With the world seemingly on fire at the moment it’s time to rethink our winter holiday plans. The initial idea of Bangkok, a few Thai islands, then Oz for Christmas is out of the window, mostly because the flights are double what they were six months ago. We discussed going to Mexico, or Belize and Costa Rica, but I think that’s also done because the flights are insanely priced. The most recent idea was Italy in September, somewhere southern-ish and hot, maybe Sicily but we’ve been there and done that, or maybe Puglia if they had a transport system to get us around. We’ve decided on Naples and a little island my wife found that is free from the English language and looks beautiful. No, I’m not telling you where it is because you’ll ruin it by asking for full English breakfasts and expect them to understand you and not the other way around. Except that Tony, Sophie’s wonderful dad, has put it into my head that there’ll be a shortage of jet fuel and we might not have a flight to board. He thinks we should find somewhere that we can get to by train. Like France. Or Holland. Or Northampton.
I don’t need to get to Naples anyway. Why bother when I’ve been to Napoli on The Road in London. I don’t need a city that thinks it has the best pizza in the world when I’ve been to the restaurant that is the best pizza in the world, officially as of this year. A quick google tells me that Napoli on The Road has been ranked the best pizzeria in Europe for the last two years (number 5 in the world), and that the one with beef ragu and parmesan cream won best overall pizza in the world in 2025. Naples may have invented the Neopolitan pizza but London now does it better, much like drip coffee and really bad driving.
I get the best pizza in the world. It is probably, most likely, the best pizza in the world, so well done whoever went out and ate all that pizza in order to rank it. The dough is incredibly light and airy, blistered with heat and still floppier than a high jumper. The ragu is sensational; winey and aromatic, yet properly beefy. Good enough to grace just about any restaurant, yet here, on a pizza with little more than the perfect tomato sauce and a swirl of cheese fondue. It is quite possibly the best pizza I have ever eaten in my life. Sophie gets the wild marinara that just screams quality from the off, with fat anchovies from Cetera, capers, sun dried tomatoes, tomato jam, wild garlic pesto and dozens of Taggiasche olives. It is generous to the point that I can’t see much profit, even at £18. It could well be the second best pizza in the world.
Two pizzas, two glasses of wine, a coke, and a bill of £80. It’s not cheap but then this isn’t your average pizza. The pizza is a straight ten outta ten, as good as it gets, zero questions. I’ve knocked a point below because the room is cold and sterile and could only have been designed by a man. This isn’t the place for a romantic dinner; it’s all about the pizza, just like it is in Naples. Maybe. Possibly. Who knows.
9/10
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