From Poison Apple To Pizza: Why Chianti Work

A 16th-century tomato (“poma aurea” or golden apple) the so-called poison apple that would eventually become the soul of Italian pizza​

A Fruit Worth Fearing?

In the 1500s, a strange new fruit from the Americas landed on European shores. It was bright, juicy, and utterly scandalous. Aristocrats whispered that this “poison apple” was killing well-heeled diners across Europe (Spoiler: it wasn’t the tomato’s fault – pewter plates leaching lead into acidic tomato juice were the real culprits).

To make matters weirder, the tomato’s family tree included some witchy relatives. Europe was in full witch-hunt mode, and botanists noticed this New World fruit looked like a cousin of deadly nightshade and mandrake – key ingredients in those legendary flying ointments witches supposedly used to terrorize the countryside.

So, the poor tomato arrived in Italy with a serious PR problem: branded both a deadly toxin and an aphrodisiac “love apple” all at once. Talk about a mixed reputation.

Give Tomatoes A Chance

Yet, in true contrarian fashion, a few Italians saw potential in the pomodoro (literally “golden apple”). Renaissance herbalists like Pietro Andrea Mattioli gave it a nod in 1544, noting you could eat the thing like an eggplant, seasoning it with salt, pepper, and oil.

Early tomato varieties were small and yellow – hence golden apple – so people assumed it was some exotic eggplant or a cousin of the mandrake root used in love potions. Cautious Europeans kept tomatoes in the garden as ornamental curiosities for decades.

The Medici family, ever the trend-setters, grew tomatoes as an exotic extravagance around 1548, wowing their guests with this rare New World wonder.

But actually eating tomatoes? That remained the crazy idea of peasants and Spanish ruffians for quite a while.

You Can Cook Them

Slowly, science and stomachs prevailed. By the eighteenth century, Italy’s fearless eaters in the South started cooking with tomatoes in earnest. The Church even got on board, encouraging tomatoes in meatless dishes for Lent (perhaps figuring if God made this “evil” fruit, it must be for a good reason).

In 1773, Neapolitan chef and monk Vincenzo Corrado published a cookbook celebrating tomatoes with meat, fish, and eggs. Imagine the shock and delight as this once-dreaded fruit transformed into a kitchen staple. The tomato had gone from deadly nightshade to Bella Donna of the dinner table in a little over 200 years. Italians, it turned out, were falling in love with the “love apple” after all.

Peasant Flatbread to Global Icon

Before the tomato took its throne, pizza was already alive and well – just in a very different form. Flatbreads have been around since ancient times (soldiers of antiquity used to bake dough on their shields – battle-tested pizza, literally).

In Naples, by the 1700s, the lazzaroni (working poor) were devouring simple flatbreads called pizza long before tomatoes were a topping. These early pizzas were more like garlicky focaccia: dough slathered with lard or olive oil, garlic, herbs, maybe a bit of grated cheese if you were lucky. It was cheap, it was filling, and it was unofficially the food of the people.

The word pizza itself had been kicking around for centuries (a document from 997 CE even records someone paying rent with twelve pizzas – a pie for the landlord, literally) – but it was about to get a whole new identity. Then came the tomato.

Tomatoes On Flatbread

Once the Neapolitans overcame their tomato-phobia, they did the most Italian thing imaginable: put it on bread. Sometime in the late 18th century, an unknown genius in Naples married flatbread with tomato sauce, and the modern pizza was born. The formerly shunned tomato turned out to be the magic ingredient – its tangy acidity and rich umami brought the humble flatbread to life.

By the early 1800s, vendors in Naples were slinging tomato-topped pizzas in the streets, and they had become the caloric mainstay of the city’s poor. Tourists and writers started taking note. Alexandre Dumas (author of The Three Musketeers) visited Naples in the 1830s and observed that the locals basically lived on watermelon in summer and pizza in winter – priorities, Napoli style.

The Birth Of Margherita Pizza

The real turning point for pizza’s fame, however, came wrapped in a bit of royal mythology. In 1889, Queen Margherita of Savoy visited Naples.

Legend has it she was tired of haute cuisine and wanted to eat what the commoners were eating. Enter Raffaele Esposito, a local pizzaiolo, who whipped up a special pie in her honor. He topped it with tomato sauce (red), mozzarella cheese (white), and basil (green) – the colors of the Italian flag – and named it Pizza Margherita after the queen. Her Majesty was reportedly smitten (with the pizza, that is), and with that symbolic blessing, pizza’s reputation was forever elevated.

