Five Rules For Good Pizza

Pizza has no equal.

It’s a food haiku.
Simple, distilled. It's just bread,
sauce and cheese. Pizza.

Yeah, you just read a haiku explaining how pizza is like a haiku.

Meta /ˈmɛtə/: Seeing a thing from a higher perspective instead of from within the thing. Like being self-aware.

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RULE ONE

Pizza should be as close to cartoon as possible.

Drooping and dripping. Tangy and stringy. Bright, obvious and unrefined.

You should have the very real fear that a Ninja Turtle might pop up out of a drain and snatch it from your hand.

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RULE TWO

When people tell you that Italy make the best pizza, they’re lying to you.

I’ve been to Rome, Milan, Florence, Capri, Positano and Naples and I can say with some certainty, that Italy doesn’t make the best pizza.

Italians make the best pizza.

That’s the Italians in New York City, more specifically.

So, wherever you are in the world, if you want a good pizza and you don’t know where to go, look for the New York pizzeria.

I’m not saying it’s gonna be the best dining experience of your life...

But I am saying you’re more likely to get a decent slice there then at some place called ‘Pasta, Pizza and Friends’.

Which leads us to;

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RULE THREE

The warmer the lighting, the bigger the menu and the more polite the staff… the worse that pizza is gonna be.

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RULE FOUR

Hygiene is but a mild inconvenience in a proper pizza shop.

Don’t worry about it. That oven is coasting around 350˚C, it’s killing everything in there except the flavour.

Pizza has to be cooked in a greasy apron.

Your cook should be putting your pizza in the oven with one hand, texting his loan shark back with the other, and tonguing the nub of a dead cigarette out the corner of his mouth.

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RULE FIVE

If you’re eating pizza with a knife and fork, you’re a criminal.

Not a ‘gentleman thief, sneaking into a museum at night and stealing a prized diamond,’ sort of criminal.

You’re more like somebody who has been caught rubbing a cat’s special place in a car park outside Sports Direct.

It comes in slices for a reason.

How many foods do you know come with their own edible shelf?

The Pasty, The Pie and the Pizza. That’s it.

So do yourself a favour and use it.

I don’t care if you’re sitting opposite the Queen. Just pick it up. Pinch it. Fold it. Slap that bastard right there onto your licker.

Eating pizza is the oral sex of food.

Loud, messy and best enjoyed without any regard for how you look whilst doing it.

And to you, so-called restaurants who think delivering pizza to my table garnished with a pizza cutter is an okay thing to do… it’s not.

Stop it.

You’re gonna make me do manual labour in order to eat the thing I just paid you to cook for me?

There’s a special circle in hell reserved for restaurateurs who think this is a good idea.

It’s right next to the place where all the white people go who never learn how to use chopsticks.