An old man from southern Italy approaches with his “pizza by the metre”, proudly showing its toppings – “seasonal vegetables from my garden” – and I resolve to power through. In this, the pizza epicentre (epizzentre?) of the most pizza-obsessed city in the most pizza-obsessed country in the world, everyone’s hopes are pinned on their pizza skills.
We’ve been testing several categories. In “freestyle”, an elderly pizzaiolo (pizzamaker) from France presents an ornate pizza, topped with courgette flowers and delicate towers of pomme de terre; a shy young Brazilian lad has edged his with Vesuvius style peaks full of molten cheese cream – it’s a bit Domino’s stuffed crust. A nutella and mozzarella specimen still haunts me and, shockingly, I’ve been confronted with ham and pineapple. In Naples! In “seasonal” there are figs galore, working well with good Parma ham; less so with grapes, mint and balsamic.
Suddenly and without warning, the organisers start marching up and down singing “the STG (specialita tradizionale grantita) song”. Everyone claps along – including the spectators in the stadium behind. It is all completely bonkers (but admittedly, has quite a catchy tune). Then it’s time to judge the Neapolitan wood-fired pizza entries. This is the big one – the margherita’s simple tomato sauce, buffalo mozzarella and basil toppings allow the dough to shine, and in Naples, it’s all about the dough. Pizzaiolo are judged on every aspect of their technique (including tidiness - a messy pizzaiolo is a bad pizzaiolo), kneading, baking, the charring, size, thickness, the puff and bounce of its cornichon (crust), toppings – and, of course, overall taste. In this city, the top pizzaiolos are dough-obsessed divas with superstar status – the skill takes years to perfect and there are constant arguments about who’s top dog, who’s up and coming. Winning best Neapolitan pizza is a very big deal.
And it’s big business too – the two-day championships, in its 14th year, is supported by the Association of Neapolitan Pizza and Ministry of Agriculture. Some 500 competitors come from around the world. The temporary “pizza village” has 50 stalls all with wood-fired pizza ovens, taking up 30,000 square metres of waterfront for the week. It draws more than 500,000 pizza tourists and more than 100,000 pizzas are sold – I feel like I’ve eaten most of them. Lidia Bastianich, a big cheese (sorry – celebrity chef) from New York is one of the names running a pizza masterclass – she isn’t overly impressed with my kneading skills. “Stronger, harder,” she urges, as I desperately try to tease air into my dough. “Perfetto,” she eventually allows, in the millisecond I get the technique less wrong.
Wandering through this mega festival are pizza royalty – octogenarian pizzaiolos, like generals, on crutches, wearing medals for prizes long gone; young guns, their pizza-throwing prowess mixed with breakdance moves as they spin “pro dough” – silicon practice doughs – in the air. The mayor is here. Among those dispensing floury handshakes is Japanese chef Akinari “Pasquale” Makishima, who took the title in 2010, attributing his win to a Japanese attention to detail (the meticulous zeal of the sushi chef and the perfectionist obsession of the pizzaiolo may explain why Neapolitan pizza is now big in Japan). This “king of the Neapolitan pizza” is now a celebrity in Japan – as with former winners, television appearances have become the norm and commercial opportunities abound.
Which is what awaits this year’s winner. We’ve finally stopped eating pizza and, after a surreal episode with some kind of significant cake, it’s now – at gone 3am – time for the results. It’s all strangely moving. A dewy eyed youngster who wins pizza-by-the metre dedicates the award to his pizza maestro who taught him “how beautiful this job is”. His boss cries. A woman wins the gluten-free category – a real achievement given there are fewer than 10% female entrants - she’s so jubilant she’s still joyfully stabbing her cup in the air 10 minutes later. A Korean chef wins the second-most-important category (classico with freestyle toppings) with his smoked salmon and smoked mozzarella concoction.
Then it’s the big one – the Neapolitan. For the first time ever, in this most male dominated of worlds, the winner is female – Teresa Iorio, a working-class Napoletano-speaking woman who runs Dalle Figlie Di Iorioa restaurant in Naples with her siblings. There’s a strangulated howl from somewhere within the crowd, a parting of red capped pizzaiolos, and she appears, shaking, a mass of nervous energy, so much disbelief and pride you can taste it. There’s uproarious applause for this well respected chef. I begin to well up, though to be fair, I’ve been close to tears since pizza number 50-something. The good news is, if Rossopomodoro gets its way, a small scale UK version will hit London next year. Best start prodding those pizza crusts for bounce. Although personally, I may never eat pizza again.
