilies. The trick is keeping the crust tender and chewy while getting that light char. Perhaps Gwyneth Paltrow will let you come over to her house to use her backyard brick pizza oven.
Lucky Pie sticks to the centuries-old traditional style of Neapolitan pizza, and as such, so should you. Take your time with one of these pies, and eat it fresh out of the oven as it loses any crispness at all as it cools. And for God’s sake, use a knife and fork.
Lucky Pie and Taphouse. 637 Front St., Louisville, 303-666-5743.
