Knives, Forks And Pizza Etiquette

It's Not “Wrong” Or “Weird” To Use A Knife And Fork

I was dining with family at an Italian American place. I had ordered pizza and was, as per my usual, employing a knife and fork in its consumption. My Gen Z great-niece watched me for awhile and then asked why I was using a knife and fork instead of just picking it up like “everybody else” does. I explained it to her as I'll explain it to you, lettore cara.

First of all, it's a topic of great controversy depending upon where you are. In the vast pizza metropolis that is New York City, eating a slice of pizza any way other than by using your hands to fold it in half is considered heresy, punishable at the least by great mockery. Witness what happened a few years back to erstwhile mayor Bill de Blasio when he took utensils to slice at a place called Goodfellas on Staten Island. He was derided mercilessly and the press even hounded him again a few months later when paparazzi caught him with a knife and fork in a pizzeria in Naples. (The one in Italy, not its counterpart in Florida.) But de Blasio had a defense: he said he was being “authentic” and that he had picked up the cutlery habit while visiting his “ancestral homeland.”

On the other hand – no pun intended – if you try to pick up and fold a slice of the tomato and cheese casserole that passes for pizza in Chicago, you'll wind up with quite a mess.

Anyway, de Blasio was right. Protestation and ridicule from the Italian American contingent aside, the proper Italian way to eat pizza is, indeed, with a knife and fork. At least, according to formal galateo (etiquette.)

You see, in America pizza is always served one way – pre-sliced. You can buy it by the slice, of course, or you can purchase a whole pie. But even then, that pie will come pre-sliced, generally into eight pieces. In America, pizza is the ultimate sharing food, the ultimate party food. But that's not the case in Italy.

Italian food traditions are very particular and very specific. One of the specifications dictates that foods should not be combined. That's one reason why Italians don't mix, say, chicken and pasta. And it's why Italian pizza options are pretty limited by American standards. In Italy, you will seldom see a pizza with more than one or two toppings. The all-out pizza with pepperoni and cheese and mushrooms and green peppers and olives and sliced tomatoes and sausage and whatever else they happen to have in the kitchen would absolutely bewilder an Italian pizzaiola.

Italians are also not very big on sharing food or on leftovers. I'm not talking about family-style sharing, of course, but specifically to people sharing dishes in restaurants and formal settings. It's really not done. Nor is asking for a box or bag for leftovers. In the Italian mind, there aren't supposed to be any leftovers. They bring you what they consider to be reasonable portions of food and you're supposed to consume all of it. That includes pizza.

Although politically unified in 1861, in many ways the Italian peninsula is still twenty different regions. Nowhere is this more evident than in food culture. There's really no such thing as “Italian food.” Instead, there are the foods of the country's twenty regions. Occasionally, there's some overlap. Pizza, for instance.

Just as in the US, where you have Neapolitan-style and Sicilian-style and New York-style and Chicago-style and Detroit-style and St. Louis-style and California-style and seemingly endless other styles of pizza depending upon where you are (Altoona-style pizza, anyone?), there are different types of pizza in different regions of Italy. Obviously, the most popular comes from the generally accepted birthplace of modern pizza, Naples. But pizza Romana is a close second in and out of Rome. Sicily boasts of its own style as do other regions like Puglia, which produces a thick crust pizza topped with tomato sauce, mozzarella, and lots of onions.

Although some form of flatbread “pizza” has been around since ancient times, the “modern” pizza, as mentioned, rose from a simple, modest, affordable street food eaten by the poorer classes of southern Italian society. That all changed, however, after World War II, when a combination of social and economic factors caused the spread of the Neapolitan peasant dish to all parts and regions of the Italian peninsula and across the face of the globe. By the 1960s, pizza was ubiquitous.

“All very interesting,” you say, “but what does it have to do with using a knife and fork?”

Okay. Despite some regional variations, most Italian pizzerias serve a thin-crust pizza that comes in one size. It's a small pie by American standards, about the size of a dinner plate. It does not come pre-sliced and it is not intended to be shared with others, but rather to be eaten by one person as a single course. As such, the use of utensils is required as the individual diner must cut bite-sized morsels from the whole pie, a pie he or she is expected to finish. Don't even think of asking for a box.

Thus when de Blasio and other misunderstood knife and fork users say they are honoring their “cultural heritage” or whatever, they're right. By and large, pizza in Italy is eaten with a knife and a fork.

Oh, there are exceptions. Tourist places, for instance, will serve pizza in a more universally recognized form, i.e. whole pies sliced for sharing or individual slices made for folding over and carrying. Actually, the latter is often offered in the form of a calzone – and that's “kal-ZOH-nay,” not “kal-ZOHN,” – which is basically a folded-over pizza, made from the same dough and toppings as a regular pizza, designed to be carried and eaten with one hand.

And one more exception, which may validate all you devotees of the notion of pizza as a finger food: In Italy, unless in a very formal setting, it is permissible and sometimes even common to begin eating your pizza by cutting it with a knife and picking up the bite-sized pieces with a fork, then transitioning to picking up the remainder of the slice and eating it from your hand, often after folding it over. This is especially true of the end of the pizza slice at the cornicione, or the outer edge of the crust.

After a somewhat abbreviated version of this admittedly lengthy explanation – basically I told her, “That's how they do it in Italy” – I was gratified to note that my young great-niece picked up her knife and fork and followed my lead. Would that the rest of America's pizza-eating society do the same, we would have a much better mannered – and probably less messy – Italian dining experience.

But even if you personally choose to continue in the common American or Italian-American method of pizza eating, now, armed with appropriate knowledge of etiquette, would you at least please refrain from disparaging those whom you observe using a knife and fork? Because now you know that they are, indeed, not weird, but quite correct in doing so.

Buon appetito!

Review: The Open Kitchen, Charlotte, North Carolina

A Great Old-School Italian-American Place

I was in Charlotte, North Carolina recently to attend a show at the Belk Theater at Blumenthal Performing Arts Center (a fabulous venue, by the way) and was hunting for an Italian eatery for our theater party of four.

Many years ago, my default Italian place in Charlotte was a lovely spot called Zarrelli's, run by a charming Neapolitan immigrant named Aniello “Neal” Zarrelli. Sadly, Neal died in 2017 at the age of 87 and his wonderfully warm and welcoming restaurant passed into the Queen City's culinary history.

Charlotte is an up-and-coming food city and there is no shortage of modern, upscale Italian restaurants in the metropolitan area. But I do so miss Zarrelli's and it's traditional menu and atmosphere. So when my online search led me to a story about the city's first pizza restaurant, I was intrigued.

Located on West Morehead Street between Freedom Drive and I-77, The Open Kitchen was founded by brothers Speros and Steve Kokenes back in 1952 to serve the factory workers in what was then a heavily industrial neighborhood. And if the surname “Kokenes” doesn't sound particularly Italian to you, that's because it's not: the brothers were of Greek heritage. Steve was born in Washington, DC and that's where he first encountered a relatively new dish called “pizza” or "pizza pie" as it was often dubbed in those days.

It's hard to imagine today, as pizza has become so ubiquitous and embedded in American culture, but back then pizza was an exotic dish found only in Italian enclaves in big cities. Gennaro Lombardi, an immigrant from Naples, is generally credited with opening America's first pizzeria in Manhattan's Little Italy back in 1905. American servicemen in WWII developed a taste for the tasty comestible when they encountered it in local places in Italy and they brought that taste back home with them. Soon pizza was moving out of the “in” spots in places like New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia and was spreading across the culinary landscape like wildfire. That fire was fed by entrepreneurs like Dan and Frank Carney, who founded Pizza Hut in Wichita, Kansas in 1958 and by local Italian immigrants like the two that opened the first pizzerias in my small Midwestern home town; Marino's, in 1955 and Luigi's in 1957. Both places were huge hits with area teenagers who were among those that helped pizza take over the American food scene in the next decade.

Anyway, the Kokenes brothers brought the new-fangled dish to this Southern bastion of grits and gravy nearly seventy years ago and it's still going strong in its original, definitely retro location. The neighborhood has changed and is now “trendy,” but the venerable eatery still reflects the Greek and Italian traditions of the family that opened it, and pizza is still at the center of the menu.

I fell in love with the exterior at first sight. Thanks to renovations and expansions in the '60s and '70s, the place doesn't look exactly like it did back in 1952, but it's darn close. Then I stepped through the front door and was immediately transported back in time.

