Naples in a bowl: clams steamed open in their own briny liquor, married to garlic, white wine, and chili, then tossed with linguine until the starchy water and clam juice emulsify into a sauce that tastes purely of the sea. No cream, no cheese — the clams are the whole point.
The purge is what separates restaurant vongole from a gritty disappointment. Fresh clams are alive and full of sand; thirty minutes in cold salted water lets them filter it out. Always lift them from the water rather than draining, so the grit stays at the bottom of the bowl. And tap any that are open before cooking — a live clam snaps shut, a dead one stays open and should go in the bin.
Resist the urge to add cheese. In Italy, seafood pasta is served without parmesan for a reason: it muddies the clean, briny taste of the clams. The only dairy this dish wants is none. If the sauce looks thin, it's not finished — keep tossing over heat with a splash of pasta water until it turns silky and clings.