Those crazy Italians.
Gotta love ’em.
Always running around singing songs you don’t recognize. Smiling loudly. Coming out of nowhere and opening Neapolitan pie joints like heavily accented ninjas.
And sometimes they do all of the above at the same time...
Meet Enrico Liberato, the fun-loving, dough-slinging pizzaiolo at Fuoco di Napoli, your new hideaway for piping-hot Caprese pies and BYO bottle popping, now open in Buckhead.
This is one of those don’t-overthink-it places. You’re showing up for pizza. The kind that guys with names like Enrico Liberato make (he’s an Antico alum)—thin, doughy, perfect amount of char.
Grab some friends and a few bottles of red, and stop in before you go out into the world and do whatever it is you do at night. You’ll notice a few things. Just a few, though. Like a floor, a ceiling, some heavily lacquered wooden tables and an open kitchen with a huge wood-burning oven.
Order at the counter, take one of those number-on-a-stick things to your table (go for the semiprivate communal one back and to the left) and crack your first bottle. You’ll hear loud music. Maybe some singing. That’s just Enrico firing himself up before he starts churning out your Pizza del Re with San Marzano tomatoes, bufala mozzarella, ham and artichokes.
We assume he’s listening to “Eye of Le Tigre.”
Gotta love ’em.
Always running around singing songs you don’t recognize. Smiling loudly. Coming out of nowhere and opening Neapolitan pie joints like heavily accented ninjas.
And sometimes they do all of the above at the same time...
Meet Enrico Liberato, the fun-loving, dough-slinging pizzaiolo at Fuoco di Napoli, your new hideaway for piping-hot Caprese pies and BYO bottle popping, now open in Buckhead.
This is one of those don’t-overthink-it places. You’re showing up for pizza. The kind that guys with names like Enrico Liberato make (he’s an Antico alum)—thin, doughy, perfect amount of char.
Grab some friends and a few bottles of red, and stop in before you go out into the world and do whatever it is you do at night. You’ll notice a few things. Just a few, though. Like a floor, a ceiling, some heavily lacquered wooden tables and an open kitchen with a huge wood-burning oven.
Order at the counter, take one of those number-on-a-stick things to your table (go for the semiprivate communal one back and to the left) and crack your first bottle. You’ll hear loud music. Maybe some singing. That’s just Enrico firing himself up before he starts churning out your Pizza del Re with San Marzano tomatoes, bufala mozzarella, ham and artichokes.
We assume he’s listening to “Eye of Le Tigre.”
