I’m sipping grappa on a busy Sunday afternoon at my cousin’s apartment in Naples, Italy and the kitchen is full of the energy of people who just drank a ton of espresso. We’re talking about New York, and I’m pleading with them to visit.
Most of them have only seen New York City in the movies, so I’m assuming I’m really gonna school them on the ins and outs of Big Apple living. In the moment, I’m playing the role of Cool Cousin from America (at least I’m cool somewhere).
Then I hear it: “Oh, do you know that restaurant Ribalta,” one asks me, seemingly pulling a name from nowhere. “It’s Neapolitan.”
Maybe there's a translation problem, because I don’t know that place. Ri-what? Then again, are they actually shouting out the name of a restaurant in New York that I never heard of? This can’t be. I’ve been living in New York for years and have the chronic agita from paying sky-high rents to prove it.
Then they start name-dropping people they know who have dined there; a cousin’s husband knows the owners; a friend of a friend goes. I have them spell out the name for me, and sure enough, there it is on my Google Maps, right near Union Square in the beating heart of Manhattan. I thank them for the recommendation in my own home city and make a solemn oath that I'll be visiting as soon as possible.
Knowing what I know now about Ribalta, it wasn’t a surprise that my cousins knew this place from 4,000 miles away. Not only is it the de-facto Neapolitan headquarters in New York City (essentially a culinary embassy), their food tastes straight out of Napoli. Walk in the back and you’ll see their pizza oven, with stacks of wood nearby patiently waiting to sacrifice itself for a nice Margherita. Much like life back in the home city, the energy is chaotic with the staff running around and a loud mix of languages, both Italian and English. Look behind the marble bar and you’ll see they specialize in Peroni, Campari, and Aperol Spritzes. And the bartender? She’s wearing high heels.
The first time I went to Ribalta was on my birthday; we ordered grappa (naturally) and Panna Cotta. Out it came topped with a candle, a cute little sprig of mint and a circle of strawberries, blueberries and raspberries, all snowed on with powdered sugar. The last time I was in Naples I had a Genovese sauce, so I’ve also ordered Ribalta’s Paccheri alla Genovese, and if I closed my eyes, I would expect to hear motorbikes speeding down cobblestone streets outside.
Ribalts has an extensive variety of pizza toppings, some you usually only see in Italy: hot dogs, potatoes, fries, speck, and shrimp among them. It’s not a stoner’s fever dream; it’s the eclectic taste of native Italians.
The operation is run by Rossario Procino and chef Pasquale Cozzolino, the latter of whom, legend has it, was taught his trade by the great grandnephew of the man who created the Margherita pizza itself. That has to count for something. As for Rossario, I got to know him while feasting at his other restaurant, the Neapolitan seafood-focused Amo, and he told me he’s more popular in Italy than in America, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
The upside to Rossario’s inverse popularity is that Neapolitans who come to New York often wind up at Ribalta. “After a while they want the food from home,” Rossario told me. The fact they have regular dance parties (on Fridays) and are the best place in New York to watch Napoli fútbol games doesn’t hurt either. `
While Naples is ever threatened by Mount Vesuvius, Ribalta had its own disaster last month in the form of a fire that left the storefront shuttered for weeks while putting 50 people out of work. To derail a place so special, when it’s already difficult to run a restaurant anywhere, is something to really pinch your fingers and shake them, Italiano-style. In the meantime, they set up a GoFundMe to help out until they are up and running again.
The problem is, the more I talk about Ribalta, the hungrier I get. So, before I make my next sojourn, I’d like to thank my cousins for their recommendation. I’ll be sure to ask them for more New York tips the next time we speak...
