A Declaration Against Culinary Barbarism
Pizza is not a canvas for chaos. Pizza is not a dumping ground for indecision. Pizza is not a warm plate for everything you found in the fridge.
Pizza is a discipline.
And it has been violated.
Around the world pizza has been stretched, buried, sweetened, drowned, and confused with something else entirely. Pineapple, barbecue sauce, chicken, cream, prawns, ranch dressing, “meat lovers”, “supreme”, “whatever the fuck this is”.
This is not evolution. This is degeneration.
Modern pizza culture worships choice.
“Put whatever you like on it.”
“As long as it tastes good to you.”
This thinking is how civilisation collapses.
Pizza was never about freedom without limits. It is about harmony.
Dough.
Tomato.
Cheese.
One or two ingredients that belong.
When everything is allowed, nothing is respected.
Stacking toppings is not creativity. It is fear.
Fear of restraint. Fear of simplicity. Fear that one good ingredient is not enough.
A pizza with six toppings is not rich. It is confused.
Each ingredient should be audible, not lost in a crowd.
If you need twelve ingredients to make something taste good, the problem is not the pizza. It’s you.
This is not a war on pineapple. It is a war on context blindness.
Pineapple has a place in the world. Pizza is not it.
Sweetness does not belong on pizza because pizza is not dessert, not a cocktail, not a theme park ride.
When you put pineapple on pizza, you are not being rebellious. You are admitting you do not understand what pizza is.
“BBQ Chicken Pizza.”
“Cheeseburger Pizza.”
“Carbonara Pizza.”
These are not pizzas. These are identity crises in dough form.
If it is already a dish, it does not need to become a pizza.
Pizza is not a format. It is a food with its own logic.
Turning every meal into a pizza is like turning every song into a remix. Loud. Lazy. Forgettable.
This is not about nationalism. This is not about gatekeeping. This is about standards.
You would not put soy sauce in a cappuccino and call it “innovation”. You would not add glitter to a novel and call it literature.
Some things are good because they are finished, not because they are flexible.
Pizza was finished centuries ago.
If your base is thick, dry, floppy, or tastes like cardboard, stop reading.
No topping can save bad dough. No sauce can hide it. No cheese can redeem it.
Pizza begins and ends with dough made by hands that understand time, fermentation, and restraint.
Everything else is decoration.
This manifesto is not a request. It is not a debate. It is not a preference.
It is a line.
Eat whatever you want. Enjoy whatever you like.
But do not call it pizza.
Pizza is simple. And because it is simple, it is fragile.
Every unnecessary topping is an insult. Every confused combination is erosion. Every “anything goes” pizza is a small cultural loss.
Pizza deserves respect.
And if that offends you, you were never eating pizza in the first place.