The comforting aroma of Italian food caresses your olfactory sense as soon as you enter. You are seated at a sturdy table covered by a red-checkered cloth and you are presented with menus. You can barely read them, of course, because the place is very dimly lit, just as a traditional red sauce joint should be. The friendly and accommodating server takes your drink order and returns fairly promptly with your beverages and with a basket overflowing with an assortment of fresh bread, little tubs of butter, crackers, and some very slightly stale individually wrapped breadsticks. Remember those? I do. They were the highlight of my meal when I was about ten years old.

Now it's time to order.

As I said, there are a lot of Greek touches to the menu including Chicken Livers Greque, Pizza ala Greque, and a Greek Salad, but the focus is on Italian-American dishes like Baked Ziti and Chicken Parmigiana, along with various other chicken, veal, and seafood offerings. And, of course, lots of pasta. There are a variety of soups, salads, and appetizers from which to choose and several Italian-ish sandwiches, if that's your thing. And, lest we forget the star of the show, there's pizza.

My dining companions all went in different directions. One ordered Lasagna Di Stefano – a blend of pasta, ricotta and provolone cheeses “oozing with our tempting meat sauce.” Another chose the Chicken Parmigiana – “tender chicken, sautéed in a tomato, mushroom, and wine sauce, then covered with mozzarella cheese and baked to perfection. Served with spaghetti ala marinara.” My wife opted for meat ravioli in an “oh-my-god” meat sauce. As for me, hey! Sul serio? Why would I go to Charlotte's first pizza place and not order pizza?

Six 'o clock on a Saturday evening and the place was quite busy, but our food was delivered surprisingly quickly. And it was out-of-this-world good. We all ate until eravamo pieni – ma non troppo pieno per dolce. For you non-paesani, that sort of means we were stuffed but we saved room for dessert. Two chocolate mousse split among the four of us. Decadente e divino! The Open Kitchen features a nice selection of wine and beer and our choices perfectly complimented our wonderful meal.

Nothing we ate broke the bank: my simple cheese pizza was eight bucks, the lasagna was $10.75, the chicken parm was $15.75 and my wife's ravioli was $13.50. I have been to places where one entrée would have cost as much as our entire meal combined and would not necessarily have been anywhere near as good.

You'll find The Open Kitchen at 1318 West Morehead Street. They offer dine-in, curbside, and delivery. Open 11 am to 9 pm Monday through Thursday, from 11 am to 10 pm on Friday, and from 4 to 10 pm on Saturday and Sunday. Reservations are not required and large groups can be accommodated with sufficient prior notice. Dress is casual and parking is onsite, but it's not a very big lot. You can call them at (704) 375-7449 or find them on the Web at www.worldfamousopenkitchen.com.

May the late Neal Zarrelli rest in peace knowing that there is still a great old-school Italian-American place thriving in his city. And The Open Kitchen has definitely made the list as my new “go to” eatery there. Now, if only they had somebody strolling through the dining room singing opera like Neal used to. Beh, non puoi avere tutto. (You can't have everything.)

Restaurant Review: Tartini Pizzeria & Spaghetteria, Orlando (Pine Castle), Florida

I Ran Out Of Italian Adjectives

This will be a brief review by my usual standards because my COVID-19-influenced visit to Tartini Pizzeria & Spaghetteria was unfortunately brief. I hope to go back some day and rectify that.

In Orlando for business and tired of cooking for days in our well-appointed hotel suite, COVID be damned, we just HAD to find a good Italian place on our last night in town. Previous stops in “The City Beautiful” have taken us to Mama Della's Ristorante in the Loews Portofino Bay Hotel. Alas, “Mama” had been forced by the virus into temporary closure, so we went on the hunt for someplace else where we could get some good Italian food. And, my oh my, did Tartini Pizzeria & Spaghetteria ever fill the bill!

Touted on Google as a “polished yet casual stop for pasta & wood-fired pizzas, with a modern decor including leather seats,” Tartini is all that and much more.

We dropped by early in order to avoid any potential crowds. In that we were successful, being the only couple in the place at five o'clock on a Friday afternoon. A few others filtered in while we were there but social distancing wasn't a problem. Well, there was a slight problem: our cameriere was a terrific guy, very friendly and enthusiastic. I knew he was smiling under his required face mask because his eyes were smiling. But he had to stand so far away. Between my slight hearing difficulty and the recorded music that, though perfect for the atmosphere, may have been a trifle too loud, and the fact that he was talking through a mask, communication was not all it could have been. I, too, was wearing a mask, of course, and the combination of English and Italian we were exchanging was challenging at the least. Not his fault. Mask and distance impaired communication aside, the service was impeccable.

And the food was divino! Mio dio, after buonissimo, delizioso, meraviglioso, il migliore, and several other words of praise, I simply ran out of Italian adjectives.

Let's start with the antipasto. They had the usual mozzarella sticks, caprese, calamari and such. They even offered Italian nachos. But I'm a sucker for good garlic knots and the five decadent twists of garlicky, cheesy, olive oily warm, wood-fired bread that we were served moved my long-time favorite knots at Best Italian in Gatlinburg, Tennessee into second place. These were – as I employed my first adjective of the evening – spettacolare! Ah, but the wicked little morsels were but a harbinger of things to come.

I was torn between pasta and pizza. This was also a “spaghetteria,” after all. But ultimately, my wife's suggestion that I would never forgive myself for not sampling the wood-fired pizza won out and I ordered a simple cheese pizza. They had lots of fancier ones on the menu, including the San Danielle made of pomodoro sauce, mozzarella, prosciutto, arugula, and shaved Parmesan. That looked good. So did the house specialty Tartini pizza that added salami, sopressata, and Italian sausage to the pomodoro sauce and mozzarella. But I've always found that a restaurant can best be judged by how they prepare simple classics, so I had a simple, classic cheese pizza. The. Crust. Was. To. DIE. For! I'm writing this days after and I'm still dying for more of it. Easily one of the best pizze I have ever had.

And she who convinced me to try the pizza had absolutely no complaints about her choice of pasta. She chose the Pasta Mare E' Terra, a rich combination of penne pasta in a lobster cream sauce with sauteed beef, shrimp, zucchini, and spinach. It was a toss up between that and the restaurant's signature dish, Pasta alla Ruota; their “show-stopping” spaghetti, flamed with Hennessy brandy and tossed in a wheel of cheese. Next time. Definitely next time.

We both went into the place with the intention of having no leftovers since we had a long road trip facing us the next day. Yeah. Right. So much for intentions. This is an Italian-American restaurant, you know? So when our friendly cameriere came by to check on us, I first told him, “Mi hai rovinato! (You have ruined me!)” Then I instructed him to carefully and lovingly package every last droplet and crumb of the cibo straordinario as if it had to travel five-hundred miles, because it did. There was no way I was leaving a bit of anything behind. We had coolers. We were good. The leftovers would be perfect for dinner when we got home the next night, and they certainly were.

Dessert? Uffa! Che pazzo! But the choices were tempting. Cannoli, tiramisu, gelato, zeppole, Nutella cheesecake........but my resolve was strong. And my stomach was full.

Tartini has a nice wine list and they feature Peroni on tap as well as the usual choices of soft drinks, tea, coffee (American and Italian) and Aqua Panna and San Pellegrino waters.

In addition to being delicious, everything was very reasonably priced. Even the signature Pasta alla Ruota clocked in at less than twenty-five bucks.

One slight critique is offered only to satisfy the pedantic pedagogue in me: spelling on both the printed menu and the website is absolutely horrendous. I would let it slide if it was written by an Italian struggling with English, but even some of the Italian words are misspelled. Oh well. Chalk it up to part of the charm of a small, local place.

You can find Tartini Pizzeria & Spaghetteria at 6321 S. Orange Ave, #101 in Pine Castle (suburban Orlando) Florida. There's adequate parking and limited outdoor seating. Reservations are accepted but not required. Dress is casual. A kids' menu is available. As of this writing, open for dine-in, takeout, and delivery from 11 am until 10 pm Monday through Saturday and from noon until 9 pm on Sunday. Phone (407) 704-8011 or log on to http://www.tartinirestaurant.com. And bear in mind that COVID may force changes to hours and/or services.

Move over, Mama Della. I've got a new favorite Italian restaurant in Orlando.

Restaurant Review: Castiglia's Italian Restaurant & Pizza, Strasburg, VA

Six Thumbs Up!

Having left Thomas Jefferson's Monticello behind and with Washington, DC still ahead, we were road-weary travelers when we checked into our hotel in Strasburg, Virginia. But we were also hungry and I had noticed an Italian place down the road as I was driving in. I was assured by the young woman at the front desk that it was “pretty good,” and, bolstered by that enthusiastic recommendation, I headed out into the early spring Virginia night in search of sustenance.