Historians note Neapolitans had been enjoying mozzarella and tomato on their pizza for decades already, but hey, never let facts get in the way of a good story. The Margherita legend gave pizza an aura of national pride and a story flashy enough to travel the world.

Pizza Takes Over The World

And travel it did. By the early 20th century, pizza migrated with Italian immigrants to New York, Boston, Buenos Aires, and beyond. Gennaro Lombardi opened the first American pizzeria in New York’s Little Italy in 1905 selling pies to factory workers who fueled the Industrial Revolution on mozzarella and tomatoes.

Post World War II, pizza exploded in popularity globally – returning U.S. soldiers craved the Naples street food they had tasted, and enterprising restaurateurs obliged. Pizza went upscale, downscale, and every scale in between: from wood-fired Neapolitan masterpieces to the cheesy Chicago deep-dish (so thick and laden, you might need a forklift and a fork to eat it​ to fast-food delivery in 30 minutes or less.

By the late 20th century, this once-humble peasant flatbread had become a global icon. There’s something beautifully ironic about that – the food of impoverished 18th-century Naples now satisfies late-night college students and graces Michelin-starred menus alike. Pizza conquered the world one slice at a time, and it didn’t do it alone. It had a little help from its saucy partner, the tomato, and as we’ll see next, there’s one more partner-in-crime that elevates the pizza experience from glorious to transcendent: a nice bottle of Chianti.

Chianti – Pizza’s Perfect Partner

Now we arrive at the final act: pairing that celebrated pie with the ultimate wine. You might be thinking, “Pizza and wine? Isn’t that a bit extra for a food born on the streets?” But in Italy, wine and food go together like, well, tomato and basil – naturally and inevitably. And when it comes to pizza, the locals have had a favorite for ages: Chianti, the pride of Tuscany.

This is not some snobbish pairing recommendation; it’s practically culinary law. A sommelier once quipped that a classic Margherita with a traditional Chianti – unoaked, pure Sangiovese – “has bounce and acidity and can complement the basic pizza better than any other wine.”​

In other words, Chianti gets pizza at a fundamental level.

Why Pair Chianti With Pizza?

So what makes Chianti and pizza such a legendary duo? Let’s break it down. Chianti, made primarily from Sangiovese grapes, is a medium-bodied red wine famed for its high acidity, firm tannins, and rustic flavors. If pizza is the street poet of foods, Chianti is the soulful troubadour of wines – tart, earthy, and a little rough around the edges, in the best way. When you sip Chianti with a bite of pizza, magic happens in your mouth:

• Acid High-Five: Tomatoes are acidic (that zing on your tongue from the sauce), and Chianti is famously high in acidity too. Rather than clashing, they high-five each other. The wine’s acidity is like a squeeze of lemon on rich food – it brightens and refreshes your palate after each cheesy bite. Ever notice how a sip of Chianti can make a gooey slice feel less heavy? That’s the acid cutting through the richness, inviting you to take the next bite. A good Chianti stands up to tomato sauce with equal tang, so neither the wine nor the pizza tastes flat. It’s a balanced battle of acids where both sides win.
• Tannin Tango: Chianti’s Sangiovese grape brings moderate but noticeable tannins – those mouth-drying compounds that can make young reds feel a bit like strong tea. Tannins love fat and protein (it’s a chemical attraction thing), and pizza is happy to oblige with its melted cheeses, olive oil, and maybe some cured meats on top. When tannins meet the fat in mozzarella or pepperoni, they bind with the proteins and soften up, losing their harsh edge. In return, they cleanse your palate of the pizza’s grease, prepping you for another mouthful. It’s a dance of contrast: the wine’s astringency scrubs your tongue clean, and the next bite of pizza feels as delightful as the first. Chianti’s tannins are strong enough to do the job but gentle enough not to overwhelm – structure without stridency. Meanwhile, the salt in the pizza (all that savory cheese and maybe anchovies or sausage) actually tames the tannin further and boosts the wine’s fruitiness. The chemistry is pure synergy.
• Flavor Harmony: A great Chianti smells and tastes like Italy in a bottle. We’re talking notes of dried cherry, black plum, sun-baked herbs, a whiff of leather or tobacco, maybe a touch of smoke. Now think of a classic pizza: the sweetness of ripe tomato, the aromatic basil or oregano, the smokiness of a blistered crust, the savory umami of aged cheese and cured meats. It’s like puzzle pieces fitting together. Chianti’s red fruit flavors (cherry, raspberry) mingle with the tomato’s natural sweetness and tang – a fruity echo that ties the wine and food together. Its earthy, herbal undertones complement the green notes of basil and the earthy mushrooms or olives you might have loaded on. That subtle bitterness of Chianti (some call it a hint of espresso or bitter almond) plays against the slight sweetness in tomato sauce, each balancing the other. In short, the savory, spicy, and tangy elements in the pizza find their soulmate in the fruity, acidic, and earthy elements of the wine.

