Talking Travel: Andrew Zimmern discusses bizarre foods

by Mike Barish on

Andrew Zimmern is best known as the host of Travel Channel’s Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern. But before he was traveling the globe eating glands, connective tissue and anuses, he was an acclaimed chef, writer and expert in Chinese cuisine. The new season of his Travel Channel program premieres later this month and, in anticipation of that, he chatted with us about a wide range of topics.

When we started our conversation, Andrew was in an editing room helping his producers identify meats from an episode filmed in Argentina. He pointed out thymus glands and sweet breads as easily as you or I would point out our friends in a photograph. During the rest of our discussion, we touched on subjects ranging from his iron constitution to the American culinary psychology to just how educational his television program actually is.

So what are Andrew Zimmern’s favorite foods? What is the one thing that he absolutely cannot stand eating? And what other Travel Channel host does he have a not-so-secret crush on? Andrew Zimmern shared it all with us.Mike Barish: Most people know you as the guy who eats crazy things. But what are your creature comfort foods? Are there simple things that, at the end of the day, just make you happy?

Andrew Zimmern: Oh god, yes. Black licorice; really, really, really good cinnamon lollipops. I’m a nice Jewish boy from New York. Matzo ball soup or chopped chicken liver or brisket or something like that is my go to meal. I have a 5 year old boy. I have a rekindled love affair with Cap’n Crunch. That I thought died with my college pot smoking, freakazoid days.

MB: It’s common for people to say, “This tastes like chicken.” Is saying “x tastes like chicken” the lazy way to describe wild foods or do you notice similarities in the way certain things taste?

AZ: I will tell you that frog has more in common with chicken just as iguana has more in common with chicken, snake has more in common with chicken. It’s all of those reptiles fall into the “taste like chicken” category. The reason is that they are very lean, white fleshed meats with a fairly benign flavor. Chicken has a deeper, richer, better flavor than those animals because the lack of fat in those animals. Fat is flavor in many instances. Those reptiles have a very thin, tinny sort of flavor that halfway through the chew the flavor evaporates. There’s nothing left. It’s how blindfolded I would always be able to tell I’m eating a reptile. I think that generations of people said, “oh, what’s it taste like?” “Kind of like chicken.” Now it’s a joke. “Tastes like chicken.”

MB: Do you think people actually dislike a lot of the things that you’re eating or they just can’t get past whatever psychological block they have?

AZ: No. Well it’s certainly more the latter, but I will also tell you that the biggest reason is the 3rd item: they’ve never tried it. When I’m in Chile, and I’m with Mapuche Indians and we bleed out a lamb, and they stir some lime juice and cilantro and onion into fresh lamb’s blood and take a spoon and pass the bowl around while it’s still warm, that’s hardcore. I don’t know who gets to have that experience. I’m sure people are shocked. I was shocked, and I was there. I knew it was coming, and I was shocked. What I do for people is that I can sit there and show them with pictures and tell them with the sound of my voice what the experience is like and what’s happening.

I think that a lot of people practice contempt prior to investigation.

MB: Where do you think that fear comes from and have you found that it’s uniquely American?

AZ: Oh it’s not uniquely American at all, although the rest of the world is more familiar with being more open-minded. Our country is the only country in the world, let’s just talk about food for a second, that eats from the center, expensive cuts of the animal regardless of how much money you make. We just come up with different grades of meat to separate the steaks that poor people eat from the steaks that rich people eat. It’s ludicrous. All we do is porterhouse and strip loin and rib eye. We don’t eat the hooves and the head and stuff except when we grind them up and put them in hot dogs and don’t tell people what it is. We eat boneless, skinless chicken breast. We take shrimp and throw away the head and the shell, where all the flavor is, and freeze the meat from the tail and worship that as if it is some kind of iconic ingredient. We’re the only culture in the world that does that. It’s completely backwards.

MB: But there are adventurous Americans, yes?

AZ: I think the best news in the whole world is that recently there has been a spate of reportage, I’ve even blogged about it, Tweeted and Facebooked about it, of all the different people who are taking pictures of their foods or documenting their food life.

