Why we shouldn’t hate pineapple as a pizza topping

Tim Carman delves into the world of the much-maligned topping that inspires passion around the globe

Sliced and diced: have we been unfair to the Hawaiian? (Zarin Goldberg)

At some point in the never-ending debate over whether pineapple belongs on pizza, the haters, maybe with tongues pressed against cheek, invoked Godwin’s Law. Yep, they compared those who like the tropical fruit as a topping to Hitler. One said they were worse than Hitler. The comparison would become a common insult, occasionally even flung back at the snobs who turn their nose up at a pineapple-topped pizza.

Many foods have taken their lumps over the years. Avocado toast, cake pops and kale caesar salads come to mind. But nothing has sustained the hate like the Hawaiian pizza, featuring chunks of the divisive fruit. According to recent data from YouGov Omnibus, nearly a quarter of Americans say pineapple is one of their least favourite pizza toppings. Those who live in the northeast or are older than 55 hate pineapple toppings even more. The pizza delivery app Slice conducted a survey in 2017 – the year the Hawaiian pizza debate came to a head with a spat between two heads of state – and 54 per cent of the respondents said pineapple had no place on a pizza.

Celebrities, politicians, chefs and even minimum-wage pizzamakers count themselves as members of this pineapple hate group. Gordon Ramsay, a chef never at a loss for words, once opined: “You don’t put ... pineapple on pizza.” He used a colourful adjective before “pineapple” to emphasise his disdain. The president of Iceland said he would outlaw pineapple on pizza if he could, a statement that made him an instant hero in some circles. A couple of years ago, a University of Arizona undergraduate tried to add pineapple to her barbecue chicken pizza, but it arrived sans fruit, with a note from the campus restaurant: “Couldn’t bring myself to put pineapple on it. That’s gross. Sorry.” A $5 bill was taped to the pizza box.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what’s behind the animosity towards pineapple on pizza. Pineapple itself was number 10 on a list of the most popular fruits purchased in America last year, behind bananas and oranges but ahead of pears, cherries and avocados (!!). It probably goes without saying that none of the top 20 fruits in America is a common pizza topping, though some, such as pears and apples, make an occasional cameo. Jonathan Allen, co-owner of the superb Pizza CS in Rockville, Maryland, told me that he ate Hawaiian pizza as an undiscriminating kid but now frowns on pineapple on any kind of pizza, especially on the Neapolitan rounds served at his restaurant. He doesn’t like the texture. A sign over the counter at Pizza CS reinforces Allen’s stance: “No slices. No pineapple. No ranch.”

“I guess my judgements became more refined,” Allen says via phone, as he vacations in Mexico.

Allen’s take argues that the more you study pizza, the more you understand pineapple has no place in this Neapolitan-influenced world, with its many prickly rules. This may well be true, but in a story last year for the Wall Street Journal, chef-turned-food-writer Arun Gupta noted that the disdain for Hawaiian pizza is just another form of cultural elitism. No surprise, the article noted, Gupta is a fan of Hawaiian pizza.

It’s tempting to argue that Gupta is among a semi-silent majority of Hawaiian pizza fans. There is growing, if flawed, evidence to support this. A Time magazine online poll in 2017 found that nearly 63 per cent of respondents favoured pineapple on pies. A Change.org petition last year to ban pineapple on pizza drew only seven supporters. My own 24-hour Twitter poll found that nearly 60 per cent of respondents said they were fine with pineapple on pizza. There are celebrity endorsements, too: The Rock digs Hawaiian pizza; he says, “pineapple on pizza is MY JAM”. For what it’s worth Justin Bieber loves it too.

The late Sotirios “Sam” Panopoulos was a Greek immigrant widely credited for inventing the Hawaiian pizza in southern Ontario, Canada. According to lore, in 1962, he spread ham and pineapples onto a standard cheese pizza at his restaurant, the Satellite Diner, and then named the pizza for the brand of canned fruit that he used. The Hawaiian was born, followed closely by the controversy it continues to generate. Panopoulos reportedly died not comprehending why his famous creation was so loathed. I sympathise with him. Pork and pineapple can be as graceful together as Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev. No one bats an eye over tacos al pastor, that Lebanese-influenced combination of spit-roasted pork and chunks of pineapple, even though Mexican tacos have a tradition every bit as rich as that of Italian pizza.

Recently, I invited a group of friends and Washington Post employees to join me at We the Pizza on Capitol Hill for a tasting of Hawaiian pizza. I sought a mix of palates: those who love Hawaiian pizza, those who don’t and those, like me, who are basically neutral on the combination. For the tasting, I asked chef Spike Mendelsohn and his team if they would prepare a classic Hawaiian pizza, minus the ginger, lemongrass and honey that they usually put on their interpretation. Mendelsohn agreed without hesitation.

Before we dig into the pies, we bat around theories as to why Hawaiian pizza generates so much hostility. A couple of tasters say it boils down to a basic truth: fruit doesn’t belong on pizza (and, yes, they know tomato is classified as a fruit, though not one nearly as sweet as others). “Culturally, I object to it being called Hawaiian, because the only thing Hawaiian on it would be the pineapple,” says Gene Park, an audience editor for the Post who lived in Hawaii for eight years. Others just don’t like the taste of ham and pineapple together. Martine Powers, host of the Post Reports podcast, compares Hawaiian pizza to an unfortunate incident from her childhood: the flavour combination, she says, tastes like freshly vomited Orange Julius.

“Maybe this is not a nice thing to say,” adds my friend Lou Cantolupo, “but I actually kind of find it trashy.”

(Stacy Zarin Goldberg (Stacy Zarin Goldberg)

But others think hating on Hawaiian pizza is just a safe way to hate, period, maybe even a method to transfer your loathing of another group onto an inanimate foodstuff. Hate as a sign of your tribe. “I think there’s a culture now where we are so disconnected that we are now grouping together by hating things,” says Teddy Amenabar, editor on the Post’s audience engagement team. “I think it’s just a way to hate on other people.”

After all that discussion, a funny thing happens during our tasting. No one actually hates the Hawaiian at We the Pizza, even the self-described haters. “This isn’t as bad as I remember it being,” says Powers, who told me via email that “I HATE Hawaiian pizza”. Tasters point out that Mendelsohn’s approach is the difference: the pineapple is sliced thin and roasted, so that you don’t get a major squirt of sweet and acidic juice. The tomato sauce also isn’t sweet, which can contribute to the sickly, saccharine flavour profile of some Hawaiian pizzas. Mendelsohn’s, in short, has an almost cosmic balance between salty, sweet and savoury elements.

“I was afraid this was going to happen,” says Cantolupo, “but it’s not that bad. I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted to be a real jerk about it. Now I can’t.” With that, everyone erupts in laughter.

So then I pointed out the obvious: it’s not the combination that some of you hate – the pineapple and ham on pizza – but the execution of it. Too many people, it seems, have been burnt by poor versions of the Hawaiian, in which thick chunks of syrupy pineapple are merely dumped onto a cheese pizza with similarly thick-cut ham. There’s general agreement on this statement.

“I’m worried that I’m going to get lulled into a false sense of comfort with pineapple pizza,” Powers says.

Washington Post