Vincenzo Capuano's watermelon pizza, we didn't feel the need for it
Let's pause for a moment. I know your first reaction would be to lash out, to swear at Neapolitan pizza chef Vincenzo Capuano, who for Ferragosto (the holiday of August 15th) invented a pizza with watermelon, cream, and kiwi. I know, it's an understandable reaction. But perhaps it's the wrong reaction.
Not that Capuano's recipe is sensible. It's clearly a joke or madness, artfully constructed to generate visibility, regardless of consensus. Capuano wants this from us: outrage. He's getting it, and this article proves it. People are talking about him. Maybe badly, but they're talking about him. Then a debate with pros and cons is a must. Some will even argue that pizza with watermelon and cream is excellent, a perfect combination of acidity and sweetness. Fine, you can argue anything.
But the point isn't so much the recipe the pizza chef posted on his social media. Nor is it the vilified tradition. We are against tradition, the opium of the masses. There are good things in tradition and bad things, just like innovation. The point is that precisely within the category of pizza chefs, a subcategory of chefs, a sort of desire to impress at all costs, an unbridled presence, a basically ridiculous exhibitionism, seems to have taken root for some time. It's the same exhibitionism, for marketing purposes, that led Capuano himself to invent the golden scissors he places on every table to cut pizza. Was it necessary? No, but it's a good title: pizza that can be cut with scissors.
Gino Sorbillo is the king of pizza-making antics. He's invented dozens, yes, dozens, hundreds of pizzas to pay homage to the powerful of the day, the passing VIP and under-VIP, in the hope of begging for a grain of visibility. The result is that he's lost credibility. Who cares about his pizzas anymore? He's become a sort of caricature, the perfect representative of the Pulcinella category of pizza, skilled in the art of making do and flattering the "doctor" of the moment, as well as in the art of kneading dough. Behind these are dozens and dozens of honest pizza makers, quietly experimenting and working hard to reach the top. But the temptation is strong. It's not just pizza makers; just think of the corrosive and often outrageous Chef Rubio and the ridiculous Salt Bae, who became famous for his dramatic gesture of adding salt to his meat (and whatever).
To get back to the beginning, we have no problem breaking tradition. Stefano Callegari, some time ago, confessed to us his desire to make pizza with pineapple. Even very serious pizzerias like Crosta have included it on their menus. You may or may not like it. But when experimentation is only for low-market and visibility reasons, it becomes a bit of a farce. And it also shows a lack of respect for the raw material, which is what should be the heart of the profession: food. It's a bit like that influencer who produces a barrage of video recipes on Instagram, punctuated by his inevitable "e spettaolo" (he's Tuscan). Meanwhile, he takes the meat, potatoes, and food and slams it on the table, with a gesture that's meant to be casual but makes you feel a bit hurt by the way the food is handled.
At this point, rather than getting indignant, we should acknowledge that certain pizza makers and chefs no longer do that job. They've gone over to the other side, opened a communications agency, and are trying to sell us their wares. No problem, it's not a crime; just make sure people know it's just business and nothing else.
- Of course, there will be those who say: just have a laugh. It's a divertissement, a playful joke, a way of not taking oneself seriously. As long as we decide when it's appropriate to laugh, let's laugh. But then they shouldn't expect to be treated like great chefs and great pizza makers. If they did, we'd have a good laugh.