MB: The food porn.

AZ: Correct. Flickr has a billion pictures that people download every year of what they’re eating. I think it’s the greatest thing in the whole world because people get on the internet and are like, “Oh my god, that’s tongue? That looks good.” That many people can’t be wrong.

I find it really interesting when I’m in China, donkey is a very common meat. It’s as common as beef or lamb, especially in the region that Beijing is the central hub to. Donkey meat is delicious. If Americans tasted it blind, it would be the most popular new meat in our country. It’s lean, it’s delicious, it tastes like veal, it cooks like beef, the skin is edible, it’s just glorious. It’s a certain species of the smaller donkey, and it’s just amazing. It is delicious. We can’t get people to eat goat in this country.

MB: Right, right. Would you say the biggest hurdle for people is the psychological, the taste or the texture?

AZ: The biggest issue with America is the psychology of it. I was in Thailand, and a lot of places that I travel to, the people eat bats. Here in our country, our kids are brought up with vampire mythology and Halloween mythology where bats represent disease and scary things and all the rest of that. If we didn’t have those messages in our culture, we would be eating foods like bats (assuming that there were edible ones around).

MB: Do you look back at the popularity of Fear Factor in the last decade where eating those things was seen as a challenge that merited winning thousands of dollars? Is that the psychology?

AZ: No, I think Fear Factor was the result of the net of it all. They were playing off our difficulties with psychology. What bugged me about Fear Factor – and believe me at one point before I had my job on Travel Channel and that show first came out, I was like, “I could win that show. Are you kidding me?” – they preyed on the worst fears in our psychological profiles. Not only did you have to eat the worms, but you had to lie in a coffin covered with them. You know what I mean? Those kinds of jeopardy shows where they put you in a difficult situation, I think, exploit that psychology. The fact that people had such a problem with it proves the point I’m making.

MB: Everybody watches you eating all these foods and most of the time having no problem eating them, but how is your GI tract afterward? What has caused you the worst bowel difficulties after the fact?

AZ: What a delicate way to phrase that question.

MB: I did my best there. Thank you.

AZ: I was given the job of hosting this program because I actually lived that way. All they had to do was send the TV crew with me and send me to a couple of more exotic places that I couldn’t afford to go or had time to go on my own. I say that to answer that question because by the time I got to filming my adventures, I had already been around the world a dozen times. I had never gotten sick. I don’t think if I was a person who had a lot of food-borne illness issues, etc. that I would even say “yes” to the offer. I don’t get sick. I’ve built up some resistance. I’ve eaten enough things in enough places. I even drink the water in countries where I tell other people not to.

I’ve had two nights in the last five years where I’ve been up all night sick, wrapped around the toilet. Both of those nights were in U.S. cities after eating seafood that when it went down my mouth, I was like, “oh that’s a bad mussel” or “oh that clam may come back to hurt me.”

MB: Anthony Bourdain takes the piss out of you fairly frequently on his show and in interviews. Do you guys have a good relationship? What do you think about him lobbing jabs at you every now and then? Is that a sibling rivalry relationship?

AZ: Yeah. It’s so funny. I think it’s also that those kinds of things are the most reportable, funniest bits. We both give each other a lot of crap in our shows. I think he’s been lucky enough to say them under circumstances where the lighting is better, and it fits within the context of what they’re doing. I’m always yelling at my editors and producers, “God, I said that funny line.” We both give each other a lot of grief in our shows. That’s very much sibling oriented. We’re very friendly off-camera. Last time I was in New York, my wife and I were with Tony and his wife. We’re friends.

MB: What would you say is more detrimental or more dangerous for people: eating things that you eat or the amount of fast food that Americans regularly eat?

AZ: Not even close, the amount of fast food. Not even close. I go to a lot of sporting events with my son. We’ll be sitting there, and I’ll get recognized and somebody comes up to me and they’re eating a hot dog or a bratwurst because we’re in Minnesota. They say to me, “I can’t believe some of the stuff you put in your mouth. How can you eat that barbecued pig snout?”

