Tripperia Fiorenzano
Address: 14 via Pignasecca, Naples
Rating: 14/20
· Open Mon-Sat, all day, 8.30am-8.30pm.
Da Gennaro e Tittina
Address: 6 via Santa Chiara, Naples
Rating: 16/20
· Open Tues-Sun, lunch, 12 noon-3.00pm; dinner, 6.30-10.30pm.
The Via Tribunali in the old centre of Naples is about 1km long. It is wide enough for two cars to pass each other - just. Along its length there are nine bars or caffes, one rosticceria, three wine shops, three fruit and veg shops (plus several more just around various corners), 16 salumeria (grocers/ delis), four fishmongers, five butchers, one cheese shop, a push cart selling lemon granita and soaked butter beans, three pizzerie e friggitorie (deep-fried pizza joints), one tavola calda, one trattoria, two paneficio e taralli (bakers). It's this kind of concentration that makes Naples a place of pilgrimage for anyone remotely interested in food. It is the absolute antithesis of a centralised, homogenised, regulated, neat, tidy, sanitised, burgered up world.
But don't bother with the pizzas. I may have been living in a deluded state for years, but the long and the short of my extensive researches in three notable pizzerias - Lombardo, Porto d'Alba and Trianon - was that none made a pizza as good as the pide in Green Lanes, as reported last week. It might have been my fault - I may just have chosen badly - but actually I think the fault lies with the pizzas, which were invariably stodgy and soggy because a) their bases were thick; b) each was drenched in vegetable oil; and c) in the case of a classic margherita, the profligate use of mozzarella - which, as we all know, goes wonderfully squidgy and soft when heated - turned the base gruesomely wodgy, so that the whole pizza became something very close to those ghastly American deep-pie abominations.
Much more fun was the Tripperia Fiorenzano, a tiny and immaculate place that specialised in tripe dishes. It had five tables, each with a blue-checked oilcloth, big, battered fridges at the back, a small kitchen down one side and, fronting the street, a small display cabinet decorously hung with blanched tripe, cows' feet, pigs' trotters and a bit of calf's head, kept cool and clean by water running over them, ready for home cooking. Antonio Moglie, a third-generation trippaio - a tripe specialist; a butcher and cook all in one - ran the place with his son. He cooked to order in a battered pot, using just olive oil, tomatoes, chilli, salt and lots of pepper, the distinguishing spice in Neapolitan cookery.
When the tomato sauce had reduced to the required intensity, he put in the tripe, sliced, along with some chopped calf's head "for a different texture and richness", and let it all stew for about 20 minutes.
An oval plate appeared in front of me, piled high with ribbons of tripe and calf's head, rendered all glossy and reddish-gold by the sauce. The top was dusted with Parmesan and a few basil leaves had been thrown on at the last moment. It had a gloriously rich, potent, ebullient look to it. This was food, it proclaimed, and indeed it was, although surprisingly delicate - the fruity tomato, the discreet warmth of the chilli, the burst of colour from the basil all carried the strips of tripe and calf's head along.
As I ate it, with some excellent bread from a shop around the corner and a plastic cup of chilled red wine, Antonio treated me to a Neapolitan world-view of tripe cooking and a missionary's sermon on the health-giving qualities of tripe. Of course, he's right on both counts, but the sad thing is that it won't bring people back to eating tripe again. Antonio is a priest of a dying religion. Having taken the princely sum of eight euros off me, he sent me on my way, pointing me in the direction of an excellent gelateria for pudding.
But the place to which I really lost my heart was a tiny trattoria, Da Gennaro e Tittina. It seemed to be made entirely out of plastic and decorated with a mass of pictures, mirrors and objects left over from a car boot sale. The place was so ramshackle you'd think that it was about to fall down. But, encouragingly, the kitchen, which you can see into from the dining room, was in a better state and the cooking was first rate.
In England, such a place would sell eggs, beans, chips and sausages and tea all day. In Italy, it gave me antipasto of vegetables, all dense, intense and delicious; spaghetti alle vongole; crackingly fresh alici fritti (fried anchovies); a bottle of red wine and a bottle of mineral water - all for 24 euros. I liked it so much that I went back for a second helping, when I had pasta e fagioli, a kind of exercise in variations of divine blandness, wonderfully comforting, full of soft, melting textures. Next came polpetti fritti, a crisp and crunchy shell holding sweet, moist minced pork. Some cold fried courgettes followed. With half a bottle of red, this time the bill was 14 euros.
It is worth remembering that all the trattorie in a given area tend to serve the same ranges of dishes - pasta e fagioli, spaghetti alle vongole, penne all'arrabiata, orrechiete alla friarielli, pasta al forno, polpette fritti, provola ai ferri/al forno, pollipo in cassuola to name virtually all of them in Naples. This may make eating quite a repetitive experience if you happen to live there. However, for the tourist, such dishes are terrific when properly cooked, full of clean, direct flavours and stomach filling to a degree.
