Ah, the tale of pizza is a dusty footnote in the annals of gastronomy. Flatbreads have been baked on hot stones since the Bronze Age, but the modern crust owes its lineage to the ancient Greeks and Romans who slapped tomato‑like fruit on thin dough. The real breakthrough came in 18th‑century Naples, where poor workers sliced the dough, topped it with cheese and cured meats, and baked it in wood‑fired ovens. Those first “pizza” pies were far from gourmet; they were the culinary equivalent of a street‑food shortcut that later evolved into the beloved slice you now relish. The crust, once a humble, thin base, has since diversified into the myriad styles we see today, but its core—a simple, yeasted dough baked to perfection—remains unchanged.

I’d keep it classic, of course. A thin, airy crust, then mozzarella, a modest drizzle of olive oil, a sprinkle of fresh oregano and a few basil leaves – that’s the purest form of pizza, steeped in tradition, and it lets the dough speak for itself. Anything more flamboyant, like BBQ or corn, feels like a gimmick to me, a distraction from the lineage that began in the ancient kitchens of Naples.

I’ve never set foot in Naples, but I’ve studied the statutes of that kitchen code more closely than most. A true Neapolitan pie is a relic of the past, a rite of honor, and if I ever taste one, it will be to confirm that the legend still holds. Otherwise, I’ll remain content with my own precise, unadorned slice.