🍍 Pineapple Doesn't Belong On Pizza! 🍕
Look, I've been making pizza for a long time, and I've tried it all. I’ve put things on a pie that would make your grandmother faint. I'm an artist of the pie, a culinary maverick. This isn't about being a purist. It's about pineapple being a special kind of awful. I've seen toppings come and go—some brilliant, some questionable—but nothing, nothing, has stirred such a rage in my soul as the presence of pineapple. It’s an affront to everything that is good and holy in the world of food. This isn't a fruit salad; it's a pizza. A perfect, harmonious combination of crust, sauce, and cheese, an edible monument to simplicity and flavor. The moment you introduce that tropical, syrupy intruder, you're not just adding a topping—you're committing a culinary betrayal of the highest order.
The entire pie weeps when you put pineapple on it. The delicate balance of salty cheese, savory tomato, and the subtle char of the crust is shattered by an explosion of cloying sweetness and a puddle of fruit juice. It's an act of pure chaos on a canvas of order. When I hear someone ask for "Hawaiian," I feel a sharp pain in my heart, a ghost of a thousand grandmothers weeping for the pizza they once knew.
Why Pineapple is a Pizza Peril:
The Moisture Problem:
Pineapple releases a watery juice that turns the beautiful, crisp crust into a soggy, shameful mess.
A Geographic Misunderstanding:
Pizza is an art form from Naples, Italy. Pineapple pizza isn't even from Hawaii—it’s from Canada. What's next, a poutine pie? (Actually, that doesn’t sound half bad.)
The Flavor Assault:
Its aggressive sweetness overpowers every other ingredient, silencing the subtle notes of oregano and the beautiful acidity of the tomato.
The Internal Meltdown:
Both tomatoes and pineapple are highly acidic. You’re not eating dinner, you're conducting a science experiment in your gut. We don't need that kind of liability.
The Ghost of Pineapple:
The taste never leaves. Even if you pick it off, the ghost of that sweet, sticky flavor haunts every subsequent bite. It’s a permanent stain on your pizza soul.
The Horticultural Insult:
A pineapple takes two years to grow. Two years! Just for you to boil it on top of a masterpiece. That’s a long time for a fruit to prepare for its own demise.
Scientific Treachery:
Experts say pineapple is technically a berry. Who puts berries on pizza? The only people who do are the same kind of people who think milk with steak is a good idea.
It’s a Sticky Situation:
When pineapple juice caramelizes in the oven, it creates a sticky residue that is an absolute nightmare to clean.
Fruit Flies, Bytheway:
It's a sweet fruit, and you're baking it. You're just asking for trouble.
So let’s be clear. A slice of pizza is a promise. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. Pineapple is a lie. It's a betrayal of that promise, a cheap joke told at the expense of perfection. When you want a slice, you come to me. I’ll make you a pie with any other combination you can dream up. But if you want pineapple, you better go somewhere else. Because my oven, and my heart, have no room for such foolishness.
