Is the beloved pizza margherita always a disappointment? The surprising truth about an iconic pizza...

I hold an unpopular opinion in the world of pizza: the fabled pizza Margherita is overrated.
 
Why am I willing to court potential violence against my person for my public opinion on a controversial subject almost as polarizing as Donald vs. Kamala or boxers vs briefs?
 
Because I’m a glutton for punishment and I haven’t been kicked in the head enough lately.
 
Just kidding. I’ve never been kicked in the head (though I have come close). My opinions about the Margherita are based in both historical fact and personal experience—and there’s an equally traditional pizza that I believe is far better.

 
Moreover, if you come along on this journey of pizza disdain (yes, such an ugly word), you might suddenly find yourself liberated.
 
You might find voice for your own deeply held yet unexpressed opinion that “La Grande Pizza Margherita Amore” (The Big Pizza Margerita Love) is a smoking pile of nonsense foisted upon us by people who don’t know any better and are just toeing the line of Pizza Snobbery Group Think. (Does that phrase sound like something from an Orwellian pizza dystopia? It does and it is. I just haven’t written that book yet.)
 
 
Here's the first problem with The Ever So Important And Fabled Pizza Margherita: Its provenance is a myth.
 
Yes, we’ve all heard the story. It’s Naples in 1889. The Royal Palace commissions pizzaiolo Raffaele Esposito to create a pizza in honor of the visiting Queen Margherita.
 
Esposito makes three different pizzas. Her Majesty says she prefers the pizza made in the colors of the Italian flag—tomato red, basil green and mozzarella white. So this pizza is, of course, named for the Queen.
 
And if you doubt the veracity of this tale, Esposito’s shop in Naples is still open today (as Pizzeria Brandi), and on the wall there’s an official letter of recognition from the Queen's man.
 
 
And who would lie about such a thing or fabricate such a tale, much less fake the documentation? The thought!
 
So, it’s interesting that the media of the day, primitive as it was, carried no actual reports about the Queen’s visit.
 
And there was no promotion of either the pizza in question or the story about it until at least 40 years later.
 
Moreover, the pizza now known as a Margherita predates the Queen's alleged visit by decades.
 
 
And lest you think these are spiteful, myth-busting concoctions by an attention-grabbing pizza pundit (i.e. me), sorry.
 
These are truths elucidated by none other than the world-famous Antonio Mattozzi.
 
Signor Mattozzi is a former teacher of literature, as well as a collaborator with the history department  at Università degli Studi di Napoli Federico II (the University of Naples Federico II), the world’s oldest public secular university.

He cites the above truths about Pizza Margherita in his excellent book, Inventing The Pizzeria. (The book is expensive. Don’t buy it unless you’re a special kind of geek. Like me.)
 
 
Mr. Mattozzi probably has a special place in his heart for pizzerias, as his family has been making pizza in Naples for over 160 years.
 
I bet he has opinions about pineapple on pizza.
 
In his book, Mr. Mattozzi says, “Thinking that Esposito invented the Pizza Margherita is at best a half-truth…pizza with these three ingredients had been around since the early years of the nineteenth century. Esposito’s genius lies not in ‘creating’ this type of pizza but rather—according to various versions of the story—calling it ‘Margherita’ in homage to the Queen of Italy...”
 
But this, of course, is mere historical fact—right along with the idea that we have no real idea what “authentic” pizza looked or tasted like in the 1800s.
 
Though, if you rely on the word of that noted American portrait painter, telegraph inventor and pro-slavery biblical literalist Samuel Morse, pizza appeared as a “species of most nauseating cake covered over with slices of pomodoro or tomatoes sprinkled with little fish and black pepper and I know not what other ingredients…it altogether looks like a piece of bread that had been taken reeking out of the sewer.”
 
So much for pizza love in the 1800s.
 
 
Another reason the pizza Margherita is always a disappointment? Expectations.
 
Yes, our expectations are too high. If we go someplace that makes a Margherita, we order it because it’s a classic. Clas-sic!!
 
But often, the person making that Margherita neither knows nor cares that it’s a classic. They know merely that it’s just one more ticket to fill.
 
And I admit, this likelihood was part of the inspiration for today’s anti-Margherita screed.
 
A friend of mine just sent me a photo of a pizza he ordered at a joint I recommended. I also didn’t know that he would be ordering a Margherita. The expectations are already high and the pizza never meets them. He was disappointed, my judgment is now in question, and I have to perform damage control by revealing to him that he should never order the Margherita.
 
