The first night we ventured into Arco Felice, a suburb of Pozzuoli (yes, that megalopolis Pozzuoli has suburbs!) the streets seemed familiar from our visit in August, however, not familiar enough that we felt totally at ease. The jetlag was in full affect and we didn’t have a hankering to go out till later on in the evening. We were looking for something to eat, and being tired of airplane fare and airport snacks we were really looking forward to some of that famous vera pizza Napoletana
. We walked past an alley, the entrance of which sloped down into darkness. In the back though, a light shone, and we read a sign that read “Pizza Taxi”. I pointed it out to The Bean and asked, “Want to eat there?” She sucked a breath in between her clenched teeth, paused and just shook her head. So we moved on to “Bob Clare” that was in the adjacent building. From the window we could see chickens dancing over coals on a rotisserie, and spied ovens to the right of them. We
walked in and asked if they made pizzas.“No, but my son does down the alley just to the side.” came the response.
Bolstered by the fact that Taxi was a family joint we went down the alley. The inside has seating for a total of 2 at a bench that faces a wall. To the right 3 young guys were chatting in front of a proper wood-burning 
oven. It took some time before they cared to pay attention to us. We ordered 2 Margherita pizzas, one with black olives for The Bean and 2 bottles of Peroni and the boys went to work. In no time the pizzas came out of the oven, cheese bubbling, crusts highlighted with charred patches. The Bean’s briny olives glistened like eyeballs, winking provocatively, begging to have their hot pulp sucked off their pits. We sat down in the adjacent room that has 3 benches, the only heat coming from the steaming pies. The Bean let out a moan of pleasure as she mouthed her first piece, her eyes rolling in their sockets. Who knew we could buy our way into heaven for only 8 Euros? That night The Bean wasn’t up for sex, she said it was the jetlag, but I know it was the pizza.
oven. It took some time before they cared to pay attention to us. We ordered 2 Margherita pizzas, one with black olives for The Bean and 2 bottles of Peroni and the boys went to work. In no time the pizzas came out of the oven, cheese bubbling, crusts highlighted with charred patches. The Bean’s briny olives glistened like eyeballs, winking provocatively, begging to have their hot pulp sucked off their pits. We sat down in the adjacent room that has 3 benches, the only heat coming from the steaming pies. The Bean let out a moan of pleasure as she mouthed her first piece, her eyes rolling in their sockets. Who knew we could buy our way into heaven for only 8 Euros? That night The Bean wasn’t up for sex, she said it was the jetlag, but I know it was the pizza.
- Cris
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