My response to them is, “when I was in the Philippines, and they butchered that pig and took the snout and grilled it, steamed it and grilled it again, chopped it up and made that snout hash and I ate it, that meat had never seen the inside of a refrigerator. It had never seen pesticides. It had never seen growth hormones. That was fresh, gorgeous porky pork the way God meant it to be eaten. And it was delicious.

The pork that you’re eating, sir, is ground up, it’s five years old. It was liquidized. It was ammonia-ized. It was food processed.It was loaded with filler and chemicals, and the government says they don’t have to tell you 25% of what’s in it. What’s worse? To me, it’s not even close.

The diet of the average American is universally mocked and ridiculed for good reason. Our culture has created a part of a food life for many Americans that is unconscionable. Our show is entertainment, but there is a very graspable message in Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern that I think is the most important message of anything we do.

MB: And what’s that?

AZ: When you broaden out the number of, for example, protein choices in your life, and start eating little fish as opposed to the American way which is just tuna, salmon and halibut and shrimp, when you start to eat 20 different types of red meat, not just two, you then spread out your choices and you ease pressure on farms and take away the power of these giant multinationals that now produces 75% of our food in this country. You actually level the playing field, and you’re eating more, in the words of one of my idols, Michael Pollan, “you’re eating foods that your grandmother would recognize.”

MB: Do you think that some of the goofiness and schtick of your show leads to people to not realize that it is as educational and enriching as other programs? There are educational principles to your show, but because you’re in a loud shirt and you’re kind of yucking it up, people go, “oh it’s just shock for shock’s sake.”

AZ: Yes. I couldn’t agree more. I do that, I wouldn’t say purposely, yeah I would. I do that purposely. When I first pitched this show to Travel Channel, I knew that I wanted to do a show that was 80% entertainment and 20% message and not the opposite because if I did the opposite in that day and age, I wouldn’t have gotten the larger audiences to tune in. The greatest success of my program is that kids, parents and families are addicted to it. I know that in my heart that there is a generation of kids who have watched me since day one who are more open-minded eaters. I think the impact of shows like my show, like Tony’s [Bourdain] show and others like it, in ten years from now is going to be even bigger and more manifest because I think there are a lot of people, and I hear it all the time, the kids didn’t eat vegetables and they made a game of it – Andrew Zimmern would eat that. I get hundreds of those letters a week and emails. It’s very powerful.

Plus, we have a kids’ special that’s coming out this coming year that we made awhile back that people are just going to fall in love with. It allows us to tell that message with a bigger exclamation point at the end of the sentence.

MB: Is there anything that you won’t eat either because you just don’t like the taste or texture? Is there anything that you were more than willing to try and after the fact said, “Okay, good. I tried it and I never want it again”?

AZ: Walnuts.

MB: Really?

AZ: I hate them.

MB: Why?

AZ: I’ve tried them a million ways. They just don’t agree with me. They got a bad aftertaste. I eat every other nut on the planet.

MB: But not walnuts? So nutcrackers in the Christmas stockings for you?

AZ: No, can’t stand them.

MB: Another Gadling writer, Aaron Hotfelder, wrote an open letter to you when your show started its second season. It basically said, “I love the show. I love what you do, but every place you go, you’re the only person wearing shorts.”

AZ: Correct.

MB: So, what’s with the khaki shorts?

AZ: Oh my god, that’s hysterical. What happens is, and I’ll just give you an example. You go to Morocco and you’re in the desert. Yes, it is hot and all the rest of that stuff, but you have to remember that I have to carry trunks and trunks of gear and clothing and equipment when I travel. We’re gone 2-3 weeks at a time shooting multiple shows. I’ll be in Alaska one week and then in the deserts of Morocco the next. Television is not a fancy business. I don’t have stylists and handlers and all the rest. It’s me, a producer, a couple of camera guys, a driver, a scout, a PA to carry some gear and maybe a security guy in a dicey area to watch the equipment. So it’s basically a process of elimination: what can I use that I can transport the easiest with the most people? So that’s really what it comes down to. Second of all, when you’re working 18, 19 hours a day and you’re in vans, you go for comfort. So it’s also a comfort thing as well. I just find it really simple. The other thing that we actually talk about and think about a lot is that we have enough distracting stuff on the show. Leopard print type pants and white go-go boots is not – as much as I love to be an individual – it’s maybe a little too distracting. It really is.

