That’s Amore – Dean Martin
Hey and welcome back to my corner of the internet, where I talk a lot of… let’s call it seasoned nonsense with a side of flavor and listen to music while doing it.
A lot of you know this song. You feel it. You sing it. Loud. Slightly off-key. Usually when nobody is around. But if I ask you who sings it? Silence. Confusion. A brave guess or two. No shame. We’ve all been there. But as you might have guessed already, today we’re talking about something just as iconic as that song.
Pizza.
And before we go any further, let me ask you something simple: What makes a good pizza?
Is it the dough?
The sauce?
The toppings?
Or is it something else entirely? Because pizza is never just pizza.
A Love Letter in Dough Form
We eat pizza everywhere. Lunch. Dinner. Midnight snack. Breakfast the next day straight from the fridge. Yes, I said it. And yes, I’ve done it. No regrets. Raise your hand if you’re guilty too. But pizza isn’t one thing.
It comes in different doughs, different thicknesses, different sauces, different toppings. Thin, thick, crispy, soft, overloaded, minimalistic. Everyone has a favorite, and everyone will defend it like it’s a family recipe passed down for generations.
Which, in some places… it actually is. So instead of arguing (we’ll save that for the next post about pizza, yes there will be another one), let’s knead and stretch our knowledge a little, just like a fresh ball of dough, and get closer to the heart of it.
Getting Lost (And Finding Something Better)
Every time I smell oregano, I’m back in Italy. Not just “thinking” about it. No. I’m there. Instantly. And one memory in particular always comes back.
Some of years ago, me and a few friends, also chefs, went to Naples for a food trip. No strict plans. Just walking, exploring, following our eyes… and more importantly, our noses. At some point, we got lost. Properly lost. But also… hungry. So, we thought: let’s eat first, then figure life out after. Priorities.
We asked a local guy for directions back to our hotel and where we could find a good place to eat. One condition though: It had to be pizza. He smiled and told us about a small family place nearby. Not touristy. Just where he always went. That sounded like exactly what we were looking for.
So, we invited him to join us. As a thank you. His English wasn’t great. Our Italian was… let’s be kind and say “ambitious.” But we all spoke one language fluently: Food.
The Table Where Everything Made Sense
He brought us to this small place. And I mean small. Grandmother in the kitchen with her son. Grandfather sitting at a table with a bottle of wine. Red and white checkered tablecloths. Wicker wine baskets. It felt like we walked straight into an old Italian movie.
We sat down. Ordered wine. Let the local guy choose a mix of pizzas for the table so we could share everything. And then it happened. That smell. Fresh dough hitting the heat. Warm tomato sauce. Oregano floating through the air. Melting mozzarella. Pizza heaven!
The pizzas arrived, and every single one of us went quiet for a second after that first bite. Perfect crust. Balanced sauce. Simple toppings. Nothing complicated. Everything right.
When Food Does the Talking
At some point, the owners joined us. More wine came to the table. Then more. Then a charcuterie board appeared like it was just meant to be there all along.
We talked about food. About the city. About life. With hands. With feet. With drawings on napkins. With the local guy translating pieces of conversations in between. We weren’t in a tourist area. That much was clear.
But somehow, it didn’t matter. Because in that moment, around that table, everything made sense. We stayed until midnight. Until they closed. And the next day? The local guy showed us around the city. On us, of course.
That’s not just a pizza memory. That’s a life memory.
Why Oregano = Pizza (That Instant Feeling)
And here’s a little nerd moment for you.
The reason oregano instantly takes me back to that moment and to pizza in general is because smell is directly connected to the parts of your brain that handle memory and emotion.
Your brain basically says: “Ah… this smell. I know this. This means something.” And suddenly you’re not just smelling oregano anymore. You’re back at that table. That city.
That moment. Food does that. That’s also part of what makes a good pizza.
The Basics (That Aren’t So Basic)
Let’s keep it simple. At its core, pizza is: Dough. Tomato. Cheese. Heat. That’s it. But inside that simplicity, a lot is happening. The dough, for example, is alive. Yeast fermenting, creating air, building structure (if you’re curious how that works, I broke it down in my post about why yeast makes bread rise). Give it time, and it develops flavor. Rush it, and you lose depth.
Stretching the dough instead of rolling it keeps those air bubbles intact. That’s what gives you that light, airy crust instead of something flat and dense.
Then there’s the balance. Too much sauce? Overwhelming. Too many toppings? Heavy. Too much cheese? Greasy chaos. Which brings us back to the question: What makes a good pizza? It’s not more. It’s balance. Because when it comes to pizza, it’s often the smallest details that make the difference between something good and something unforgettable.
A Quick Word on Pineapple…
Look… If you like pineapple on pizza, I respect you. Really. I do.
But maybe… just maybe… Don’t say that out loud in the middle of Naples. Unless you enjoy dramatic reactions, passionate debates, and possibly being disowned by an entire table of Italians. You’ve been warned!
Simple, Cultural, Universal
Pizza started as something simple. Flatbreads existed long before tomatoes even made their way to Europe from South America. Then tomatoes came. People experimented. And slowly, what we now know as pizza was born.
And from there? It spread everywhere. Every country. Every culture. Every kitchen added something of its own. And that’s the beauty of it. Pizza is simple. But it carries culture. History. Personal taste. Identity. It might look simple, but pizza is one of those dishes that really teaches you to respect the basics.
So… What Makes a Good Pizza?
After all of this? After Naples, the smells, the conversations, the wine, the simplicity… Here’s my answer:
A good pizza is not about perfection. It’s about balance. It’s about simplicity. It’s about the moment you’re in when you eat it. And sometimes… It’s about getting lost and ending up exactly where you needed to be.
Your Turn
Now I want to hear from you. What’s your favorite kind of pizza? What’s the best pizza you’ve ever had? And… are you brave enough to admit your stance on pineapple?
Share your stories. Your preferences. Your controversial opinions. Let’s get the table talking. Because at the end of the day…
When the moon hits the sky like a big pizza pie… You already know. That’s amore!
Yohan