The pizzas on the counter at Giulio Adriani’s newest venture, A Slice of Naples, don’t look particularly out of the ordinary. Sure, they’re long and rectangular in shape, rather than round, but beyond that, they appear to be the usual, if far tastier, crusts topped with cheese.
But for some pizza connoisseurs, Adriani is doing the unthinkable: He is serving Neapolitan pizza by the slice — for Italian traditionalists, a blasphemous move.
“That’s taking it . . . too far,” says Tony D’Aiuto, co-owner of Luzzo’s Pizzeria in the East Village. “You lose a certain bit of soul when you start to offer Neapolitan-style pizza by the slice. You start to lose the Italian-ness, the romance of it.”
But don’t tell that to Adriani — a Rome-born, Naples-trained pizza maker heralded as a world champion upon his arrival in New York City in 2010.
At the time, he was making pies strictly according to rules set by the Associazione Vera Pizza Napoletana (VPN), the official guardians of the Neapolitan pizza tradition.
A year later, he opened the first of three Forcella pizzerias in New York, quickly gaining acclaim for his classic Neapolitan pies with their pliable, puffy crusts, soupy tomato sauce and creamy mozzarella.
But then, last November, he opened a slice joint on the Bowery — a rebellious move that’s rankled his more traditional competitors.
“He’s taking advantage of the name Naples,” complains Pasquale Cozzolino, a native Neapolitan and resident pizzaiolo at the modern Greenwich Village pizzeria Ribalta. “It’s not part of the tradition. I will never call it Neapolitan because I respect tradition.”
Messing with Neapolitan pie isn’t something to be taken lightly.
In 2009, the European Union officially granted Neapolitan pizza “Traditional Speciality Guaranteed” status: The pies must be made using finely milled 00 flour (free from bran or germ); water with a pH of 6 to 7; compressed or natural yeast; San Marzano-area or Roma tomatoes; extra-virgin or virgin olive oil; mozzarella made from buffalo or cow’s milk; and fresh basil.
While Neapolitan-style pizza has become increasingly trendy in New York in recent years, only three pizzerias are officially VPNcertified: Ribalta, La Pizza Fresca Ristorante in the Flatiron District and Via Tribunali on the Lower East Side.
“We are protecting one of the most ancient and most important gastronomic traditions,” VPN director Antonio Pace has said. “We don’t want the others not to make pizza, but we want them to make it as we make it — as it should be done.”
Adriani, who inspects pizzas for VPN though none of his own spots are certified, is taking some significant liberties with his new pies, while still putting the “Naples” name on the door. He’s even added a touch of soy flour to the mix and is using non-Italian ingredients like pepperoni.
But Adriani insists that his new pizzas are indeed Neapolitan.
“It’s basically a variation of Neapolitan pizza born to satisfy large groups, from 1 meter to 2 meters long, with different toppings,” he says. “You immediately get the impression of Neapolitan pie because the cornicione [rind] is fluffy, full of air, and the center is thin. The difference is that it’s cooked at a slightly lower temperature, so the bottom of the pizza is crunchier.”
Some have even stricter ideas about pizza rules.
Rosario Procino, Cozzolino’s partner at Ribalta and a Naples native, thinks pizzaiolo should be born and raised in Naples. “It’s more legitimate if it’s done by a Neapolitan,” he insists.
Adriani says that kind of thinking is, in an Italian sense, “racist.”
“We are in the 21st century — how can you say only Neapolitans can produce Neapolitan pizza?” says Adriani, whose family on his father’s side is actually from Naples. “Where is it written?”
He goes on to name-check the lauded pies crafted by Keste’s Roberto Caporuscio (born in Pontinia, Italy), as well as Anthony Mangieri (born in New Jersey), whose Una Pizza Napoletana kicked off the current New York Neapolitan craze before relocating to San Francisco in 2010.
“What’s important is the experience you have, the knowledge and the passion you have.”
Adriani admits that selling by the slice is a business decision, based on a city culture that demands speed and convenience, but his detractors say making pizza shouldn’t be about raking in the dough.
“I don’t think art should be dictated by economics,” says Luzzo’s D’Aiuto, who adds his eatery will never offer slices. “You want a New York experience? Go to Joe’s.”
Despite the nay-sayers, Adriani’s business is booming. On weekends, he’s open until 4 a.m. and sells 600 to 700 slices per day. Around 2 a.m., the line of late-night revelers stretches out the door.
For Adriani’s customers, the rules and regulations surrounding Neapolitan pizza don’t seem to matter. Says Dennis Magone, 53, a real estate broker who lives around the corner: “As long as it tastes good, I don’t care.”