One thing I always took for granted as a Neapolitan, but truly came to understand while living abroad, is that we live in a culture of abundance. And, as always, pizza is a perfect example of this.
Even the most authentic pizzas I’ve had in other countries were consistently defined by a well-balanced use of ingredients. The benchmark is always the Margherita, with its careful proportion between tomato sauce and fiordilatte mozzarella.
In Naples, this balance often disappears in many pizzerias. Pizza makers tend to have a “heavy hand”, generously adding tomato and fiordilatte to the point where they frequently blend into an indistinct mix. I’m not saying this is inherently good or bad, nor do I want to focus on how it affects the final result: the success of a pizza always depends on a combination of factors.
However, it’s interesting to look at this from other perspectives. On one hand, Naples is home to thousands of pizzerias, most of which exist to feed people rather than impress them. The focus is often on quantity over quality (though the two are not mutually exclusive), and in this context, pizza fully reflects the social role history has assigned to it.
Abroad, on the other hand, the product faces higher costs and therefore requires more careful resource management. But it’s also as if pizza puts on its best outfit. It’s not just food: it carries the responsibility of representing Naples and its culture to the world. That’s why there is often a greater effort to create a product made with carefully selected ingredients, with stronger visual appeal and, crucially, one that is profitable while still satisfying the customer.
Of course, this is a broad generalization. I’ve had terrible pizza abroad and perfectly balanced ones in central Naples. But if I average out all my experiences, the situation is much like I’ve described.
It’s also easy to see how this culture of abundance is typical of societies that, until relatively recently, experienced hunger. Once prosperity is achieved, there seems to be a desire to make up for the past. In Europe, this is especially visible in Mediterranean regions and the Balkans, but I’ve observed the same attitude in South Korea as well. It’s a form of social redemption that finds its fullest expression at the table.
Read more: Where to eat Neapolitan pizza in South Korea
From this perspective, pizza still represents the kind of “sociological thermometer” I mentioned in another article, echoing Alexandre Dumas’s idea of the “gastronomic thermometer.” The French writer described how the price of pizza would rise or fall depending on the abundance or scarcity of its ingredients. Today, in a time of abundance, prices continue to rise. But even after many generations, Neapolitans have not forgotten hunger, and they make sure that pizza is what keeps it at bay.
This is an AI-assisted translation of the original Italian article, which I have lightly edited. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes!
