I have discovered that I live near the birthplace of Hawaiian pizza, and that’s not the weirdest thought I’ve had lately.
Way back in 1962, Sam Panopopoulos was in his restaurant in Chatham, Ontario, experimenting with unusual toppings. Sam popped some pineapple on a pizza and a legend was born. He spent 45 years selling it, and is still around to tell the tale.
Often paired with ham or bacon – and, as any fool knows, bacon makes all food better – the fruity topping is reviled by some and loved by others.
But its moment in the spotlight came last week when Guoni Johannesson, the President of Iceland (the country; not the shop), was speaking to high school students and expressed a desire to ban pineapple on pizza.
He was joking, and later retracted the statement, saying: “I do not have the power to make laws which forbid people to put pineapple on their pizza. I am glad that I do not hold such power. Presidents should not have unlimited power.”
There’s wisdom for our times.
Because this was a bizarre situation, it did of course go viral. Even the prime minister of Canada, Justin Trudeau, felt the need to comment: “I stand behind this delicious Southwestern Ontario creation.”
This made me want a pineapple pizza.
Foodstuffs that divide opinion are not rare. Although I’ve never had Marmite, I understand the problem.
Maybe you really like a thing and you want everyone else to like it, too, but your enthusiasm puts them off. Maybe there’s just something gross about something great, like liver, haggis or tripe. Mmmm…
All of this took me on a route to an unlikely place, and filled me with a desire to eat that most divisive of divisive foods: potted hough.
It’s not for the squeamish, but discerning readers will know about the bone-boiling and fat-skimming process that creates this splendid meaty spread.
Best served cold, by a smirking grandmother who won’t tell you what it is until you try it, hough is, in my opinion, one of mankind’s greatest inventions.
Now all we need is to put it on a pizza.
With pineapple.