Castiglia's Italian Restaurant & Pizza is located at the end of a nondescript strip mall on a busy highway near Interstate 81. But that's okay: some of the best Italian and Italian-American fare I've eaten has come out of strip mall kitchens. I'm not prejudiced about location.

It was late when our party of three arrived, well past whatever dinner rush there might have been. We pretty much had the place to ourselves. One table of guests was leaving as we arrived and another came in shortly after. Obviously, we were seated promptly by a very pleasant hostess. Our waitress was equally pleasant and engaging.

The décor was typical faux-Tuscan and the menu was standard Italian-American. I have long since given up hope of finding much truly authentic Italian food in such places. Even though the owners are from Naples, they, like the majority of their paesani, have bowed to the necessity of serving an American clientele that believes heaping piles of spaghetti and meatballs to be the height of Italian cuisine. I don't blame them: they do what they need to do to stay in business.

The menu was, as I said, typical, with lots of pasta dishes, chicken dishes, veal dishes, seafood dishes, an assortment of hot and cold appetizers, soups, salads, steaks, subs, wraps, burgers, and a few vegetable offerings. And, of course, pizza, calzone, and stromboli along with the usual selection of dolci. We were pleasantly surprised by a fairly decent wine list. The ladies chose a nice Moscato. I was pleased to find Peroni on tap. Most “Italian” places serve it in bottles and it's just not the same.

Knowing that we were traveling and would not be able to carry out the usual half-ton of leftovers, my wife and her mother opted for appetizers, which the server assured us would be adequate as entrees. They both chose something called “shrimp Margherita,” and I just ordered a small cheese pizza.

The complimentary fresh bread and garlic spread we were served while waiting for our meal were exceptional. You could tell the bread was fresco fatto in casa and not some warmed over frozen travesty. We wolfed it down and asked for more. I know it's not authentically Italian to serve bread before a meal, but who cared? We were hungry and it was delicious.

The appetizers/entrees were excellent as well. The sever was right: the portions were huge. The shrimp Margherita turned out to be succulent, perfectly grilled shrimp served over a bed of fresh spinach that had been sauteed in garlic and oil. My wife and her mom agreed that maybe a tad less spinach would have been better, but overall the dish was quite successful. And my pizza was fabulous. I always judge a place by how well they execute the simple things, and this simple pizza was buonissimo. You could tell the crust was expertly scratch made. The sauce to cheese ratio was perfect. You may ask “how do you screw up a cheese pizza?” Trust me, I can answer that question with a hundred examples. Not here, though. I don't know if it was pizzaiolo Salvatore Scotto, Gino Scotto, or Luigi Illiano who made it, but I did some serious damage to half a pie and it broke my heart that I couldn't take the rest with me. I mean, I guess I could have had cold pizza for breakfast instead of the hotel's “continental” offering, but......

There was no room for dessert, which is sad because I'm a sucker for cannoli.

I would like to have been able to sample more of the menu, but from what I had and what I observed, I can say that Castiglia's Italian Restaurant & Pizza serves up good Italian-American food, skillfully made by a real Italian family of cooks. The place was clean and tastefully decorated, service was fast, efficient, and unwaveringly friendly, and prices were more than reasonable. It's a casual dining, family-friendly place with adequate convenient parking.

The location of Castiglia's Italian Restaurant & Pizza that we visited is at 33820 Old Valley Pike, Ste 8 (US Hwy 11) in Strasburg, Virginia, just off I-81 exit 298. Open Monday though Thursday 11 am to 10 pm and from 11 to 11 on Friday and Saturday, Castiglia's offers free area delivery. Call them at (540) 465-8777, check out their website at www.castigliasva.com, or find them on Facebook. Apparently, there's a second location in Port Royal. Maybe I'll head over there next time.

Castiglia's promises fresh, made to order food cooked with passion. And from my experience on this occasion, they definitely fulfill that promise. Six thumbs up!

They Used To Give Pizza Away Because Nobody Knew What It Was

Enjoy Your Slice!

Pizza is everywhere. You can't sling a ball of fresh mozzarella anymore without it landing on a pizza of some kind. And what kinds there are! These days it seems you can take anything from anchovies to zucchini, slap it on flatbread, and call it a pizza. (Squid are big in Japan and they like coconut on pizza in Costa Rica.) In fact, in some places if you order a pizza with just the traditional elements – tomato sauce and cheese – you get funny looks and they ask if you're sure that's all you want. Like there's something wrong with a cheese pizza.

I hope you're sitting down because I'm going to reveal something shocking: I never ate pizza as a kid. Me. The part-Italian guy. It wasn't in my mother's wheelhouse so I never had pizza until I was in my early twenties. When I was in high school, Mom and I used to go to Pizza Hut every week – for spaghetti! (Hey, don't judge. It was the '60s, okay?) And the first pizza I ever had was really awful. I was dating a girl who innocently made a pizza from a box mix. It was not an auspicious introduction, to say the least. It was a couple of years later before I tried pizza again. This time, the girl I was seeing suggested we go to Pizza Hut, not for the spaghetti, but for actual pizza – or at least as close to it as Pizza Hut gets. I found it to be way better than the box mix and I was hooked. The relationship with the girl may have fizzled, but my relationship with pizza sizzled and I became a devotee and student of the art not only of eating pizza but of crafting it as well. My Italian roots finally surfaced and I live in a whole different world of pizza today. There's even pizza that's out of this world. Check out the YouTube video circulating of astronauts making vaguely pizza-like things on the ISS.

But there was a time in the not too distant past when Italian pizza makers in America had to give their wares away because American customers simply didn't know what it was. È vero!

Some form of toppings on flatbread has been around in Italy since Roman days. The introduction of tomatoes to the peninsula in the the sixteenth century helped shape the form into the familiar “pie” we know now; the one that was perfected in Naples in the nineteenth century and brought to America by immigrants in the early twentieth.

Break for a quick Italian lesson: have you ever seen the name of a place that serves pizza spelled “pizzaria?” I have, and it's wrong. “Pizza” is a singular noun. And unlike English you don't pluralize something in Italian by tacking on an “s.” The correct plural of “pizza” is “pizze.” The word “pizzas” does not exist in Italian. And since a place that sells pizza usually sells more than one, it is properly spelled “pizzeria.”

The country's first pizzerie (there's that correct plural again) opened on the East Coast shortly after the turn of the century. Lombardi's has been acknowledged by the Pizza Hall of Fame as the first pizzeria in the United States. An immigrant named Gennaro Lombardi started up a grocery on Spring Street in Manhattan in 1897. He converted it into a pizzeria in 1905 and history was made. A place called Papa's Tomato Pies set up shop in Robbinsville, New Jersey in 1912. Under the ownership of a former Lombardi's employee,Totonno's popped up in Brooklyn in 1924. Frank Pepe's in New Haven made the scene in 1925 and introduced the world to White Clam pizza. And Regina Pizzeria moved pizza westward a bit when it opened in Boston's North End in 1926. Tacconelli’s Pizzeria, in Philadelphia's Kensington neighborhood, opened as an Italian bakery in 1921, but Giovanni Tacconelli saw the writing on the wall in 1945 and started turning out pizza to satisfy the appetite of returning WWII GIs who acquired a taste for it while serving in Italy.

All these places existed in Italian neighborhoods and primarily served Italian immigrant clientele. The real test came when pizza entered the Midwest and the South.

I grew up in the Midwest: specifically, between Milwaukee and Chicago. There were Italian enclaves in both cities. In Milwaukee, it was the Third Ward, nowadays an upscale artsy neighborhood but a ghetto recently vacated by the Irish and left to the Italians back in the day. The Caradaro Club on Erie Street was Milwaukee's first pizzeria. Conceived by John Caravella and Joe Todaro, when it opened in 1945, it didn't actually serve pizza: it was one of the up and coming Italian restaurants that were gaining post-war popularity by featuring lasagna and spaghetti. Pizza? What's that? The locals couldn't even pronounce it. They called it “pissa pie” among other weird variations. But they had no idea what it was. A recipe of sorts was featured in a 1937 Milwaukee Journal article about Christmas breads. Columnist Jean Templeton wrote, “The day before Christmas is a fast day for Italian families, so they make a bread named pizza.” And there followed a recipe for a sort of dough that would be “spread into a shallow pan or deep baking sheet. … Over the top sprinkle chopped tomatoes … anchovies, onions and grated Romano cheese.” Yummy, huh?

So when the Caradaro Club decided to put pizza on the menu, it was a tough sell at first. In fact, they didn't “sell” it at all; the owners gave it away to restaurant patrons and sometimes even passed out samples on the street. “Here try this,” they would say to some unsuspecting local. “What is it?” “It’s pizza.” It took about six months before pizza caught on and the restaurant actually started putting a price on it.