I never had to answer that question. It’s a very good one. It’s just because it is easy to travel with, easy to clean and has good pockets.

MB: Are you familiar with the game Fuck, Marry, Kill?

AZ: Yes.

MB: Okay, so Fuck, Marry, Kill and the 3 candidates are: Tony Bourdain, Samantha Brown, and Bear Grylls.

AZ: Oh my god. Oh my god. Well Tony I would marry. Absolutely in half a heartbeat. I’ve made no bones about it. Samantha is a very dear friend of mine, and both of us are very happily married, I would definitely make a run at her if we were both single. She is just an absolute pistol, and I just admire the heck out of her. I adore her. I have very publicly said that I have a huge crush on Samantha. Yeah, so that’s a no brainer. The funny thing about Bear is that if I didn’t know him, I would have obviously put him in the kill category. I love his show. I watch his show. I’ve recorded it since day one. I just think he’s fantastic. But he’s even nicer in real life. He’s one of the nicest, most genuine, good human beings, and I’ve gotten to spend a decent amount of time with him. He’s just a gem of a human being. So I would rather not fuck, marry or kill Bear Grylls. I’d rather just hang out with him.


The fourth season of Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern premieres on the Travel Chanel on April 26 at 10:00pm E/P.

Photo courtesy of Travel Channel.

From street kids to culinary stars in Vietnam

by David Farley on

As I strode into the restaurant, relieved to take a brief respite from the chaos that is Saigon’s streets, a warm smile greeted me. A young man, probably in his late teens, led me to a table and handed me a menu. There were fried pork ribs with lemongrass, ginger-braised chicken, steamed prawns in coconut juice. Not terribly surprising southeast Asian fare. But this was a surprisingly different restaurant.

People don’t come to Vietnam to eat. At least not historically. They came for other reasons. The Khmer, the Chinese, the French, the Americans came to occupy, to settle, to pillage, to exploit, to push back, or various other things that didn’t always sit well with the locals. And while they didn’t come for the food, their influence on Vietnamese cuisine is now indelible. The Khmer influence can be seen-or, rather, tasted-in the south, the Chinese in the north, the French all over the place (banh mi, anyone?).

But, like a lot of people these days, I came to Vietnam to eat. And I ate everything I could that didn’t previously bark. Including the wince-inducing stuff: rat, snake, pigs blood and various “other” parts of mammals. The Vietnamese are fiercely omnivorous and, like other southeast Asians, they don’t waste much of a plant or animal.

And while I left thinking that I could spend a decade or so eating my way through the country-the steaming bowls of pho in the morning, street cart sticky rice flavored with exotic fruits, the sweet, caramelized clay pot dishes have left me dreaming for more long after I departed-there was something else that was tugging at me: namely the estimated 19,000 street kids in Vietnam.

And the restaurant I was eating at in Saigon was trying to do something about it. Welcome to Huong Lai, a pioneer of sorts, not because of the acclaimed food it serves, but because of the employees. They’re all street kids, orphans whose first years of life were one of begging for money and sustenance.

Haong Lai isn’t the only restaurant and training center in Vietnam to turn streets kids into culinary stars. Koto, in Hanoi, has been doing the same. There’s also a similar school/restaurant in Cambodia. And they’re not just learning how to prepare spring rolls. They’re trained in cooking western dishes as well as other aspects of restaurant hospitality and they’re taught English.

