One does not go to Naples and pass up a pizza. Forgoing a pizza in Naples is akin to visiting Athens and deciding against a visit to the Acropolis or going to the pub and ordering a sparkling water. It is morally reprehensible.
Yes, you can find a decent slice of pizza elsewhere. But we are, after all, still living in a world where *voice rises to feverish pitch of indignation* people are happy to replace pizza crusts with a series of mozzarella stuffed cheesy balls and where ‘meat feasts’ and ‘barbeque chicken supremes’ actually exist.
So my budding pizza purists. You know where you need to go to get the proper stuff. You need to go to Naples.
Babà al rum is a small yeast- leavened cake bathed in rum and syrup. Such is the level of rum in this sweet treat, that it would probably ignite at the mere sight of a naked flame. In fact, it might be wiser to think of the babà as a cake flavoured shot, rather than rum infused cake.
I’ll be frank. I’d assumed my trip to Naples would entail a semi-joyless few days of inhaling tomato infused stodge, running around Roman ruins and artfully dodging both Italian gangs on the look-out for unfastened handbags and disappointed tourists in large hats regretting their decisions to venture out of well-trodden Sorento.
I was wrong.