Down in Chicago, an Italian food and wine merchant named Anthony Paterno, a Sicilian immigrant who came to the Windy City by way of Brooklyn, opened what is believed to be the city's first pizzeria on Grand and Western Avenues in 1938. A few years later, in 1943, a former University of Texas football star, Ike Sewell, and his friend, Italian immigrant Ric Riccardo, opened a place in the River North neighborhood they originally called The Pizzeria. They later changed that to Pizzeria Riccardo and, when they opened a second location nearby, the original became Pizzeria Uno and the new place was called Pizzeria Due. Clever, right? Sewell actually wanted to open a Mexican restaurant in the beginning but it's been said that when Riccardo got his first mouthful of Mexican food, that idea quickly went by the wayside. Anyway, both Sewell and Riccardo and former Uno employee Adolpho “Rudy” Malnati, claim to be responsible for that heavy tomato casserole that masquerades as pizza under the name “Chicago-style Deep Dish.” I'm not sure if they had to give it away at first, but I'm certain more than a few people asked “What is it?” when faced with the new creation because it sure didn't look like pizza. (Yes, I'm a snob and a purist. So sue me.)

Okay, so obviously cities with a big Italian presence got aboard the pizza bandwagon fairly early. But what about places like Columbia, South Carolina? While the city had its share of Italian immigrants, it didn't exactly have an Italian-American “community.” What it did have, however, was Fort Jackson, the largest US Army training base east of the Mississippi and temporary home to lots and lots of Italian and Italian-American trainees from the big northern towns. Enter James and Sadie Tronco. James was sent from his native Philadelphia to serve as a WWI medic at then Camp Jackson. He met and married a local girl and moved back to Philly before returning to Columbia in 1930. They opened a fruit store downtown, but Sadie started cooking up spaghetti and meatballs for those hungry, homesick Yankee Italian soldiers out at the fort. The fruit store morphed into South Carolina's first Italian restaurant, a place originally called Tony's Spaghetti House and now known as Villa Tronco. And Sadie, aka “Mama Tronco,” laid claim to being the one who first introduced pizza to the capital city. And again, she initially found herself giving it away because no one other than the Italians from the fort knew what it was.

It is often said that servicemen returning from Italy were responsible for the burgeoning popularity of pizza in the post war years. But believe it or not, comedian Milton Berle also had a hand in it. Host of NBC's Texaco Star Theater from 1948 until 1955, Berle, known as “Uncle Miltie” and “Mr. Television,” was America's first major TV star. His influence was vast and when he occasionally spoke of “going out for a pizza after the show,” millions of ordinary viewers who had never been near Naples or Salerno during the war asked themselves, “What's a pizza?” and then they set out to find one. As a result, mom and pop pizzerie bloomed like wildflowers across the American food landscape throughout the '50s and '60s. For example, my little Midwestern hometown was populated by 5,856 people in 1960 and was served by not one but two pizza shops. A guy named Lawrence Marino opened the first one in 1955 and Luigi Petracchi started up the other one in 1957. The Natale family added a third pizza restaurant to the area in 1963. This was typical all over the country until (dah-dah-DAH!) chain stores like Pizza Hut (Wichita, Kansas, in 1958), Pizza Inn (Dallas, Texas, in 1958), Little Caesar's (Garden City, Michigan in 1959), and Dominos (Ypsilanti, Michigan, in 1960) started chipping away at the market. (Papa John's came late to the party; Jeffersonville, Indiana in 1984.) That market was further eroded by the Celentano brothers and by Rose and Jim Totino who started commercially producing frozen pizza in 1957 and 1962, respectively.

But fear not, pizzerie are not dead. There are about seventy thousand of them operating in the United States today, only one in four of which is a Dominos, Pizza Hut, or Papa John's. In fact, seventeen percent of all restaurants in the United States are pizzerie. More than ten percent of America's pizzerie are found in New York City. And eighty-three percent of American pizzerie currently offer delivery.

Nowadays, Americans consume an estimated three billion pizze every year. At least, that's the number sold; which doesn't account for people like me who make our own. Ninety-three percent of us will eat pizza at least once in the next thirty days. (I'll be eating mine in the next thirty minutes, thank you.) And the average American eats twenty-three pounds of pizza annually. (Boy, am I above average!) That's a far cry from the days just seventy or eighty years ago when pizza purveyors had to give the stuff away! The closest thing to a pizza giveaway in recent memory was when Lombardi's celebrated their one hundredth anniversary in 2005 by selling a whole pizza for the original price of five cents.

So there you have it; a little American pizza lore with which to amaze and baffle your family and friends while you're waiting for your server, your delivery person, or your oven to provide you with your share of the estimated one hundred acres of pizza Americans will consume today. Enjoy your slice of the pie!  

Review: Villa Tronco, Columbia, South Carolina

I Expected More

Villa Tronco is a historic restaurant in the heart of South Carolina's historic capital city. Situated behind an unprepossessing facade on Blanding Street between Main and Sumter, the eatery boasts of being the oldest continuously operating restaurant in South Carolina, the first Italian restaurant in Columbia, and it claims to be responsible for introducing pizza to the capital city's curious denizens. Beginning as a fruit store in 1930, Villa Tronco is the legacy of James and Sadie (Carnaggio) Tronco, now owned and operated by the third generation of the Tronco family and still employing, it is said, “Mama” Tronco's original recipes for dishes that delighted homesick Northern soldiers of Italian descent stationed at nearby Fort Jackson during WWII.

It was based upon this amazing heritage and upon mostly positive online reviews that I chose Villa Tronco as our family vacation dining destination on a sultry Saturday evening in June. Frankly, I expected more.

Anybody who has read anything I've published in the last dozen or so years will recognize that my wife and I have something more than a passing knowledge of and appreciation for Italian food. My son and daughter-in-law, both world-traveled military veterans, were our dining companions on this evening. My son recently spent several years living in Italy, so perhaps, taken as a whole, we were a bit of a tough crowd.

Starting on a positive note, everything I read about the ambiance of Villa Tronco was dead on. With lots of dark wood, exposed brick, and subtle lighting there was a definite “old world” vibe to the place that, along with tasteful décor and substantial but comfortable furnishings made for an interesting and pleasant dining atmosphere. A lot of modern restaurants try very hard to achieve what this charming and venerable old spot generates easily and naturally. Kudos to the current generation of Troncos for beautifully balancing old and new.

The service was prompt, friendly, and efficient. Our hostess seated us quickly, our waitress was attentive without being obtrusive, and my water glass never got below half-full. Villa Tronco has a full bar and an expansive wine list from which both my wife and my “Italian wine snob” son partook.

Alas, though, the food was not on the same level as the atmosphere and the wine. Right from the start, temperature seemed to be a problem.

We ordered antipasti of fried calamari and fried mozzarella. The mozzarella arrived on a nice warm plate, but was itself barely above room temperature. Unless served piping hot, mozzarella fritta tends to be rather dense and chewy, as was the case here. And the thin red sauce in which it was served was a harbinger of things to come.

My daughter-in-law's entree of cheese ravioli was stone cold upon arrival. Again, the plate was warm as was the sauce, but the ripieno, the rich filling of ricotta and Parmesan, had obviously spent too much time in the freezer or the walk in and not enough time in the pot. We sent the dish back. I don't know if Chef Mike (restaurant-speak for a microwave) fixed it or what, but it came back a few minutes later at the proper temp.

My wife had no real complaints about her linguine in meat sauce other than the fact that the sauce lacked what she called “zing,” something I found to be true about all the tomato-based sauces we were served. They weren't bad per se, they were just.......unremarkable.

My son soldiered through his “combo piatto,” an oddly named sampling of lasagna, cheese ravioli, and Fettuccine Tronco (which looked suspiciously like Alfredo) all on one plate. He finished with neither complaint nor compliment, but I got the general impression of his being politely unimpressed.

I figured to try the famous pizza which “Mama” Tronco introduced to Columbia. “The crust is still rolled by hand,” the literature proclaims, “and cut into squares so that you know it's handmade.” Again the temperature bug bit. The serving pan was toasty warm but the pizza was barely so.

Okay, I used to rag on my cooks about warming plates. Warm food is better on a warm serving plate. But I swear I never had to instruct them to make sure the food was at least as warm as the plate on which it was served. I don't know what was happening here, but it certainly marred the experience.

