I'm in a group chat called "Dan Loves Pepperoni Pizza"

Got me thinking about our relationship with toppings.

Simple and clean is the way that this pizza makes me feel tonight

What does our preference for toppings say about us? I eat a lot of pizza, and a lot of that pizza is as bare as possible. Minimal cheese, the occasional pepper. I find toppings can interfere with my joy of pizza. Like a meteor creating a divot in the earth, toppings permanently change the landscape.

Pepperoni is probably the most standard topping for a pizza. Some have even argued that if you tell someone you are bringing a pizza to their place it’s assumed it’ll have pepperoni on it. For many Pepperoni is pizza. But I bristle at the notion. Years of defaulting to cups of pepperoni on top of pizza has turned me off of the topping all together. The zest, spice and grease overpowers the pizza, morphing the pizza into something foreign, sloppy, chaotic.

I recognize I’m one of the rare pizza enthusiasts who scorns a pizza with toppings. I’m a pizza minimalist most days. When the lid of a pizza box is unveiled I peer into the abyss looking for the slice or square with the least amount of cheese. Often times the corner slice of a Sicilian pizza has been gleefully neglected from the spread of cheese. The pizza maker starts their cheese journey from the middle and by the time they get to the edge they’re out of cheese. Serendipitous for my liking.

The group chat title, “Dan Loves Pepperoni Pizza”, is actually a dig at me. The idea of someone not enjoying pepperoni pizza is such an insane concept that it breaks brains. But if pizza is a canvas, I use toppings to express myself. And maybe that means I’m a pretty plain, dull person. Or a person that wants to dig into the fundamentals of pizza and really understand the core essence of a pizza before remixing it with black olives, peppers and sausage.

In distance running there is the “central governor theory.” The theory is that our brain is the key to endurance excellence. The central governor analyzes and remains vigilant over what’s happening in the body and will try to shut down the body if the brain thinks it’s in danger. This is the doubt you hear when competing or the desire to quit or wish you were injured so you didn’t have to keep running. It’s supposed to keep you safe and prevent you from going too deep into the well. To succeed and push past your physical boundaries means quieting this central governor.

I’m use to combating that central governor, it’s a huge part of marathon running. But I think there is a similar central governor when it comes to toppings on pizza. It gives me the yuck, or the ick if I see too many toppings. Yet, people like my dad seem to have expertly over ridden their central governor of toppings to create surreal pizza combinations.

One of my father’s infamous pizza. He fears nothing in the kitchen.

Children don’t have a well developed central governor which is why if a kid runs a race they can’t pace themselves. There’s nothing holding them back. And I’m finding this this exists in pizza too. Take Charlie here who recently came up with a “great idea” while eating at Driftwood Oven. Her idea involved covering her pizza in ranch dressing, adding a slippery layer on top of the cheese. The purity of this creation is something only a child could create. What fully developed adult is pouring a cup of ranch on their pizza between episodes of Bluey? No, that’s something we have unfortunately matured out of.

Charlie has a healthy relationship with ranch dressing

I’m coming to terms with my approach to minimal toppings and some days I do try and branch out. But I need a safety of the plain pizza that’s expertly executing the fundamentals, a net to catch me when the exotic pizza knocks me off balance.

I’ve been making my way through Anthony Falco’s book, Pizza Czar, and he talks about his relationship with pepperoni. He was raised as a vegetarian and didn’t have pepperoni until he was 26. His first taste of it came at Adrienne’s Pizzabar in New York City. It was enjoyable, but the more he had the worse it got. He writes, “As I tried more pepperoni, it got worse. The flat stuff lacks texture, is too processed, and has a chemical flavor. Without a nostalgic taste for it, how could it compete with the hot soppressata and other cured meats that I was topping pizza with? I avoided it.”

He goes on to write about how during Hurricane Irene of 2011 his meat supplier runs out of soppressata and he has to settle for their pepperoni. The high quality pepperoni makes a difference and he hops back on the pepperoni train. How much of our topping preference is powered by nostalgia? Do we eat the same toppings we grew up enjoying? And why we stay so close to what our own idea of pizza is?

I’ve enjoyed plain pizza my whole life, but if I were exposed to pepperoni at an earlier age maybe it’d be writing essays on how pizza needs pepperoni to survive. How the crust, cheese and sauce work together as a pepperoni vehicle service. I owe it to the pizza community to reexamine my relationship with pepperoni and find a way to make it work. Perhaps there’s some stellar pepperoni pizza out there I haven’t had. Hit me up with some suggestions in the comments.

Mediterra Slices Rip

Prior to Thanksgiving I was running errands and simply starving. I was picking up a pie from Pie Bird and passed by Mediterra in Lawrenceville. I knew bringing back a couple of slices for my crew would raise morale and provide the energy to tackle hours of family interaction.

These airy, chewy slices were stunning as always. There’s a lot going on at that cafe but don’t forget to grab a few slices while you’re in there.

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Very introspective this week! Hope this was intriguing, looking forward to your insights. If you know someone struggling with topping anxiety share this post.

I want to mention that prior to the group chat being named “Dan Likes Pepperoni Pizza” it was called “Three Innocent Men” after my favorite video of all time.

Pizza ya later!

-Dan Tallarico, Pizza Journalist