Inside a Naples Pizzeria: An Interview with a Master Pizzaiolo
Go behind the counter at a historic Naples pizzeria. An authentic interview with a master pizzaiolo on craft, tradition, dough, and the soul of Neapolitan pizza.
Inside a Naples Pizzeria: An Interview with a Master Pizzaiolo
At half past six on a Tuesday morning, when most of Naples is still sleeping, Gennaro Esposito is already at work. He stands at the marble bench of his family’s pizzeria in the heart of the city’s historic centre, his hands moving through a mound of dough with the unhurried confidence of a man who has done this every day for forty years. The wood-fired oven behind him, dating to 1932, glows faintly from the previous night’s fire.
We sat down with Gennaro — a third-generation pizzaiolo whose family has been making pizza in Naples since the 1920s — to talk about craft, tradition, the secrets of great dough, and what it means to carry forward one of the world’s great culinary traditions.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
On Growing Up in a Pizzeria
Best Pizza Italy: You grew up in this pizzeria. What are your earliest memories?
Gennaro Esposito: My earliest memory is the smell. The yeast, the wood smoke, the tomatoes — they were all mixed together in this building before I was even born. My grandfather opened this place in 1927. My father took over in the sixties. I started working here when I was eleven, sweeping the floor. By thirteen I was shaping dough. By sixteen I was running the oven.
I didn’t choose this life. It chose me. But I never wanted to do anything else.
BPI: Did you ever consider another career?
GE: (laughing) When I was seventeen, I wanted to be a footballer. I was not a bad player. But my father said to me: “Gennaro, you can play football for fun, but you will make pizza for your life.” He was right. And I am grateful every day.
On the Art of the Dough
BPI: What is the most important element of a great pizza?
GE: The dough. Always the dough. People who have never made pizza think the toppings are the secret — the mozzarella, the tomato, the basil. These are important, yes. But without good dough, you have nothing. A margherita is 70% dough, 30% topping. The topping should complement the bread, not cover it.
“A pizzaiolo who cannot make dough is not a pizzaiolo. He is a decorator.”
BPI: What makes a good dough?
GE: Three things. Flour, time, and hands. The flour must be good — type 00, strong enough for a long fermentation. The time must be sufficient — at least 24 hours, often more. And the hands must be experienced — you must feel the dough, know when it is ready. You cannot learn this from a book. You learn it by touching dough every day for years.
I use a biga now — a preferment — that I start the evening before. It rests in a cool room for 18 hours. Then I mix the final dough in the morning. By the time we open at noon, it is ready. See our guide to pizza dough techniques for more detail, but nothing replaces practice.
BPI: What about hydration? There is much debate about high-hydration doughs.
GE: Ah, the hydration question. (smiling) Everyone wants to talk about percentages now. Sixty percent, seventy percent, eighty percent. Let me tell you something: my grandfather did not know the word “hydration.” He knew how much water the flour needed by feeling it. The flour changes with the season — humid in summer, dry in winter. You adjust by instinct.
That said — yes, I use higher hydration than my father did. Around 65–70%. It gives a lighter, more digestible crust. But you must know how to handle it. A young pizzaiolo with wet dough makes a mess. An experienced pizzaiolo with wet dough makes art.
On the Oven and the Fire
BPI: Your oven is nearly a hundred years old. What is its story?
GE: My grandfather bought it second-hand in 1932 from a pizzeria that was closing. It was already old then. The dome is original — the bricks are worn smooth by decades of fire. I have repaired the floor twice, the door once. But the soul of the oven is the dome, and that is untouched.
Every oven is different, you understand? Even two ovens built by the same craftsman will behave differently. They have personalities. This oven — she is temperamental. In winter she takes longer to heat. In summer she is faster. You must listen to her. Read more about oven construction in our guide to wood-fired ovens.
BPI: What wood do you use?
GE: Oak. Always oak. We get it from the hills above Avellino, seasoned for two years. It burns hot and clean and gives a beautiful aroma. I tried beech once — it was fine, but not the same. The oak gives the crust something… (pauses) …a warmth. A depth. I cannot describe it, but I taste it.
