by Kenny Mah
September 2002: Naples, Italy
This is the most alarmingly tasty slice of pizza I’ve ever had. I’m in a small pizzeria in Naples. I’ve been backpacking all over Europe, eating my way through the continent. It’s the end of summer but you wouldn’t know it here in southern Italy. A day earlier I was sunbathing on the isle of Capri (together with dwindling hordes of German and Swiss tourists greedy for the final rays of the season). The weather was perfect.
A fellow backpacker — a cute and petite web designer from San Francisco — whom I met while rummaging through the ruins of Pompeii had recommended this pizzeria. “It’ll be the best pizza you’ve ever eaten,” she had promised and she was so right.