Popped into Trader Joe’s yesterday to pick up a few things.  I always head straight to the back corner to fortify myself with the tiny cups of coffee they give away and sample whatever the free sample of the day is.  At first I thought the offering was some sort of pie. No, it was a meatball pizza covered in barbecue sauce.  It was tasty, but  barbecue sauce does not belong on a pizza.  

If it isn’t something that an Italian housewife might have as a leftover in her kitchen, it does not belong on pizza.  Not pineapple and ham.  Not curried lamb.  Not hamburger meat in taco seasoning.  Not General Tso’s chicken.  Not sushi. Legend has it that pizza originated as something the Italian housewife offered up on the day she was too busy baking bread to cook dinner.  She just presented leftovers on a flattened piece of dough and cooked it in an incredibly hot oven.  I had pizza in Naples once where it supposedly originated.  A little olive oil.  A little cheese.  Into a huge oven in the wall that was wood heated to about 500 degrees celsius for about five minutes.  To die for.  No confusion.