In Neapolitan dialect, “È Pronto ‘O Mangià” means simply: “Food is ready!” It is the perfect name for Mattia Grossi’s trattoria, a small, unassuming space on via Cesare Rosaroll. We are welcomed to this family-owned restaurant with an undeniably warm atmosphere: stone walls lined with old photos and newspaper clippings, smiling waiters, music and chatter. È Pronto ‘O Mangià matches the simplicity of its name: nothing sophisticated, nothing gourmet – just true, homemade Neapolitan cuisine.

Naples has a lot of iconic eateries and shops, but one of the lesser-known city icons is the kiosk of the fresh-water-seller. Scattered throughout the city, the banks of the acquafrescai – some of which are very famous – sell various mineral waters and refreshments. These kiosks were born to provide relief in the summer months, and for that reason they are widespread in other southern Italian cities, particularly in the Sicilian cities of Palermo, Catania and Syracuse, where the coolness of a granita, a semi-frozen dessert made from sugar, water and various flavorings, counters the oppressive heat.

The city of Naples sits nonchalantly in the shadow of Vesuvius, which has remained quiet – yet active – since the famous eruption in 79 A.D. that destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum. Despite its prominence, Vesuvius is not even the most powerful volcano in Napoli. That distinction belongs to the Phlegraean Fields, an underground caldera that forms the Bay of Naples. Around 12,000 years ago this super volcano exploded so violently that it shaped the continent of Europe. You might think that with all these active volcanoes around, Neapolitans would be afraid. They aren’t. In fact, most seem to relish the nearby volcanoes, claiming that they make the food here taste better.

Editor’s note: Anya von Bremzen is the winner of three James Beard awards, a contributing writer at AFAR magazine and the author of six cookbooks. Her forthcoming book National Dish: Around the World in Search of Food, History, and the Meaning of Home, she explores the connections between place and identity in six food capitals around the world, including our beloved Naples. We asked her about her favorite places to visit every time she’s back in the city. Naples IS pizza. It’s where pizza was invented in the 18th century, meaning it’s where flatbread first met tomato and cheese and both met the domed Neapolitan oven.

“It all started with a picture of a millefeuille…but we didn’t make any,” Luigi Lauri begins, as he tells us the story of how his family’s bakery, Antica Pasticceria Lauri, has become a unique fixture in the Neapolitan culinary landscape. In a city like Naples, having the word “Antico” (old) preceding the name of an eatery of any kind conveys a sense of comfort to the customer, a guarantee that the place sticks to the beloved, never-changing recipes of the Neapolitan tradition. This promise certainly doesn’t apply to Antica Pasticceria Lauri. Lard, one of the staple ingredients of Neapolitan patisserie, is banned here. And, although it seems impossible to imagine a babà, the local mushroom-shaped sponge cake, not soaked in the rum that defines its very essence…well, here, that’s exactly how it’s made.

Spring in Naples is the sweetest season. As in many Italian and Mediterranean cities, the sunlight is gentle and temperatures are mild, which makes walking the ups and downs of the hilly city more enjoyable. And, should the blue of the sky be shaded by the clouds, the white-and-blue celebratory flags which anticipate the long-awaited local soccer team’s victory at the national soccer championship – defeating the Neapolitans’ famous superstition – restore the appropriate shade at every corner of the city. If it’s still too early – for most of people, at least – to take a swim in the gulf or cruise it on a kayak, this is the perfect time to explore Naples on foot, discovering its unexpected green soul.

Luca Affatato opens the unmarked single shutter on via Battistello Caracciolo – a charmless street linking the Avvocata and Arenella hill boroughs, at a few steps from the Salvator Rosa Metro Art Station – most days at 7 p.m. If he doesn’t, it’s for two possible reasons: either he’s busy at a popup event at some other Neapolitan venue, or he has run out of his one-and-only dish – Asian-style dumplings – and needs time to make new ones. In any case, he warns his faithful patrons on Bop Dumpling’s Instagram feed, which is pretty much the only way to be updated about opening times, menus, events and a bit of Affatato’s private life, unless you have his mobile number – which many customers do.

Like the Proustian madeleine, sweets can stir up all kinds of feelings in the minds of those who eat them. In Naples, struffoli (small, round doughnuts glazed with honey) and cassata (sponge cake with ricotta and candied fruit) speak of Christmas, while chiacchiere (sugar-dusted fritters) and sanguinaccio (literally “blood pudding,” but actually made of chocolate) bring to mind Carnevale. And then there’s pastiera, whose very scent and taste make us think of Easter and spring. These days, pastiera can be made all year long, not only when the wheat has just sprouted, as was the case for our ancestors. Yet, when Easter approaches, all Neapolitans dream of this tart.

