M'ama Napoli in Winter Park brings the finest from Italy's South to South Orlando Avenue

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Photo by Rob Bartlett

Previous trips to Tina's Master Tailors on South Orlando Avenue amounted to a perfunctory drop-off of pants in need of the odd hemming or, especially of late, waists in need of being let out by an inch. Maybe two. That there now exists a Neapolitan bakery and deli next door to Tina's serving a waist-inflating array of pastries, pizzas, sandwiches and delectables seems to indicate love handles in the vicinity are poised to receive a little more love. Or a lot, in my case. It's a reality I succumbed to after popping into M'ama Napoli for a quick espresso.

"Do you like pistachios?" said the woman behind the counter. Her gorgeous lilt is precisely why I love speaking English with an Italian accent — you know, for the fun of it. But the "Yes, very maaach!" that came out my bombolone hole sounded more Borat than Benigni, so I quietly took a seat at the counter and awaited my coffee.

What arrived, however, was no ordinary pistachio espresso ($4.95). It was a sculpted work of coffee art: a demitasse lined with crushed pistachios filled with Kimbo espresso and layered, drizzled and foamed with pistachio cream. Seems like it was made more for camera clicks than for coffee purists, but it sure as hell was pretty. The artiste is Reina Gutierrez, a polyglot barista who also provides translation services when M'ama Napoli's owners — Lilly Solla and Luigi Diana — find themselves fumbling for words in English.

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Photo by Rob Bartlett

But Solla is quite clear when offering suggestions, like the "Sofia" ($13.95). Named after actress and proud Neapolitan Sophia Loren, this sandwich is the femme fatale of focaccia. The fillings, many of them imported — mortadella, burrata, basil, chopped pistachios and pistachio pesto — excite. Just as seductive is the airy bread, baked by Luigi himself. The man is a dough maestro who ran a similar operation in Naples, Italy called Caffetteria Diana.

And those in line at M'ama Napoli can't help but be mesmerized by a display case spotlighting cornetti, sfogliatelle, rum babà, cannoli, bombolone and more. There are panini in there as well, like the porchetta-and-grilled-eggplant–stuffed "Vesuvio" ($12.95). The smoke in the sandwich, in case you're wondering, comes courtesy of the provolone.

The pal and I couldn't stop gushing over it during an epic lunchtime feast the following day — a day of indulgence, a day of surfeit and a day that will live in double-chinfamy. After polishing off the handheld, the "Totò" focaccia ($13.95), named in honor of the great Neapolitan comedic actor, was next. And while it may not have been as memorable as Totò's performance in Pasolini's The Hawks and the Sparrows, the sandwich stuffed with prosciutto, mozz, shaved parm, tomatoes and arugula was noteworthy nevertheless. An all-veg "Caruso" focaccia ($13.95) introduced artichokes to the quartet of grilled eggplant, provolone, tomatoes and arugula, and the notes they hit roused.

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Photo by Rob Bartlett

Of course there was pizza. Not of the traditional Neapolitan variety we've come to know and love, but a more rustic version with a heftier base. "Neapolitan-style pizzas are made by trained pizzaiolos in proper wood ovens," said Solla. "These are pizzas we bake at home." No question, the pomodoro ($12.95) comprised all the homey feels. Rest assured, it was no rotten tomato.

But now, our seemingly limitless appetites appeared to enter a realm of absurdity: La Grande Bouffe meets La Dolce Vita. The scene opened with a plain croissant ($4.95), ordered for structural inspection purposes only, and closed, naturally, with the sweetest of endings. That croissant, by the way, passed muster, but a croissant stuffed with strawberries and cream ($5.95) triggered our collective pleasure reflexes. It also had me longing for maritozzi, those poofy, cream-stuffed balls of brioche commonly found in Rome.

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Photo by Rob Bartlett

So good thing we ordered a bombolone — specifically, the fried donut with apricot filling ($5.95). And good thing we also ordered a sfogliatelle ($3.45), because these flaky, orange-scented wonders sell out fast. Belts, somewhat inevitably, had to be loosened, but that didn't stop us from downing delizia al limone ($7.95), Amalfi's most famous dessert, with diabetic abandon.

This was the day of the expanding man and, luckily for us, Tina's Master Tailors was open.