Umami, the mysterious fifth taste.

Pizza is an umami bomb – tomatoes, aged cheese, cured meats, all bursting with glutamates that make our brains scream “Delicious!”. Chianti rises to the occasion here too. Wines with good acidity and moderate tannin, like Chianti, handle umami-rich foods without getting unpleasantly bitter.

The wine’s savory notes (have you ever gotten a hint of soy or broth in a robust red?) can mirror the pizza’s umami. If you’ve ever had that transcendent experience of a bite of pepperoni pizza and a sip of red wine melting together into something greater than the sum of their parts – that’s the umami synergy at work.

The science folks will tell you that umami in food can make wine taste harsher unless there’s enough acid and salt present – luckily, a slice of pizza has plenty of both, and Chianti’s got the acid to keep things brisk. It’s a gastronomic tag team that hits every taste receptor you’ve got and leaves you wanting more.

Let’s put it in less scientific, more passionate terms. Chianti belongs with pizza because they share a heritage of honest, robust flavor. Both were once considered rustic, everyday consumables – the everyday wine of Tuscany meeting the street food of Naples – and when they meet, it’s like two old friends riffing on a classic tune.

Chianti doesn’t try to overpower the pizza; it amplifies it. It’s the background guitarist to Pizza’s lead singer, laying down riffs of acidity and tannin that make the whole performance come alive. No wonder many Italians will tell you a good slice demands a good glass of red. As one wine expert proclaimed, “A traditional Chianti…can complement the basic pizza better than any other wine”. Amen.

The Grand Finale

Picture this: You’re sitting at a checkered table in a dimly lit pizzeria. In front of you, a piping hot Margherita pizza – crust blistered from the wood fire, the mozzarella melting into the bright red sauce, the basil leaves releasing their peppery aroma. You take a bite: the tang of tomato, the cream of cheese, the chew of the dough – simplicity perfected. Now you raise a glass of ruby-red Chianti. You swirl, you sniff – aromas of cherries, dried herbs, a hint of old leather. You sip. The wine’s acidity hits first, a cleansing jolt, making your mouth water for the next bite of pizza. The cherry and plum notes mingle with the tomato, the herbaceous kick resonates with the basil, and the tannins grip just enough to latch onto the cheese and then dissolve. You chase it with another bite of pizza, and darn if that pizza isn’t even more delicious now. This dear reader, is the culinary equivalent of a rock ‘n’ roll duet – two distinctive voices, one hell of a harmony.

In the irreverent spirit of history: the tomato that was once feared and reviled found its destiny on a Neapolitan flatbread, and the wine that was once smuggled in straw-covered flasks to slake peasants’ thirst now elevates that humble dish to something sublime. Chianti and pizza both overcame snobbery and skepticism to earn their place at our tables. Together, they’re an anthem of flavor that spans continents and centuries.

So the next time you bite into a slice, pour yourself a glass of Chianti. Drink to the Aztec farmers who first cultivated the tomato, to the unknown Napolitano who first slung tomato sauce on dough, to Queen Margherita’s adventurous appetite, and to every winemaker in Tuscany crushing Sangiovese under the Tuscan sun. You’re not just having dinner – you’re participating in a grand historical chorus of weird accidents, cultural exchanges, and delicious coincidences. And as that bold, spicy Chianti warmth washes down a mouthful of mozzarella and tangy pomodoro, you might just taste a little bit of history and a whole lot of heaven. Buon appetito!