Being Neapolitan

Husoor was feeling peckish. And for him that reads hangry to me. It’s something I like to avoid if I can and so when we arrived back in Naples and he wanted “a little something to eat” I knew we had to fly into action which, in Naples, involves standing in line.

He ordered pizza fritta the fried Neapolitan pizza that everyone is gaga over and he waited. And waited and waited and waited. I waited across the street. And I waited and waited and waited.

He finally emerged. I don’t know what the fuss was about. It was fry bread with watery fresh tomato and some cheese. Not all that much. Lotsa dough, fried, that’s for sure. Nothing else. No oregano, parmesan, basil. Nothin.’ I don’t know what the fuss is about and it’s certainly not worth the wait.

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