After reading Mudede’s rant against pineapple pizza, I can’t stop thinking about pineapple pizza.

Maybe it’s because I’m gluten-free and don’t eat much pizza anymore, and maybe it’s because of this fact that, after feeling pretty indifferent towards pizza before becoming GF, then becoming obsessed with it because I couldn’t eat it anymore, I want all pizzas. Like, every time I see someone walking down Broadway with a Domino’s Pizza box, and that bready aroma goes wafting by, my mouth waters. And I was never a fan! Never! If I had to eat corporate pizza, the Hut was always my go-to. Then Westshore Pizza, which you guys don’t have here (it’s a chain in Tampa Bay).

So, I guess it has something to do with the GF factor. But… I didn’t hate pineapple pizza before I stopped eating pizza. In fact, there was a brief period in my high school years that I loooved it. I was all, put that Hawaiian pizza in my mouth please, now.

It’s weird they call it Hawaiian pizza—and kind of culturally fucked up, because apparently, it was conceived in Canada, with credit for that particular pizza flavor profile claimed by Greek-Canadian Sam Panopoulos, who says he did it first, in 1962 at his restaurant, Satellite in Chatham, as inspired by the mix of savory and sweet flavors in Chinese dishes and his experience eating pizza, which amounted to liking the pie he tried during a brief stop in Naples while emigrating by boat from Greece to Canada in the mid-1950s. So I guess you can’t blame him.

But also, I’ve always thought the best thing about pizza was that you can put whatever the fuck you want on it. I mean, when I was eating it, which wasn’t all the time (because as mentioned earlier, I wasn’t pizza’s No. 1 fan until it became my colon's No. 1 enemy), I didn’t even have toppings on it. I was a plain cheese all the way kind of girl, as toppings got in the way of all that cheese and bread that was torturing my insides.

The addition of pineapple to the traditional mix of tomato sauce and cheese—sometimes with added saltiness via ham or bacon—really isn’t that novel or that big of a deal. So, why get so up in arms about it? Enjoy your pizza how you want, and fuck all those people who rag on you for it. (Sorry Mudede.)