When the Moon Hits Your Eye

After being felt up in Telese Terme and losing my breakfast and then some en route to Capri, my workcation to Italy could only look up...right? Although, my story assignment is on Naples itself, I actually hadn't spent any time in the city, so on the last day, we were bussed back to the thriving pile of garbage metropolis. Seriously, though, I found Naples charming and invigorating, despite all I had read and heard about it being one big landfill. It's true, there were piles of trash lining the streets (I opted to not photograph this, sorry), but still, it had character, kind of similar to New York, you know back before Giulani stole its identity rid the streets of bums and waste. An odd thing for a government-sponsored media trip, we were given the last day free. So armed with the Hooches and a guide, Massimo, we headed where any American tourist in Naples would go. Duh, the pizza parlor.


Now, this wasn't just any old pizza parlor. This is "the best pizza in the whole world," we were told on at least 17 occasions by different people. Liz Gilbert, from whom I took a college course that I loved yet later ironically turned out to be the author of my least favorite book I've read in recent years (but I won't go into that yet again), wrote about this particular place in the Italy chapter of that little known memoir she penned a couple years back. While Da Michele was always extremely popular among locals and the occasional in-the-know tourist, apparently business further increased tenfold, and now if you don't arrive before the noon rush, you're waiting outside all day for a slice of cheesy heaven.


I won't go as far as to say it's the best pizza I've ever had -- actually, di Napoli, a pizza parlor half a mile from my house run by tried-and-true Napolitans, takes the cake -- but it was surely delicious. Michele only serves two kinds of pizza, marinara and margherita, so service is extra speedy, and each person gets an entire pizza to his/herself.


And Michele himself (below) is 86 years old and STILL makes the dough every day. He also hasn't ever raised prices -- though he could increase them by 300 percent and it wouldn't affect business in the slightest -- as a whole pizza is a whopping four euro. FOUR EURO for an entire pie. It's pure insanity.


As I was leaving, one of the cooks came running out after me. He motioned for my camera, and I thought he was asking if I wanted a picture in front of the facade. "No, it's OK," I told him, but he took my camera and handed it to an innocent bystander. Apparently, he wanted this:


Then, one of the younger cooks who had (I thought) been giving me the stink eye the entire hour or so we were inside filming/eating followed me out and in broken English asked if I would come back inside and be in a photo with all of them. It was quite bizarre actually; I still don't really know what to make of it. And on the day I opted out of showering and putting on makeup , naturally (I was planning on avoiding the camera entirely).


After I'd inhaled an entire pizza by myself, while the Hooches filmed me with marinara practically dripping down my chin, I had my five seconds of Italian pizza parlor fame, and we chatted up Johnny Renaldi from Pompeii to my immediate right, we left. A little shopping down Via Toledo later, the Hooches needed a few more stand-ups for their weekly PBS segment. This is where I started to lag. I was tired and my poor little feets hurt, but we persevered until we found the perfect backdrop for Toni's shot. And I wasn't disappointed. You know why? There was PENIS PASTA. Lots and lots of it at that. And parts of the female anatomy, too, but that wasn't nearly as much fun for us ladies.


Penis Pasta in Naples from krysleigh on Vimeo.

So yes, I was glad I stuck it out, if not for returning home with the perfect souvenir. SVV and I actually consumed the penis pasta the next night after I got back, and while a bit flaccid, it wasn't too bad. There was also olive oil and bruschetta and limoncello (oh my!) galore. I could have moved into the small space that was no bigger than my bedroom in Manhattan and never needed to leave. The elderly owner was so cute and got the biggest kick out of pointing out the penis pasta to us (if it weren't for him, I might not have noticed) and his other favorite bestseller, Viagro bruschetta paste.


And as this will be my last Italy post -- seriously, y'all, how did I manage to squeeze so many blog-worthy incidents into a mere four days? -- I'll leave you with a video of our suave guide Massimo -- who claims to be pals with de Niro, Rachel Weisz and a handful of other stars, and for all I know, it could be true -- and some more pictures I haven't previously published:

A Walking Tour of Naples from krysleigh on Vimeo.

The castle at night from Heather's balcony.

Nellie and me before the last night party. Renzo doesn't have the steadiest of picture-taking hands.

Can you even begin to guess my favorite color? The Hooches got a kick out of my ensemb. Even my drink matched!

Italians make out everywhere. Seriously, we watched this couple move a few feet every few minutes, making out the whole time.

This woman had to show us into the sistern. She didn't look too happy about it; of course, we were interrupting her lunch (then again, Italians take an entire three hours for lunch, so we weren't really at fault).


I thought the architecture in Naples was pretty impressive.


Goonies is in front to the right. I so wasn't kidding. Though, honestly? This was maybe one of three times I saw her smile the entire trip.


Hoocheriffic from krysleigh on Vimeo.

Hooches getting their mac on on the last night.