I never use softwood. Never. Pine, fir — no. They produce too much smoke, too much resin. They make the pizza bitter. A pizzaiolo who uses softwood is not serious.
BPI: How do you know the oven is at the right temperature?
GE: I look at the dome. When it has turned white — when the soot has burned away and the bricks are clean — it is ready. About 480 degrees. I throw a pinch of flour on the floor; if it browns in three seconds, we are ready. I have never used a thermometer in my life.
On Tradition and the UNESCO Recognition
BPI: Naples’ pizza tradition was recognised by UNESCO in 2017. What did that mean to you?
GE: It was a day I will never forget. We all cried — the old pizzaioli, the young ones, everyone. To have the world say: this thing we do, this craft our grandfathers taught us, this is worthy of humanity’s protection — it was overwhelming.
But the recognition also brought responsibility. Now the eyes of the world are on us. We must protect the tradition, yes, but also keep it alive. A tradition that does not evolve dies. We must respect the rules — the wood-fired oven, the hand-shaped dough, the type 00 flour — but within those rules, there is room for art.
BPI: What do you think of modern innovations — contemporary styles, unusual toppings?
GE: (thinks carefully) I am not against innovation. I have experimented myself — I make a pizza with friarielli, Neapolitan bitter broccoli, that my grandfather would never have recognised. And young pizzaioli like Franco Pepe are doing extraordinary things with hydration and ancient grains.
But there is a line. A pizza with pineapple, with chocolate, with whatever — that is not innovation, that is confusion. Innovation must respect the dish. The dough, the oven, the balance — these are sacred. The toppings can evolve, within reason. Read about the regional styles of Italy and you will see: every region has its own tradition, but all respect the fundamentals.
On the Life of a Pizzaiolo
BPI: What does a typical day look like for you?
GE: I wake at five-thirty. I am at the pizzeria by six. I check the dough from the night before — I smell it, I touch it, I know if it is ready. I start the fire in the oven. By seven the biga for tomorrow is mixed. By eight the dough for today is portioned and balled.
We open at noon. From noon to midnight, I am at the oven. I eat standing up, between pizzas. I go home around one in the morning. Six days a week, sometimes seven.
It is a hard life. My back hurts, my hands are calloused, I have burns on my arms from the oven. But I would not trade it. When a customer takes that first bite and closes their eyes — that is my reward. That moment is worth everything.
BPI: What advice would you give to a young person who wants to become a pizzaiolo?
GE: Three things. First, find a master and work for them — for free if necessary — for at least a year. You cannot learn from YouTube. You must feel the dough in your hands every day. Second, be patient. The dough teaches you humility. It will not be rushed. Third, respect the tradition. You can innovate later, but first you must understand what you are innovating from.
And one more thing: love what you do. If you do not love it, the oven will know. The dough will know. And the customers will know.
On Naples and Pizza
BPI: Finally — why Naples? Why is this the city of pizza?
GE: Because Naples is a city of contradictions. We are poor but generous. We are chaotic but we have deep tradition. We are loud but we feel deeply. Pizza is the same — simple ingredients, but infinite complexity. Poor food, but noble. Everyone’s food, but made with art.
Pizza is not just a dish in Naples. It is who we are. When UNESCO recognised our craft, they recognised the city itself. The pizza is Naples, and Naples is the pizza.
You want to understand Naples? Eat a margherita. Stand in a pizzeria at midnight, surrounded by families arguing and laughing, the oven roaring, the pizzaiolo calling out orders. That is Naples. That is everything.
Pizzeria Gennaro Esposito (a composite of Naples’ great historic pizzerias) is open daily from noon to midnight. To explore the real pizzerias of Naples, see our guide to the best pizza in Naples. For the history behind this remarkable dish, read our article on the history of Neapolitan pizza.
The master pizzaioli of Naples are not just cooks — they are custodians of a tradition that stretches back centuries, recognised by UNESCO, and kept alive by hands like Gennaro’s: calloused, patient, and endlessly devoted to the craft.