The latest to throw its toque into the kitchen is Streets International. Located in Hoi An, on the central coast of Vietnam, Streets was founded by Neal F. Bermas, a resident of Hoi An and New York City who teaches at New York University. The school and restaurant, located smack in the center of UNESCO-protected Hoi An, received donations from various international organizations as well as an annual charity event in New York City. Which was where I caught up with Bermas last week. While the attendees were munching on food from restaurants such as Blue Smoke, Cabrito, Tabla, and Colicchio & Sons, Bermas told me about that light bulb moment for Streets: “It was my first night in Saigon over a decade ago and I came across these streets kids. They had these dark yet beautifully compelling eyes. And as time went on, I just kept coming back to that image.” Bermas hopes to expand the model to other parts of Vietnam and even southeast Asia.

Which got me wondering: what is it about southeast Asia, in general, and Vietnam, in particular, that has bred this great idea to deal with poverty? Bermas had an intriguing answer: “This model works particularly well in so-called developing countries when the tourism industry is just starting to take off.” And in Vietnam it’s doing just that. Tourism is up fifteen percent in the last few years. The economy grew last year by four percent, which is a lot considering most of the world’s economic activity has slowed to a crawl.

Because Streets International is about a year old, no one has graduated from the 18-month training program yet. But the endeavor can already be called a success. Not just for taking a handful of kids off the streets. As Bermas told me last week, Nam Hai, the upscale resort on the coast near Hoi An, has said they would hire the entire first batch of trainees.

Now that’s well worth tucking in to a bowl of steamed prawns in coconut juice during your next visit to Vietnam for.

David Farley is the author of An Irreverent Curiosity: In Search of the Church’s Strangest Relic in Italy’s Oddest Town.

Photo of the Day (03.27.10)

by Mike Barish on

Taking pictures of food has never been more popular. Nearly everyone I know creates their own “food porn.” Food has become an integral part of our travel stories and photographs. More often than not, we document the strange, extravagant and repulsive things that we ingest. Lost in those extremes are the images of the classics. What I love about this image by Flickr user Paul_Brady (whose tumblr blog is a must-read) is that it’s not showy. It’s not braggadocios. It’s just one man’s simple meal at New York City’s famous Gray’s Papaya (Upper West Side location).

We don’t have to constantly try to impress people with tales of fois gras and deep fried tarantulas. Sometimes, all it takes is a classic to make your friends’ mouths water.

Do you take food porn photos? Submit your images to Gadling’s Flickr group right now and we might use it for a future Photo of the Day.

Exploring the Illinois wine trail

by Gadling Staff on

When people think about American wine, the region that comes to mind is the West Coast. And that makes sense – the majority of wine production in the United States does take place in California, Oregon and Washington. What many people don’t realize is that America is the fourth-largest wine producing country in the world, right behind the major heavyweights of France, Spain and Italy.

American wine is far more than just the West Coast. With a wide range of climates and soils, from arid to wet, rocky hills and grasslands, U.S. wineries produce a vast variety of wines from our more than one million planted acres and over three thousand commercial wineries. Napa Valley is peerless, but chances are, no matter what region of the country you’re in, there’s a wine trail or vineyard not far from you just waiting to be explored.

Illinois wine is just such an example. With a climate hospitable to wine production – some of the southern regions closely match certain climates found in Spain and Italy – there are over eighty different wineries operating in this state alone. That’s no reason to feel overwhelmed, though. This short guide will point you in the direction of a few of the ‘must-see’ wineries in Illinois. Keep reading below to see where…

Chicago and Region
Most of the Illinois’ grapes are grown downstate, but with so much of the population crowded into Chicago, there’s a huge market for wine, and a conscientious thirst for local product.

  • Glunz Family Winery and Cellars – Glunz is the main supplier of the seasonal, cold-weather wine Glogg. Most everywhere one goes in the city, if the restaurant is serving Glogg, it’s most likely from Glunz. The owner, Joe Glunz Jr., is very actively involved and has a love for Port. He’s most proud of his 1992 vintage, and he’ll happily put it up against it’s Portuguese counterparts.
  • Wild Blossom Meadery and Winery – On the far south side of the city, Wild Blossom works to produce one of the oldest beverages in the world. Mead, a specialty wine made from honey, is crafted here using the output from local beehives. Billing itself as one of the world’s most sustainable winemakers, this wine shows up on the shelves of organic retailers like Whole Foods. Wild Blossom’s “Meadery” also offers winemaking classes, supplies and tastings.
  • Vintner’s Cellar – A new trend in wine, Vintner’s Cellar is a franchise that allows the customer to craft their own personalized vintage. Using flavoring agents that simulate the aging process, customers can create as few as 24 bottles of custom wines however they like. An employee tells us that engaged couples like to create their own wines for their weddings. Locations usually have tastings as well.