Anyway, the pizza was.......unremarkable. You can tell the crust was “rolled” rather than tossed or stretched by hand because it was dense and lifeless. Rolling and compressing pizza dough does that. That's why vero pizzaioli always toss or stretch the dough by hand. The sauce was thin, rather sweet, and, as my wife said, lacking in “zing.” The cheese was the typical “pizza cheese” sold by Sysco, US Foods, and other restaurant industry food purveyors. Granted, I've had worse pizza out of convenience store microwaves, but I've also had far better at places with far less vaunted reputations. In the restaurant's history it is recorded that “Mama” Tronco had to give pizza away at first because people didn't know what it was. Bless her sainted memory, if what I was served was an example, I can relate.

Look, I seldom bash a restaurant because I've been in the business and I know how hard it can be. I generally allow acres for benefit of the doubt. And despite my apparent negativity here, I'm not really trying to bash Tronco's. As a very typical, very average, very Italian-AMERICAN restaurant, it stands as an adequate representative of the genre. I'm just reiterating that, based on the build up, I expected more. The online “reviewers” who trumpet things like “highly recommended for anyone looking for a great Italian meal” and “one of the best Italian restaurants I have dined at in years” obviously don't know diddly squat about Italian food or Italian restaurants. Everything on the menu is the type of food I would expect to find anywhere in Rome. Georgia, that is. It is decent enough Italian-American fare, but there is very little by way of anything outstandingly Italian. Chicken Parm? A butter, cream, and cheese sauced fettuccine dish? Linguine with meatballs? Maryland Crab Cakes? Uffa! Mi dispiace, mama. Un stella o due per l'atmosfera, ma no stelle per il cibo.

Bottom line: Villa Tronco is a good, if somewhat pedestrian, Italian-American red-sauce joint. If you're looking for a nice Italian-ish place for a date night or for a family gathering and you're not really particular about authentic or high-end Italian food, it's perfect. It's not super-cheap but also not super-expensive. We had an app, two entrees, and a glass of wine on our ticket for fifty bucks. I mean, go soak up the atmosphere if nothing else. That said, I doubt we'll make it a regular stop on our occasional trips through the area. Which is probably good since I'm sure the locals and the faithful are already plucking chickens and heating up tar in anticipation of my return. But it is what it is. And what it is is just Olive Garden in classier digs.

Located at 1213 Blanding Street, Villa Tronco is open 11 to 3 and 5 to 10 Monday through Friday and 5 to 10 only on Saturday. They're closed on Sunday. Dress is casual, reservations are accepted but not required, and parking is metered on-street that is free after 6 pm. Call them at 803.256.7677 or find them online at villatronco.com.

Pizza La Stella, Raleigh, North Carolina

Don't Expect Italian Flags And Dean Martin Muzak

A recent rainy winter night found our party of four at Pizza La Stella, a new downtown pizza place in Raleigh, North Carolina. Searching for a dining spot convenient to the North Carolina Symphony concert we had just attended, La Stella's “authentic Neapolitan pizza” hook got my attention.

If you're looking for the comforting kitsch of a run-of-the-mill pizzeria, keep looking. You won't find it at La Stella. There is nothing here that says “Italian” except for the writing done in tile work on the pizza ovens. The place looks, acts, and feels more like a trendy downtown fast casual establishment. It's all barn wood, heavy wooden beams, and casual banquettes. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. I've been to plenty of “Italian” restaurants where the décor was a lot better than the food. I'm just sayin' don't expect Italian flags on the walls and Dean Martin muzak in the background.

Upon entering, we ordered at the counter and were given the option of seating in the first floor dining area or upstairs in “The Loft,” La Stella's cocktail bar, billed as a “rustic retreat straight out of a forgotten era.” We opted for the dining room and were shown to a table where I could see one of the enormous custom made Stefano Ferrara wood-fired brick ovens at work. You can tell they are wood-fired as soon as you walk in; you'll probably leave smelling slightly smoky. The oven I could see was emblazoned with “fatta a mano.” The one I couldn't see said “con il cuore.” This is apparently the eatery's motto, even though when I questioned the server, she hadn't the slightest idea what the writing on the ovens said. I enlightened her and she got kind of an “ah-HAH” look on her face. Later I spied the English translation printed over a door. Now, I'm not suggesting that everybody in the place should speak fluent Italian, but surely somebody else must have noticed the writing on the ovens and asked about it. But I digress.

I had to have the Pizza Margherita. Made on a thin “doppio zero” crust with imported San Marzano tomatoes, mozzarella di bufala, and leaves of fresh basil, it is the definitive authentic Neapolitan pizza. All other pies are variations or imitations. You want a real pizza? The kind God orders? Gotta be a Margherita. My dinner companions, however, are carnivores, so they had to have something with meat. They ordered the Carnoso, a concoction of San Marzano tomatoes, Fontina cheese, soppressata, Italian sausage, and guanciale.

I was delighted with my choice. The flavors were wonderful and the ratios were perfect. The crust had a delectable char. My only complaint was that it was a tad floppy. It could have been a little crisper to stand up to the toppings. If I were a New Yorker who liked to fold my slice in half and stuff it in my face, it would have been perfect. However, I prefer the more Italian style of using a knife and fork to start with and then finishing the slice by picking it up and eating the area around the cornicione. This otherwise perfectly thin crust was so.....I don't want to say “soggy,” but......a knife and fork were nearly impossible and even just lifting it and eating it from the pointy end was tricky without wearing the toppings on my shirt. New York style was about all you could do with it. Not really my thing. That said, overall it was a delicious offering to which I ultimately did some serious damage. Even if I did have to take a ribbing from my friend for abandoning my utensils.

My wife had a slice of the Margherita, which she also pronounced as wonderful, but her main focus was on her generous Caprese salad; light and fresh and drizzled with a tart-sweet balsamic vinegar. It was also big enough to share.

Our friends were not quite as impressed with their fare. I suppose when you're accustomed to “regular” pizza with mozzarella and pepperoni, Fontina and soppressata may be acquired tastes. Their chief grievance was that the “bacon” overpowered everything else. Again, guanciale is a highly flavorful cut of “bacon,” made from the cheeks of the animal, and its strong flavor takes some getting used to. It couldn't have been too objectionable, though; I noticed there were no leftovers.

Service was a little odd. The Margherita came to the table in minutes, followed fairly quickly by the salad. My friends were left sitting and watching as my wife and I somewhat reluctantly chowed down. Not wanting to be rude, we offered them portions of salad and slices of our pizza because theirs was so slow in arriving. We were nearly finished with our pizza before their pizza came out, and that only happened after I got a server's attention and asked about it. My wife sampled a bit of their pie and her sensitive palate detected what she perceived as a slight difference in the tomatoes used in the two sauces. When I asked our server if different sauces or different tomatoes were used in the preparation, she obviously didn't have a clue. But give her points for faking a good answer. Note to management: menu training?

Pizza La Stella has a varied menu that includes both red sauce pies and a selection of white pizzas. (There's actually no such word as “pizzas”; the proper Italian is pizze, but I've long since given up on that lost cause.) Besides the aforementioned Margherita and Carnoso, they also have a Bolognese and a vegetarian offering called “The Shroomer,” among other specialties. The “Pollo Sporco,” a rosemary, Peppadew peppers, apple cider chicken, red onion, and garlic confit pizza, had me wondering. The name means “Dirty Chicken.” And, naturally, being in the middle of North Carolina, there has to be a “Carolina Classic,” a pizza consisting of Carolina pulled pork, red onion, pancetta, and La Stella slaw. Of course, they have “classic” cheese, pepperoni, and pepperoni and sausage pizza as well. There's a nice variety of antipasti, including fire-roasted Brussels sprouts, to start off with. Lots of salads in addition to the Caprese, including the option to “craft your salad” from an impressive list of toppings and dressings. The menu also features wood-fired wings, calzone and stromboli, and some tempting desserts.

The prices at Pizza La Stella are reasonable considering what you're getting. Can you get a pizza for eight bucks somewhere else? Sure, but not one with mozzarella di bufala on it, capisci? I'm not gonna kick about $15 for what I got. Ten bucks for a salad was okay because it fed the whole table. Some of the other salads were cheaper and some of the other pizzas – like the Carnoso – were more expensive. You can eat for less at Pizza Hut, but.......you get what you pay for.

Pizza La Stella is located at 219 Fayetteville Street in the heart of downtown Raleigh. I understand there has been a fairly high restaurant turnover at the location. Maybe this one will work. They don't accept individual reservations, but large groups can be accommodated with advance notice. Parking is....well, it's downtown, folks. Open from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Sunday through Wednesday, 11 a.m. to midnight on Thursday, and 11 a.m. to 1 a.m. Friday and Saturday, call them at 984-200-2441 or look them up on the Web at pizzalastella.com.

