Dear Napoli

Dear Napoli,

What the hell happened? For years, you were my favorite neighborhood secret. That great corner pizza joint that served up consistently fast, flavorful, and generous portions of bangin' pasta at a great price. Someone virtually had to be in my inner sanctum for me to take them to you, lest it get too overcrowded and I couldn’t eat myself. I wouldn’t even write about you on this blog.

There would be an off night one out of ten times. Hey, it happens, I can forgive the occasional night off for the regular chef, or if he just wasn’t himself that day. I know it’s not the norm. You were consistently good. Note the use of the word, were. Somewhere things started to slip. But I knew you; I had faith that it was me having off nights.

There was one night when I ordered the baked ziti (one of my trifecta of Napoli perfection which also includes manicotti and the chicken francese) and Jamie had the chicken. Hers was up to par, but mine…well it just didn’t even look the same, never mind the taste. I wished I had the chicken. But still I came back, each time with hope in my tummy.

And after I moved it wasn’t as easy as it used to be. I still had that faith that it was me going on the off night, not that every night was an off night. I came to you, since I moved outside of your delivery radius. I rotated through all my favorite dishes and each time I came up disappointed. I wasn’t the only one. My partner in eating crime also felt disappointed when we would dig in, expecting the beauty of the Napoli I introduced him to on our third date. Instead bland, sometimes under sometimes overcooked food. How hard is it to boil pasta correctly? You’re Italian! I even went so far as to commit what Jamie and I consider sacrilege-ordering salad with my meal instead of the pasta. The day my chicken francese came in a brown looking liquid (I can’t call it sauce) and tasted of nothing but burnt, I couldn’t go back, and I threw my whole meal away, except for the salad which I was thankful to have ordered in lieu of pasta.

I let a few months pass. For someone who used to eat there or order in once a week that’s a long time. When John wanted pizza (I’ll cut you some slack, the pizza is still good) I succumbed and got the baked ziti-out of my faves I figured it was a safe bet to dip my toes into so to speak. I wish I had taken a photo. The top, which used to look perfectly white with melted cheese, was burnt in spots and had an orange hue. Orange? Underneath the normally ooey gooey mozz I would ordinarily find a beautiful pink ricotta rich sauce enveloping every piece of ziti. So good I would secretly wipe it clean with my finger to get every last drop (obviously when eating it at home). What I had in front of me was little bits of ricotta in places and large lumps of it in others, almost as if it had been tossed in last minute and then microwaved (that’s my only explanation for the orange rubbery cheese like substance on the top). Where was the sauce to dredge my piece of bread through to soak up every little bit?

What happened? Did you get new owners? A new chef? Rosie the waitress is still there. Last time I did the pick up I didn’t really recognize the guys at the counter. And there’s a, let’s face it-tacky-LED scrolling sign in the window with your specials now. Everything inside still looks the same, but nothing coming out of the kitchen, save the pizza (which I can’t vouch for, at Napoli I was always much more interested in the pasta) was the same.

Napoli, please come back to normal. Please teach your chef that if your customers can make better food at home, something is wrong. Please please please tell me what happened.

Sincerely,
Jenn-your loyal customer of 6 years who has been disappointed for at least one of them.

If anyone knows what’s going on over there, please tell me!