Galena, Illinois
Galena is a picturesque town to the west along the Mississippi river, popular as an overnight destination for city-weary Chicagoans. Very different from the flat lands of northeastern Illinois, the Galena’s rolling hills work in the winemaker’s favor.

  • Galena Cellars Winery and Vineyard – Galena Cellars rules this region, with several locations in the area. Wine tastings at their Galena shops are common, and vineyard tours are available not far from town. Want to stumble instead of drive home? Stay in a cabin or room at the vineyard. Galena Cellars shines when it comes to sweet dessert wines, and their Choclat du Vin took home a gold medal from the Illinois State Fair.
  • Famous Fossil – In operation for only about six years now, Famous Fossil is heady when it comes to wine. Prizing what’s been termed their wine’s “somewhereness,” the husband and wife team crafting wine here want you to taste the land itself in each barrel they make. As the weather warms up, their chilled Fossil Rock White, with it’s blend of four different regional grapes, should be a perfect complement to the summer heat.

Utica, Illinois
Utica is a small town just at the edge of one of Illinois’ most beautiful state parks, Starved Rock. The former factory town would be nearly overshadowed by the husk of the industrial mill here, if not for the variety of sweet shops, antique malls, hotels and wineries catering to those visiting Starved Rock.

  • August Hill – A bit of big-city sophistication on this rustic small town’s quaint main street, August Hill’s wine shop and tasting room would look just as at home in downtown Chicago’s Gold Coast. The vintners grow their grapes on land that’s been in the family for generations, and have a passion for supporting both local artists and theater troupes as far flung as Chicago and St. Louis. Much of the art for each label is family-produced.
  • Illinois River Winery – The employees at the Illinois River Winery are so friendly they don’t seem to want to let you go. Whereas other wineries can sometimes rush, or make you feel like the tasting is all business, Bob, the tasting room manager, invites you to pull up a stool and taste as much as you like, for as long you like. For free, even. The Oktoberfest wine here is a major standout, and they have trouble keeping cases in stock, especially as autumn nears.

Shawnee Hills
Shawnee Hills is home to over a dozen Southern Illinois wineries, all within about twenty miles of one another. About fifteen minutes or so south of Carbondale, IL and the resplendent Giant City State Park, this area sees tour groups shuttling along the windy, hilly roads, especially in the summer.

  • Owl Creek Vineyard – The story behind Owl Creek is one that everyone who loves wine and wineries dreams about: a young couple, successful but unfulfilled, throw off the trappings of the corporate world and risk it all to become vintners. The owners will take the time to talk to you all about it for hours on a rainy afternoon, and, in at least one case, are happy to sacrifice one of their own towels in the event that one of your party fell into a creek while hiking in the nearby state park. The 2007 Zengeist, a crisp white, is worth owning several bottles and alone justifies every risk the couple took.
  • Starview Vineyards – In what seems to be a sprawling, white one-story cabin up against a small man made pond, Starview holds tastings, serves light cafe fare, and throws the occasional incredible party. With long rows of tables inside and a giant patio overlooking the pond outdoors, Starview likes to invite musical guests to entertain the crowds, whether it’s outdoor-heating-lamp weather or actual, natural shine. All of this is explained by the affable owner as his daughters shyly hide behind his legs. The Conchord here tastes like jam that was freshly made earlier in the day, and it may well have been. White wines are the true stars here, and they may have the best Traminette on the trail.

Grafton, Illinois
This small town is at the very edge of southwestern Illinois, where the Illinois and the Mississippi Rivers converge. Once home to a strong Native American presence, the town is now a getaway for St. Louis residents just across the river to the south. The land between the rivers to the immediate west is home to low, rolling hills filled with vineyards and fruit orchards, and is most easily accessible by ferry.