 
Another reason the Margherita is a let down is that it’s a minimalist pizza.
 
And pizza minimalism is fine—until it’s not.
 
Minimalism by a mediocre pizzaiolo with mediocre ingredients is an exercise in yawn.
 
Anyone familiar with my pizza positions knows that I subscribe to the “Less Is More” philosophy of pizza toppings. That means high-quality toppings used judiciously. And I’m a proponent of a composed pizza with (ideally) a bit of all toppings in every bite.
 
That method doesn’t work with subpar ingredients and a mediocre pizza maker on a pizza when the star is the pizza itself. True DOP San Marano tomatoes, fresh mozzarella (preferably bufala), and a fermented dough baked in a 900-degree oven.
 
I always say that the true test of any pizzeria is their cheese pizza. There’s nothing there to hide behind. Well, the pizza Margherita is the Neapolitan equivalent. It has even less going on than an American-style cheese pizza, and every ingredient needs to be excellent.  
 
 
And are we actually giving too much weight to the Margherita?
 
Antonio Mattozzi says in his book that back in the day, the two most common pizzas were “the Marinara and the Margherita, to which each person added ingredients. In reality these ‘classics’ are more like templates: from the descriptions by contemporaries, we know that in the nineteenth century there were pizzas made in many different ways.”
 
In other words, if you could afford to upgrade from the basic template, you could add all kinds of toppings.
 
Back in the 1800s, the Margherita was the base-model economy car of pizza. It was the cheapest possible version of the most economical food for the poor people of Naples.
 
 
And what about that other, so easily dismissed and forgotten template pizza?
 
The marinara pizza is one that nobody I know orders anywhere. Many don’t even know about it. And I happened to make one recently, and realized what a too-easily dismissed pizza it is.
 
Granted, my sauce is not “authentic.” Neither is my pizza, for that matter. It’s authentically me, but it’s not authentically Italian. It’s an American, artisan-style pie. Among other things (topping minimalism aside), I have a heavy hand with the seasonings.
 
But a marinara pizza using my own sauce with organic Bianco DiNapoli tomatoes, a fermented Neapolitan-style dough baked at 550 degrees, a sprinkling of true Pecorino Romano, and a drizzle of Partana organic olive oil—Santa Madreperla! (That’s “Holy Mother Of Pearl” for all you non-speakers of Italian.)
 
 
What a pizza! And yes, you can even add some good anchovies, and it’s a big, fat, herbaceous umami bomb.
 
But I don’t know how many pizzerias will ever be able to pull that off. I’m willing to try it sometime. And I’d try it before I tried a Margherita. That’s because I suspect that between the ingredients on hand and the pizzaiolo and the elevated expectations, I’m not going to enjoy that Margherita much.
 
SIDEBAR: The best Margherita I’ve had anywhere—including Naples—is in Sardis, Mississippi. Dutch Van Ostendorp at TriBecca Allie Pizza Café makes a killer Margherita pizza. And it’s not authentic in the historical sense of the word. It’s authentic in that it's very much his own version of the pizza baked in his own style in his own oven made by his own two hands. And that guy there on the edge of the Mississippi Delta has big, #10 cans of excellent tomatoes. He’s using great ingredients. And it’s a labor of love. It’s a Margherita to be reckoned with. (It’s also the photo at the top of this story, and we wrote about him and his wife, Becca in November 2023.)
 
 
Pizza Margherita. Just don’t order it. Learn disdain for it.
 
That way, when a good one crosses your path, you will enjoy it more. If you’re in a pizzeria of uncertain pedigree, there are many more pizzas besides Margherita that will make you happy. And even if you’re in a so-called “authentic” Neapolitan pizzeria, it’s probably not authentic. Yes, Razza in Jersey City or Bianco in Phoenix (or even Centro in Cedar City, Utah) will probably deliver a Margherita that’s a cut above. But that’s the exception to the rule. And they’re American Artisan pizzas. Not authentic Neapolitan pies.
 
In the meantime, think about the Pizza Marinara. It’s a pizza that is disdained for plenty of reasons—mainly by people who’ve never tried it. In reality, it's a celebration of simple, even underappreciated ingredients. It's a timeless beacon of pizza hope. You might just find that it transcends your expectations.
 
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