Long before Halloween – nowadays a popular event marked by pumpkins and costumes here in Italy, too – arrived in Naples, we had Carnival. A mix of pagan and religious festivity, celebrated with exuberance and (mainly culinary) excess before Lent, it culminates with Mardi Gras, the Tuesday in February which falls six weeks before Easter. In Naples, Carnival used to imply embarrassing homemade costumes and the desperate effort to escape egg throwing in the streets on the way home from school – as well as much more pleasant rites, including the food-related ones. Which, luckily, still endure. The widespread Italian habit of frying food for Carnival here takes the irregular, indented shape of chiacchiere – thin, crunchy fritters sprinkled with powdered sugar, which are also common in other regions of Italy but with different names – traditionally served with sanguinaccio, a decadent chocolate sauce originally made with pork’s blood, to honor the animal’s sacrifice.

We are inside the renovated Galleria Principe di Napoli, right between the National Archaeological Museum and the Academy of Fine Arts. Tables line a corner of the gallery’s beautiful interior, and the art-deco ceiling arches above us– to sit at Lazzarelle Bistrot is a real pleasure, for the eyes and the stomach. But this cafe is more than a pretty little gem in the newly renovated galleria. It is a project long in the making for the Lazzarelle cooperative, which has been promoting the social and economic inclusion of women inmates and working to reduce recidivism for about a decade. In Naples, a lazzarella defines herself as a restless, lively girl, while others may use the definition “little rascal."

Giovedì mezza giornata: “Half day on Thursday.” The writing in bold yellow and red on the closed shutter of the shop is not only a way to inform customers of the working schedule. It’s something more: an ode to the good old days when all grocery stores in Naples observed the half-day shift to enjoy a midweek break, a statement of respect towards unwritten “holy rules” and choosing personal time and human relationships over business. Sticking to old ways is what makes Salumeria Malinconico a special place. Yet nothing is dusty here; nor gloomy, despite the literal meaning of the family surname displayed on the sign, which translates to “melancholic.”

Despite the difficulties of the Covid-19 lockdowns, the pandemic now feels far away (even if it sometimes tries to raise its head). After months of empty streets, Naples is so full of tourists these days that some areas are nearly impossible to walk through. Hotels and B&Bs are full and restaurants and bars are doing booming business, with visitors and locals alike. But off the beaten track, we still managed to find little corners of peace and gastronomic pleasure this past year. Reuniting with old friends this summer at Spiedo d’Oro, a hole-in-the-wall eatery steps away from busy Pignasecca market, reminded us of just how glad we were to see the streets and little spots like this busy again.

On Sunday around lunchtime, the streets of Sanita can get almost eerily quiet. Where normally children play, scooters zoom past, shopkeepers haggle loudly with old ladies, and neighbors stick their heads out of their windows and discuss the latest gossip, suddenly nobody is to be seen or even heard. Sanita is still a very traditional working-class neighborhood in the heart of Naples, and tradition has it that on Sunday afternoon everybody feasts: The whole family gathers around mama’s table for an hours-long lunch. If you happen to wander Sanita’s deserted streets at that time of the week, you’ll constantly catch whiffs of familiar smells: frying garlic, roasting onions, and meat simmered in sauce for many hours. And, more and more often, the tempting, spice-scented smell of curry.

Il Grottino (meaning “The Little Cave”) is a small wine bar located in an area of Naples still not explored by many tourists. Despite being situated in the heart of the old town, the upper Decumani area is off the beaten track and feels like a small oasis (hopefully for a long time to come). Here, we are just a few meters from the Naples Cathedral, and after feasting our eyes on its baroque beauty, Il Grottino is the perfect place to rest and enjoy a glass of wine and a bite. Il Grottino was born in 1980 thanks to Antonio De Luca 64, and his wife Maria, 61. When he was 10 years old, Antonio, the son of a carpenter, started working as a shop boy in a local delicatessen.

The seaside district of Chiaia, perhaps best known for Via Caracciolo, a boulevard with sweeping views of the Bay of Naples, is the most elegant neighborhood in Naples. Long the seat of the Neapolitan aristocracy, the area is studded with Art Nouveau palaces, elegant boutiques, and Villa Pignatelli, a house museum with an impressive art collection. But our favorite corner of the neighborhood is Piazzetta Ascensione, a quiet little square at the top of Via Ascensione (the Latin phrase nomen omen, “the name [is] a sign,” applies here, so be ready for a climb). It’s so dear to us in part because there’s a small, charming restaurant just off the square, one with a very distinctive name: Cap’alice.