Eight seconds of fire, stretched into a story.Scroll to bake one.
A seventy-two hour cold ferment. No sugar, no oil, no shortcuts. The dough does its work while the city sleeps.
Opened by hand so the cornicione keeps every bubble of air it earned. That rim is the whole argument.
San Marzano tomatoes from volcanic soil under Vesuvius. We crush them and add salt. That is the entire recipe.
Mozzarella pulled the same morning, Genovese basil, and a single thread of Sicilian olive oil. Nothing more.
The oven has been lit every morning for twenty-six years. Between services it cools, but it has never gone out.
Leopard-spotted, blistered, char exactly where char belongs. A minute longer and you have made a cracker.
Cut, lifted, gone. A true Neapolitan pizza has a lifespan of about four minutes. We suggest you respect it.
San Marzano, garlic, oregano, olive oil. No cheese, no apologies.
San Marzano, fior di latte, Genovese basil, olive oil.
Spicy soppressata, fior di latte, chilli honey, basil.
Mozzarella di bufala DOP added after the bake, so it never splits.
No reservations, no delivery. Twenty-four seats, one oven, and a queue that moves faster than you think.