La Stella is Italian for “the star.” A lot of things have changed since my last visit to Raleigh in 1978. With “stars” like this one on the scene, I'll definitely go back more often.

More On Fake Italian Food: Just Because It Sounds Italian.....

Just Because It Ends In A Vowel Doesn't Make It Italian

There's an old saying in the South: “Just because a cat has kittens in the oven don't make 'em biscuits.” You can also apply that maxim to Italian food. Something like “just because it ends in a vowel doesn't make it Italian.” Not as pithy, I know, but still true.

Nobody can argue that Italian is among the most popular cuisines on the planet. And justifiably so. Real, authentic Italian food is fresh, natural, simple, seasonal, and delicious. And because of its popularity, Italian is also one of the most counterfeited cuisines on the planet.

It's all about marketing, my friend. Everybody and his brother wants to jump on that Italian bandwagon to make a quick buck. And though there's no evidence P.T Barnum ever really said “there's a sucker born every minute,” the sentiment is nonetheless accurate. Or to (mis)quote H.L. Mencken, “No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.”

See, ad men long ago figured out that it's easy to make something sound Italian: all you have to do is add a vowel to the end of almost any word and ecco! – instant Italian! Go ahead, try it for yourself. It's a fun parlor game even if it is insulting and denigrating to an entire culture. It's also easy to completely make up “Italian” words. Just hang together three syllables, accent the second syllable, and make sure the last syllable ends in a vowel, preferably “a,” “i,” or “o.” Ta-dah! Something “Italian” to stick on the label of your cheap, inauthentic product. But who cares? As long as it sells pizza or spaghetti, right?

Well, it turns out somebody does care. While there's obviously a matter of cultural pride involved, there's also a huge economic impact. Some Italian politicians want to impose an all-out ban on the “Italian-sounding” names used to give cheap frozen pizzas and crappy packaged risottos an Italian image. Nicola Danti, MEP of the Socialist and Democrat party, calls it “an odious and unfair commercial practice,” and he's calling on the EU to take action against blatantly misleading labeling. Danti goes on to note that said practice “affects not only Italian agricultural producers and the entire European agro-food sector, but also the credibility and trust in all the products sold in the European Internal Market.” Traditional Italian food products like Parmigiano-Reggiano, Prosciutto di Parma, Aceto Balsamico di Modena, and a host of others are staples of Italian agriculture and represent a substantial portion of the nation's economy. According to the Italian food industry federation, Federalimentare, counterfeiters who make up Italian-sounding names for their cheap, substandard products are picking the pockets of real Italian food producers to the tune of nearly 18 billion euros annually in the US market alone. Figures cited by Danti estimate the impact in the global marketplace to be as high as 70 billion euros. In North America, the disparity between fake “Italian-sounding” products and genuine Italian food products is about 10:1.

Take, for instance, the Freschetta pizza line. Introduced by the Marshall, Minnesota-based Schwan Food Company in 1996, the word “Freschetta” (pronounced “fresh-ET-uh”) is an obvious Italian fake. There is no such word, term, or name in the Italian language. The word is a made up construct designed to mimic the authentic Italian word “bruschetta.” But the madmen ad men who designed the word did not speak Italian. Had they done so they would have known that “bruschetta” is pronounced “broo-SKEHT-tah” and not “broo-SHET-uh.” Hence, their product, in order to sound really Italian, should actually be pronounced “freh-SKEHT-tah.” But the name is as fake as the pizza.

Then there are companies that take real Italian words or names and apply them to fake Italian products. Like the “Violi” brand of olive oil. What could be more authentically Italian than “Violi,” right? I know because Violi is the surname of the Italian side of my family. “I love this oil,” reads one glowing review. “I got it at Walmart for seven dollars a bottle.” Uffa! The biggest, boldest words on the label are “Violi” and “Extra Virgin.” The fine print, however, tells you it's a “Mediterranean Blend” that is eighty-five percent sunflower oil and only fifteen percent olive oil. The most authentically Italian thing about it is the brand name.

You've got to admit “Prego” sounds Italian. And it is; “prego” is the Italian word for “you're welcome.” What that has to do with pasta sauce, I don't know, but I do know that “Prego” has no Italian roots whatsoever. Back in the 1970s, Campbell's Soup was looking for something to do with their tomatoes other than making soup out of them, and so the “Prego” line was born. Competitor Hunt's makes a pasta sauce, too. But they just call theirs “Hunt's Pasta Sauce.” What's Italian about that? No wonder “Prego” sells more.

Packaging plays a part, too. Dress up any poor quality dreck in green, white, and red, slap an Italian flag on it, call it something that ends in a vowel, and most people will just snap it right up. They don't know the difference and, more distressing, they don't care about the difference as long as they can save a nickel. If it sounds Italian, that's close enough.

Now, to be honest, there is no such thing as an “authentic” frozen pizza. Nor are there any “real Italian” prepackaged dinners on the market. Anybody who buys anything frozen or prepackaged with an Italian name on it thinking they're getting a real taste of Italy does not understand the Italian concept of fresh, natural, seasonal, and simple. All the vowel-ending words in the dictionary will not make frozen lasagna taste anything like lasagne made with fresh ingredients. And I'm sorry, but the Chef Boyardee Pepperoni Pizza Kit they sell at Walmart is.........let's just say Ettore Boiardi is probably spinning in his grave.

Buitoni – maker of various prepackaged pasta dishes – sounds really Italian. But the brand is careful to say that its products are Italian “inspired.” As the official PR story goes, “Guilia Buitoni opened her little pasta shop in Sansepolcro, Italy in 1827; it was quickly a local favourite. The tradition and popularity of Buitoni products continues. Dedicated to using the highest quality ingredients to make delicious pastas and sauces, the Buitoni brand is inspired by traditional Italian cuisine.” Got it? A little Italian lady might have started it, but now it's “inspired.” Buitoni is currently owned by the Swiss-based Nestlé company, which also, by the way, makes Alpo. Hey! “Alpo” ends in a vowel. Does that make it Italian?

In fact, there are a lot of “Italian” products on the market that started out in Italian family kitchens. The aforementioned “Chef Boyardee,” for example. Or “Ronzoni,” a pasta line that goes back to young Emanuele Ronzoni, who emigrated from the small fishing village of San Fruttuoso, Italy, back in 1881. Assunta Cantisano left Italy from Naples in 1914, bound for America with a recipe for the sauce that eventually evolved into “Ragú.” There's nothing inherently “wrong” with these products. Some are actually quite good. It's just that modern commercial processing and production methods have long since sucked anything Italian out of them, leaving them with nothing but their Italian names.

The problem extends beyond frozen and packaged foods. I would hope anybody with an ounce of common sense could figure out that frozen pizza, no matter how many vowels the name contains, is not really Italian. It's another matter when it comes to basic ingredients like tomatoes, cheeses, meats, oils, and vinegars. These are the areas where counterfeiting really takes a toll.

Remember the scandal a little while back wherein an American manufacturer of “Parmesan” cheese was found guilty of adulterating the product with wood fiber filler? And yet, because the crap was packaged in Italian colors and sold as “100% Grated Parmesan Cheese,” the lemmings at the supermarket all bought the stuff and jumped over the cliff, just as the marketing people intended.

Even I can't keep track of all the olive oil fraud going on these days. When I was a kid, the only place you could buy olive oil was in shops in the Italian neighborhoods. Regular grocery stores were stocked with corn oil and vegetable oil and something nebulous called “salad oil.” But then olive oil became a “thing” and the bootlegging began. Remember the “business” The Godfather was in? Life imitates art and the Mafia really does have its fingers in the olive oil trade. Fake extra-virgin olive oil is a major problem globally. And don't judge an oil by its Italian name. You know, like “Violi”?

I was in a supermarket the other day and witnessed two ladies debating over balsamic vinegar. Now, you are not going to find a twenty-five year-aged, four-hundred dollar bottle of real balsamic vinegar on any supermarket shelf in America. The best you're going to get is the common commercial grade stuff. There were several price points available at this store, ranging from around twenty-five dollars down to a bottle that sold for about three bucks. They all had Italian-sounding names like Alessi and Colavita, but apparently Monari Federzoni “sounded the most Italian.” A freakin' sixteen-ounce bottle for a little over three dollars! I bit my tongue clear down to the root.

Real Parmigiano-Reggiano goes for about twenty dollars a pound. A pound of grated crap in a can goes for about seven bucks. Decent Italian extra-virgin olive oil is going to set you back at least twenty dollars for a seventeen-ounce bottle. You can buy a gallon of something with an Italian-sounding name for fifteen bucks at some stores. American grocery store shelves groan with American-grown “Italian-style” tomatoes with Italian sounding names, and generic prosciutto with names like “Del Duca” that never even saw a map of Italy. Can you blame Italian producers for being upset?

