Francesco Martucci, the patron of the world’s best pizzeria, I Masanielli in Caserta, does not go unnoticed: his theatrical presence is striking. A towering figure covered in tattoos – notable is the “Catrina” on his left arm – he moves among the tables, greeting and embracing everyone. His Viking-like appearance contrasts with a refined grace, a welcoming gaze, and a measured sense of humor when needed.
Carmelo Bene – the greatest Italian actor ever – used to claim that femininity has nothing to do with women. In the care Francesco Martucci shows to his diners, there is a feminine, almost maternal, quality to his gestures. He comes to our table just as we are about to taste the second pizza, introduces himself elegantly, welcomes us, and then, in a fraction of a second, notices my father sitting to my right. Speaking in dialect, as though they’ve known each other forever, he asks: “Do you remember the roasted artichokes?”
If I had been Francesco Martucci’s communication consultant, I would have suggested naming the section of the I Masanielli website dedicated to his story and achievements “Martuccilandia” instead of “Martucciland.” He argues, not without reason, that “being a citizen of the world means expressing yourself in the most spoken language.” However, I believe “Martuccilandia” would better convey the idea of a land, a kingdom, even a universe, of which Francesco is the immovable gravitational center. A land seemingly bordered only by the dozens of awards accumulated since 2018, too many to list.
But Martuccilandia admits no boundaries: like the universe, it is constantly expanding.
“In January, we will renovate the dining room because I’m thinking of doing an even better job than we do today. In our mindset, there is always room for improvement. It might sound like a cliché, but at Masanielli, it’s true. Today, we are more mature than ever, fully aware of how to intervene in the key aspects of hospitality and dining.
Masanielli is cutting-edge. Masanielli is rediscovering farmers’ recipes. Masanielli is like the 1960s in music: that’s our concept. Improving, studying, thinking about the sustainability of work with the impact of life. There is so much to do: we will start with renovating the dining room, and there will also be a tasting room, to make Caserta even more famous worldwide.”
Yes, Caserta. A periphery of the empire, from being the Bourbon’s summer residence to a middle-class dormitory of Naples and its province, more likely to appear in grim headlines than on lists of excellence. Yet some heroes – more than one, in truth – still walk its dark streets, bringing bursts of intense light where politics and institutions fail. Art and talent step in. Casertan artists, by birth or adoption, include the Servillo brothers, Toni and Peppe, actor Marco D’Amore, directors Pietro Marcello and Edoardo De Angelis, writers Antonio Pascale, Tony Laudadio, Enrico Ianniello. And pizzaiolo Francesco Martucci.
And still, despite the spotlight these figures shine on Terra di Lavoro, some still claim it’s only “luck” and not hard work or vision. “They’re the ones who complain about potholes but then park in triple rows in front of schools. But luckily, they’re only a small faction,” Francesco says caustically.
The only luck you can have when it comes to I Masanielli in Caserta is managing to get a table without a reservation. On a cold, rainy Wednesday night at 9 p.m., there were about 30 people waiting outside. Having reserved, we entered without delay into a space with dark and golden tones, offering relaxed yet efficient service.
We began with a Saturnia: roasted tomato cream, buffalo mozzarella DOP, black garlic mousse fermented with soy, Caiazzane olive powder, Salina caper powder, crispy onion, Cabras mullet roe, and extra virgin olive oil from the Caiatine Hills. Selected ingredients, with a clear preference for local products.
Then Francesco arrives: “Do you remember the roasted artichokes?” The Artichoke Absolute: fresh artichoke stem cream, smoked provola cheese, fresh artichoke, aged pecorino from Monti Lattari, pepper, garlic, parsley, smoked extra virgin olive oil. The aroma from the pizza immediately transports my 76-year-old father back to a precise moment in his memory: that late December Sunday when, from early morning, street vendors – or mothers and grandmothers in their respective homes – roasted richly seasoned artichokes in small braziers by streets festively lit. The pizza is a memory that becomes present.
Finally, the masterpiece of philology: the Tomato Absolute: roasted cherry tomato cream, piennolo tomato sautéed in pieces, yellow long-storage tomato sautéed, San Marzano tomato DOP mousse, dried piennolo cherry tomato, red datterino tomato wafer, piennolo tomato jam, and extra virgin olive oil. On reflection, it’s a pizza with just one ingredient, but saying so would be absurd. The first ingredient is the cooking process: threefold. Steam at 100°C, oil at 180°C, and oven at 400°C. A perfect balance of crunchiness and softness. Every variation of the tomato is present, in all its preparations – the skin of the red datterino tomato magically transformed into a crispy chip – almost constructing a thesaurus, a dictionary of every tomato that has existed and will exist. The simple yet brilliant intuition of taking the most common ingredient on pizzas worldwide and making it the absolute star.
The beer list is long and varied, but even more intriguing is what could be called a resemanticization of the wine list: no longer the usual taxonomic categories (such as color or origin) but eight new categories reflecting the wine’s essence or purpose: from Refreshing to Dynamic, Reflective to Reassuring, Indulgent to Bold, Timeless to Versatile. Even the dessert menu, though numerically more limited, is worth exploring.
Those who have had the privilege of dining at fine-dining restaurants know that what makes the experience special includes narrative, formality, and ambiance. It’s never just about the food, but also the plate it’s served on, the server’s demeanor, the lighting in the room, the clarity of the menu, and so on. I Masanielli stands out in this way: you’re seated in the world’s best pizzeria, and the only thing that reminds you of it is the pizza you’re eating. To be clear: the place is well-kept and aesthetically coherent; the service, as mentioned, relaxed but efficient; attention to detail is evident everywhere.
All of this matters, much like the background of a beautiful portrait; at the center of the frame, however, is the world’s best pizza: that of Francesco Martucci, man, father, pizzaiolo.