  • Piasa Winery – Piasa’s stone cottage sits at the confluence of the Grafton’s two rivers, flanked by a sunny outdoor patio and musician’s stage. Named for the mythical creature of Native American legend, Piasa has its own traditions of award-winning wines. The counter staff remembers you, even if it’s been months between visits, and keeps fans up-to-date via a Facebook page. The Piasa Blush, when cold, is incomparable as a summer wine.
  • Grafton Winery & Brewhaus – A bit further up the hill is the Grafton Winery. A full-service establishment, serving beers, food and wine, this winery boasts a view of the two rivers at sunset that’s unique to the entire Midwest. This venue doesn’t have the folksy charm that Piasa does, but it’s a well-polished operation, with the ability to cater to large parties and provide tours of the wine making facilities. In particular here, the 2003 Cabarnet Sauvignon is worth noting for it’s blend of Missouri and California grapes, and notes of cocoa, tobacco and cherry.

Related:
* The 25 greatest cities in the world for drinking wine
* The 24 greatest cities in the world for drinking beer
* The 20 greatest cities in the world for foodies

Naples’ Infernal Bliss

by David Farley on

Naples, Italy is the most peaceful city on the planet–at least it seems that way when looking down on it from high above. Its narrow, laundry strewn streets appear still and almost lifeless. A steady stream of morning fog from the bay hovers over the sprawl of post-war apartment blocks. The mountainous isle of Capri peeks coyly through the fog. Even the usually ominous Mount Vesuvius–the volcano whose eruption instantly buried the nearby city of Pompeii in 79 A.D.–looks like just another cloudy hilltop. I’m standing on the roof of the Castel Sant’ Elmo, a massive 14th-century fortification that’s perched on the mountaintop district of Vomero, far removed from the infamous chaos of southern Italy’s most densely inhabited metropolis. Before I venture down to what some have described as a crime-ridden hell, a logic-defying jumble of streets, a concrete jungle where obeying traffic laws is beneath consideration, I want to see what I’m up against.

The Grand Tourists–those 19th-century upper-class Brits whose classical education was not complete until they toured the great cities of Europe–used to forego Rome for Naples. They came to see the Caravaggios and the Correggios, the Raphaels and the Riberas. They came to observe the goings-on at one of Europe’s oldest universities. They came to see how the Greeks’ first colony on the Italian peninsula (called Neapolis, or “New Town” in 470 B.C.) had evolved into what a European monarch once said was, “the most beautiful crown in Italy.” Some modern tourists still come for these reasons. Others are drawn to Naples for its uniquely chaotic splendor–to see a modus vivendi unfathomable in Baltimore or Brussels, Munich or Miami.

I came for a different reason. Pizza. Yes, pizza in Naples. It’s impossible to utter the topic today without thinking of two words: Elizabeth Gilbert. But good food is transcendent. And pizza, a dish that may be the most popular in the world, will transcend literary references as well. Especially here, where it’s ubiquitous. It’s impossible to be in this town of nearly a million people and not eat pizza. Naples credits itself as being the birthplace of the pizza–the first recorded evidence of which is from the 16th century. My guidebook says that the more rundown the pizzeria, the better its product will be. I had to find out for myself.

As I stomp down the long cobbled steps toward the historical center, I pass old villas with chipped facades and green shutters. Bristly weeds grow through the steps’ cracks. In an open window a cell phone rings–to the sound of the Doors’ “Light My Fire.” From the next villa the sweet smell of fresh bread–or is it pizza dough?–pours out at me. The hilltop residents here labored up and down these same steps for centuries. Today, they take one of three funicular railways that clank up the mountain. Colorful shrines to the Virgin are fixed at almost every bend on the stairway, some of which are decorated with neon lights, evidence that these shrines are more than just a relic of the past. I wonder if there’s an Our Lady of the Pizza Pie. In this city, there should be.