Here in the US, we have very few “protected” food products. Vidalia onions come immediately to mind. These onions, by law, have to be grown in certain parts of Georgia in order to bear the name. Italy has more than two hundred legally protected and regulated food products. And because many other countries, the United States included, do not recognize the laws protecting these products, the farmers, growers, and artisans who produce them are being ripped off by purveyors of inferior garbage trying to make a quick buck off their hard work and good names. Again, can you blame Italian producers for being upset?

DOP (Denominazione d'Origine Protetta or Protected Designation of Origin) and IGP (Indicazione Geografica Protetta or Protected Geographical Indication) are the two designations that ensure the origin and exquisite quality of the authentic Italian products they include. And they are the only assurance of authenticity. Words like “Product of Italy” and “Made in Italy” are worthless. Take, for example, a bottle of olive oil that says “Product of Italy” on the label. The oil might come from Morocco, the bottle from Albania, the cork in the bottle from Portugal, and the label itself from Switzerland, but as long as they all met in an Italian factory, it is a “Product of Italy.” Of course, I guess that's better than some pasta company in Kansas City trying to pass off its product under an Italian-sounding name.

It comes down to this: if you want Italian quality, buy Italian products, not just an Italian-sounding name. If you don't care about Italian quality, buy whatever is cheapest. But don't expect the same results. Be a label reader and be aware of where the food you put in your body comes from. Whether you're looking for Italian quality or not that's always a good idea.

Italy Gets (Even More) Serious About Its Pizza

A Central Element Of Italian Identity

I don't suppose it comes as any surprise that Italians eat a lot of pizza. About four million a day on average. Americans consume twice as many, but there are a lot more of us. Italians produce all that pizza in roughly 48,000 pizzerie (the proper plural form of pizzeria). There are around 61,269 pizza joints in America, in case you were wondering.

Now, you know Italians are fiercely protective of their food. There are rules and laws and consortia and governing bodies covering everything from cheese to ham to olive oil to vinegar. In fact, there are 138 Italian products that are deemed “Denominazione Origine Protetta” or D.O.P., and an additional 83 that qualify as “Indicazione Geografica Protetta” or I.G.P.. (The English translations are Protected Designation of Origin or P.D.O. and Protected Geographical Indication or P.G.I., respectively.) These designations mean there are strictly enforced regulations in place regarding the manufacture and/or production of things like Parmigiano-Reggiano and balsamic vinegar, just to name two. And if an Italian lawmaker has his way, there will soon be another regulated food in Italy: pizza. Or at least the people who make it.

Forza Italia party senator Bartolomeo Amidei has presented a bill to create a registry for all professional Italian pizzaioli. The purpose of said registry would be to protect Italy's culinary traditions and to prevent clueless consumers from being sold substandard pizza. As one who has consumed many a substandard pizza at a variety of American pizza outlets, I say, “how soon can we implement such a registry here?”

Seriously, the proposal calls for anybody aspiring to graduate from the ranks of home cook to the flour-covered halls of professional pizzadom to complete a 120-hour course. Upon passing the course, which will include 20 hours of food science, 20 hours of pizza-making workshops, 30 hours of food hygiene classes and 40 hours of foreign language study, the prospective pizza pro must then accumulate 18 months of experience at the oven before being allowed to register. Compare that to the “training” the high school kid at your local pizza shack probably gets. But then we are talking about real pizza as opposed to the vaguely pizza-like substances most of those places turn out.

To be sure, there are already some trained pizzaioli in Italy. There's even a trade association of Italian pizza-makers, the Associazione Maestri d’Arte Ristoratori e Pizzaioli, or AMAR. But the head guy, Enzo Prete, believes that even though pizza-making courses exist, they are not regulated or standardized, resulting in a lot of unevenly skilled and inexpert hands tossing the dough in Italian pizza places. “The lack of current regulation has created many problems which stem from the fact that chefs are unprepared,” says Prete. “We're delighted lawmakers are trying to create the register and think it will protect our trade.”

Speaking to La Repubblica, Senatore Amidei said, “As Italians we have a responsibility to defend our culinary traditions. Pizza makes up fifty percent of all restaurant takings in Italy, yet more and more people are being served 'fraudulent' pizza that doesn't conform to traditions.”

Speaking of “fraudulent pizza”, I have to wonder what the senator would think of the tomato casserole that blatantly masquerades as “Chicago-style” pizza. Or any of the “innovative” creations that come out of California, most loaded up with any ingredient that wasn't securely tied down in the refrigerator. Or the “stuffed crust” and “flavored crust” antics of various national pizza chains. I have seen Italian pizzaioli stand shaking their heads in bewilderment at such abominations. But this is America, where we suffer from an inbred compulsion to “improve” things – even things that don't require improvement. I, for one, do not consider “hot dog crust” pizza to be an improvement. A perversion, maybe, but certainly not an improvement.

Let's just say for the sake of argument that baseball, a venerable American institution if ever there was one, was seen by Italians to be in need of “improvement”. Nine men on a team obviously aren't enough. There should be two players covering the bases, so let's add men at first, second, and third. And this whole running from right to left is discriminatory to left-handers, so we'll let them run the bases in the opposite direction. I mean, who says “third” has to be third? Why can't it be first if you feel so inclined. Silly rule. Getting around the bases is what matters. Why should anyone care about the direction? Bats should be wider and flatter, more like cricket bats, and to speed things up, everybody gets just one swing – either you hit it or you don't. Let's make the ball more colorful. How about orange? And since the game is played in the summer, players should all wear shorts and sleeveless jerseys like basketball players do. They'd be much more comfortable. There. That should sufficiently screw with an American tradition. All the main elements are still there, but is it still baseball? As far as I'm concerned, the same thing applies when you try to “improve” pizza.

Look, when God craves a slice or two, He puts in a call to Naples, because that's where pizza was perfected. And here's how they make perfect pizza in Napoli: To begin with, production is limited to two types of pizza: “Marinara” (tomato, oil, oregano, and garlic) and “Margherita” (tomato, oil, mozzarella or fior di latte grated cheese and basil). Two types. Due. Period. No pepperoni, sausage, hamburger, mushrooms, green or red peppers, onions, olives, anchovies, ham, bacon, pineapple, chicken “Alfredo” or any of the other “toppings” Americans love to shovel on.

And the crust of said pizza should have a center which is no thicker than 0.3cm/0.11 inches and an outer edge not more than 1-2 cm / 0.4-0.8 inches. Take that, “deep-dish” and “pan pizza” lovers! The crust should deliver the flavor of well-prepared baked bread. No garlic, butter, ranch dressing, or other “flavorings” required.

Only wheat flour type "00" (doppio zero), a highly refined flour which has been milled to an almost talcum-powder like appearance – white, fine and completely free of bran or germ – is allowed in the preparation of the crust. A pox on you, “healthy” whole-wheat pizza crust!

Pure water is required as is sea salt. The recommended tomato is the “pomodoro pelato San Marzano dell’Agro Sarnese-Nocerino D.O.P.” Tomatoes that are genetically modified or altered are not acceptable. The cheese must be certified mozzarella di bufala campana D.O.P, or an acceptable substitute fior di latte dell’appennino meridionale D.O.P or other certified fior di latte. Cold pressed extra-virgin olive oil is the oil of choice. Basil must be fresh. And it must all be assembled and cooked according to the exacting standards of the Associazione Verace PizzaNapoletana.

These are the standards the proposed registry proposes to protect. A further effort to keep Italian pizza pure was launched earlier this year by the country's UNESCO commission, which is seeking to include the art of Neapolitan pizza-making on UNESCO’s prestigious cultural heritage list. Citing the art of pizza-making as a central element of Neapolitan and Italian identity and a symbol of the Italian brand around the world, the selection commission wants Neapolitan pizza to be distinguished from rivals such as New York-style pizza.

Unfortunately, such measures will have little if any effect outside the Italian sphere of influence. Just look at Parmesan cheese, for example. So even if the registry comes about and the UNESCO listing becomes a reality, don't expect Little Caesar's or Hungry Howie's to start turning out vera pizza Napoletana. The only thing the efforts will guarantee is that Italian pizzerie won't turn out pizza on a par with Little Caesar's or Hungry Howie's. I guess we pizza purists will just have to take our little victories where we find them.

