While strolling down Corso Italia on our first day in Sorrento, we two, tall, blue-eyed blondes (sticking out like sore thumbs whose tourist status might have only been slightly more apparent had we been sporting matching "I'm With Stupid" t-shirts) received more than one invite into casual street-side restos that weren't really terribly inspiring at first glance. My nose print on the window of one in particular was all it took to dispatch our foodie guide at Master Hosts (who had an infectious enthusiasm for the offerings of this small venue while appreciably refraining from any creepy hard-sale tactics) scrambling to the sidewalk to greet us. Menus were pressed into our hands as we lingered outside the doorway, and I was glad they were.
Sensing my initial hesitation, he offered to show me his big, hot oven. All bets were off after laying eyes on that smokin' hawt wood-burning splendor (which was truly a classic case of love at first sight)...and once it was verified that Prosecco was available, what choice did we have? I mean...this is the kind of oven that makes you want to secure your clothing with safety pins, ladies...it's so unsettling when garments start flying off on their own before the sparkling wine is even poured. UD demonstrated an unusually high level of patience while waiting for his food to be served (albeit, he had a cold beer in his hand and had been sitting there for litte more than five minutes). But...where in the HELL is my pizza, Mr. Oven Tease??
As it happened, my reward was only around eight minutes away...the most perfect, light-and-crispy-crusted pizza that's ever burned the roof of my mouth, simply topped with smoked mozzarella, parma ham and porcini mushrooms. This was truly the epitome of pizza perfection. Master Hosts, I dub you the "Anti-Pizza Hut".
I wish I could've brought you home with us, my new friend, but I had only allowed excess space in my luggage to bring back enough Limoncello to fully stock my underground "End of Days" survival bunker (seriously...how much bottled water and Vienna Sausages could you really subsist on before you totally stopped caring whether you lived or died?).
We did take one more Prosecco break on a waterfront terrace restaurant overlooking the bay of Naples (two bottles of Prosecco a day keeps the doctor away, after all...at least that's what I'm pretty sure the Rosetta Stone interpretation was).
Before we tucked our jet-lagged arses into our cozy sack at Hotel Gardenia in Sorrento, we needed one final sleep aid. I highly recommend the Gelato del Biscotta...but don't ask me where we got it because I couldn't tell you after our little sparkling wine binge). Sweet dreams, everyone!