My Roman friends warned me about Naples before I took the two-hour train ride south. “Neapolitans are criminals, but they have a great sense of humor,” said my friend Enrico, which I suppose is some kind of consolation, since he followed up by saying that Sicilians, on the other hand, are just criminals. As I enter the most cramped quarter of the city, the Quatieri Spagnoli, the solitude of the hilltop fortress is already far behind me. Cars race by. Scooters whine. Medallion-wearing fat men bellow at one another. Two women stand on a side street yelling at each other and gesturing wildly. This is Naples: they’re probably just trading recipes. Three teenage boys and a dog ride past me on a scooter looking like they’ve done this a gazillion times. Behind them is another scooter driven by a man with two kids tucked onto the seat in front of him. Seconds later, another scooter zips by–this time it’s a man riding shockingly alone, and even wearing a helmet (!)–who is managing to talk on his cell phone and eat a piece of pizza.

I consider entering the first pizzeria I see, a dilapidated looking place, until the cook, leaning against the front doorway, begins violently coughing, gurgling up things I don’t want to think about. Instead, a block further, I find a seat at a slightly nicer pizzeria, which doesn’t appear to have a name. The minimalist (or, some would say, “indifferent”) interior–slate marble tables and blank walls–are a nice contrast to the disorder just outside the door. There are two pizza choices: the marinara (tomato, oregano, garlic, and oil) and the margherita (tomato, basil, oil, mozzarella). I go with the latter. The dough is thicker here in southern Italy, and there are socio-economic reasons for this: historically, the south has always been poorer than the north. To make their pizza more substantial, southern Italians used excess amounts of dough, which is cheap, and less toppings, which are costlier. American-style pizza is so thick because it was the poor southern Italians who immigrated to the United States in hope of a better life.

While eating my first Neapolitan pizza, I begin to wonder if life can get any better. It’s something about the San Marzano tomato sauce, which along with the melted mozzarella, is bubbling like volcanic lava. It’s tangy and delicious. The beauty of dining in Italy, especially the further south one travels, is the informality of it all. The waiter, often the restaurant’s owner, takes orders by memory and then when it comes time to pay, he tallies the bill in front of the customer, sometimes adding up the total on the paper table cloth. Wine comes in a ceramic jug and is often drunk from a glass tumbler.

After lunch, I’m not ready to battle the racing scooters and the mess of strolling crowds again, so I take a quick left down an alleyway lined with merchandise for sale and crammed with black down jacket-wearing locals. Everyone mills about, like they have no direction; like their ancestors have done for centuries. “Musica! Right here!” screams a grey-mustached man hocking illegally made CDs. Anything can be bought or sold here: jewelry, incense, clothes, shoes, car parts, fried things. My favorites are the fish salesmen who seem to be on nearly every block in the Centro Storico. The seafood is fresh to the point of still being alive: two-foot-long unidentifiable sea creatures squiggle through murky shallow water, hundreds of snails jiggle in a rusty, metal bucket, and long slimy eels gracefully slide past one another in a makeshift Styrofoam tank.

It’s now late afternoon, and it feels that every resident of Naples is packed into these tiny streets. This is the first circle of Dante’s hell that I was anticipating as I stood safely on the mountaintop earlier this morning. People are pressed up to me on all sides. We sway back and forth, moving two inches at a time, as we slowly pass shop windows displaying shoes, bags, and clothes. The ubiquitous rattle and screech of scooters attacks my ears. Everyone is smiling and greeting one another. This is normal. This is Naples. I’ve got a death grip on my wallet.

And, just then, I spot in the distance, another pizzeria. A real ramshackle one, whose name is also not so obvious, with a paint-chipped façade that looks like it had its last makeover during the interwar Fascist period. I’m not really hungry but my Rome-bound train is leaving soon and, who knows when I’ll be back.

“Marinara or Margherita,” the waiter asks.

I order and then take a deep breath and watch the maddening crowds outside. Naples, I decide, is much better with an escape. But between viewing it from a hilltop fortress or sitting in front of a bubbling pizza, I’ll take the pizza any day.

David Farley is the author of An Irreverent Curiosity: In Search of the Church’s Strangest Relic in Italy’s Oddest Town.