The Right Way To Eat Pizza And Other Italian Food Rules

A Few Inviolable Rules For Eating Italian Food

Another politician ruffled feathers in New York recently when he picked up a knife and fork to chow down a slice of pizza. New Yorkers grouse and grimace and make all kinds of rude noises whenever the cutlery comes out because they believe the only way to eat pizza is the way they eat it: fold it up and stuff it in your (pizza) pie hole. And as I've written before, it ain't so. But the Big Apple is the Big Apple and you can always tell a New Yorker.....you just can't tell him much. For those of you too busy, lazy, or disinterested to follow the hyperlink, I'll briefly reiterate the basic premise: 1) pizza was invented in Italy; 2) the majority of Italians – not Italian-Americans – eat pizza with a knife and fork, ergo 3) misinformed New Yorkers can stuff it wherever they wish.

That said, let's move on to a few other inviolable rules for eating Italian food. I know, I know, who am I to dictate rules for eating food? This is America, dammit, the land of the free and the home of the brave. And we should all be free to eat anything any whichaway we want, right? It says so in the Declaration of Independence.....sort of. I think it falls under the “pursuit of happiness” clause. Hey, sorry; I don't make the rules, I just report them.

Okay. You've got this really big date planned and you want to impress by showing off your urbanity and sophistication and demonstrating your overall Italian-ness. So you pull up to the Olive Garden......and you've already blown it. But you know that, right? So you make a U-turn and head for that “Mom and Pop” place around the corner. You know, the one with the red-checkered tablecloths and the plastic grapes and the wine bottle candles? The one with the name that ends in a vowel, so it's got to be authentic, right? (Sigh)

Let's start with salad. Actually, let's not. Serving a salad at the start of a meal is a non-starter in Italy. Wha-a-a-a-a-t? C'mon! Every Italian restaurant in America offers a nice salad of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, onions, maybe some olives, a little cheese.....and they top it off with creamy Italian dressing. Yeah, well, that's America. In Italy, salads, if they are served at all, are served near the end of a meal to act as a palate cleanser and digestive aid. And that creamy “Italian” dressing? Fuggedaboutit! Real “Italian dressing” consists of oil and vinegar.

Another thing you'll only find in faux-Italian places is an endless supply of “garlic bread” to start off your dining experience. In the first place, there's no such thing as “garlic bread” in Italian cuisine. Hunks of bread slathered in garlic-flavored butter simply don't exist. And don't look too hard for “rustic” bread and a plate of herb-infused oil in which to dip it. Some places will serve it, but almost never as an appetizer. Italians love their bread, but they love it with the meal, not as a starter to the meal.

Italians serve the main meal in courses. They just do. At a minimum, expect a three-course meal consisting of a primo course of pasta or rice followed by a secondo of meat or fish, then a contorno of vegetables. Often these days, some restaurants will combine the secondo and the contorno. This is largely due to the influence of Americans who bitch and complain if all their food isn't piled up on one plate. But don't be surprised if you spend over an hour at the table fielding one plate after another, usually culminating with some sort of a fruit preparation or a cheese plate. “Dessert” as Americans know it is not all that common.

Okay. So let's move on to the classic, quintessential Italian entree, spaghetti and meatballs. Well......we could if such a dish really existed outside Italian-American home kitchens and red sauce joints. In Italy, it's an either/or proposition; never both. You can have spaghetti OR you can have meatballs. Or you can have spaghetti AND you can have meatballs. You just can't have spaghetti and meatballs. You don't believe me? Hop a flight to Italy and try it. I'll wait here so I can help you translate words like "deficiente,”“cafone,” and “stronzo.”

Now, let's say you did order some spaghetti. “Mom and Pop” bring it out to you with a spoon stuck in it, because that's the way Italians eat it, right? They hold a fork in one hand and a spoon in the other and twirl the noodles around the fork with the aid of the spoon. NOT! You do that in Italy and you'll hear those same words from the previous paragraph. Unless you're under, oh, say, five years of age. In that case, it's okay. And if you take a knife to your pasta, every Italian in the room will faint dead away. If you can't “cut” eating your pasta uncut, you'd better order something less challenging. A nice bowl of soup, maybe?

Now, Italians love Parmesan cheese, right? So surely they can't complain if you douse your entree with a generous helping of Italy's favorite cheese, right? Ehhhh......not so much. In the first place, chances are the dry, powdery, cheese-like substance you're shaking out of that shaker at the “Mom and Pop” bears as much resemblance to real cheese as reality television does to reality. Or as margarine does to butter. But even if the stuff you're using is the real deal and not just cheese-flavored sawdust, it's still a rule breaker in every instance except pasta. Adding Parmesan to a pasta dish is generally okay – unless it's a seafood pasta dish. More on that in a second. But adding it to a beef, veal, pork, or other meat dish? Ehhhh.....not so much. And don't even think about adding cheese to fish or seafood. There's logic behind the prohibition. Italian cheeses in general, and Parmigiano-Reggiano or “Parmesan” in particular, have very definite flavors of their own. Many of them, especially Parmigiano-Reggiano, are very salty and would, therefore, run the risk of substantially altering or overwhelming the natural flavor of the dish. That and the fact that it's just not done.

Speaking of putting things on your food, let's talk condiments for a minute. They are practically non-existent in Italy. At least in the common American sense. I once prepared a beautiful, delicate pecan-crusted chicken with Dijon mustard sauce for somebody and then stood watching in abject horror as he doused it in ketchup. “I just put ketchup on everything,” was his rationale. He'd last about thirty seconds in Italy. Don't go looking for ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, ranch dressing, barbecue sauce, steak sauce or any of the other add-ons common to the American table. Italians like the taste of their food. They don't bury it under gallons of stuff designed to “add flavor.” They like the flavor as it is. About the only “condiment” you're likely to find on an Italian table is olive oil and even that is to be used sparingly so as not to mask or overwhelm the natural taste of the food itself.

By now you must be a little thirsty. How about a cup of coffee or a soda to help wash down that washtub full of pasta “Mom and Pop” just put in front of you? (Portion size is another issue for another time.) If you're in Florence, South Carolina, no problem. If you're in Florence, Italy, it ain't gonna happen. Coffee is for after the meal and soda is only offered in pizza joints that cater to Americans. The vast majority of Italians drink water or wine with meals. Water is frizzante (sparkling) or naturale (still) and you'd better be a fan of room temperature because asking for ice will get you talked about, perhaps even to your face. And to the horror of puritanical, prohibitionist American parents, kids drink wine with meals! Yeah, it's pretty watered down, but it's still a normal thing that does not result in roving gangs of drunk children staggering through the streets.

While we're talking about coffee, if you're a big cappuccino or latte drinker, guzzle it down before noon. Those are considered breakfast beverages in Italy and are pretty much banished after midday. After that, it's all espresso. (And that's ES-presso, not EX-presso, by the way). If you really can't hack the black, you can order a caffé macchiato, an espresso topped with a little frothed milk.

If you like a really big breakfast of bacon, sausage, eggs, potatoes, pancakes, toast, jam, etc., or if you're a milk and cereal person, either way, you're gonna hate Italy. In Italy you get a cornetto (a kind of pastry) and coffee.

And if you're a “grab and go” person who likes to eat on the run, you won't get far in Italy. In America it's commonplace to grab a hot dog or something and hit the pavement, munching as you walk. In Italy, that's almost unspeakably rude. Meals are social occasions and food is meant to be savored and enjoyed, not shoved into your face as you perambulate. Even “snack foods” like suppli or panelle aren't eaten on the go, although standing and eating is acceptable if there's no place available to sit. The only exception to this rule is gelato. Italians love their ice cream, and going for un passeggiata (a walk) while eating ice cream is almost a national tradition.

One last rule to wrap up, and this one applies more to dining in a home situation than in a restaurant: clean your plate. No matter how trendy it might be in America, in Italy it is still insulting to the host when you leave unfinished food on your plate. Don't worry about gaining a hundred pounds. Unlike the “abbondanza” foolishness Italian-Americans promote, wherein tables groan and diners moan as they undertake to consume portions that would feed armies of starving Armenian children, Italians are very moderate and balanced eaters. Your Italian mama in Naples, Florida might pile enough pasta on your plate to fill up the trunk of a Buick, but your Italian mama in Naples, Italy would give you a portion about the size of your closed fist. Despite what hokey TV commercials would have you believe, that's Italian. But be careful not to clean your plate too quickly. Your politely concerned host might refill it, thinking you are not getting fed enough.

When it comes down to it, these are just rules, not laws. They represent respect for a culture and its traditions. If you break them, nobody is going to report you or have you arrested. At worst, you'll be looked upon as un maleducato, ignorante cafone. If you can live with that, so can I.