How to Eat A Pizza

How to Eat A Pizza

1. Acknowledge the pizza as your own

There are some people with the natural inclination to share, to help their fellow humans, to play their self-appointed role in making the world a better place. These are the real-life heroes we all admire, the selfless souls who inadvertently guilt trip us for not being better human beings. I point these people out because even these people, the very best of people, not a single one of them legitimately enjoys sharing a pizza, and you should make any effort to avoid it entirely.

2. If you’re forced to share, keep up.


square/party style cut (left), classic/wedge style cut (right)

If you find that you must share, I have one simple but very, very crucial rule: do the math before you begin eating. In fact, I’ll do it for you:

1 person = 8 pieces
2 people = 4 pieces
3 people = pick the person you like least, then 3 pieces/2 people, 2 pieces/1 person
4 people = 2 pieces 
*this is assuming you get a large pizza (duh), and get it cut wedge style rather than “party style”

However many people you are sharing with, keep this in mind: when consuming pizza, the world tends to stop in its place. Everything important, for the few moments we have when eating, seems to entirely concern the pizza that is in front of you.

Don’t make the mistake of losing yourself in this moment.

Watch the people surrounding you that call themselves your “friends” or “family.” Watch them gobble up their slices with the carelessness of mere neanderthals. Before you know it, you will have lost count of how many slices you’ve had. So will they. Match their pace. Match them slice for slice. If you have to, take all of your designated pizza at once. Stack those slices like you’re a goddamn pizza architect, because it’s in this way that you avoid confrontation and eventual bloodshed, and are able to eat your allotted amount of pizza, as you very well should.

3. Eat your crust. 

When I was little and my mom would cook stir fry, I’d often leave out the red peppers, and sometimes the pea pods, too. When I order a salad at Wendy’s, I take out the grape tomatoes. If I buy a bag of trail mix from the gas station before a long commute, I leave all the raisins in the bag.

But stir fry and pre-made salads and eighty-nine cent trail mix are not pizza, and the wastefulness you might normally feel guiltless about is something you should be very ashamed of when it comes to pizza. Do not discard pizza crust as if it were not the handhold, the foundation, truly the very backbone of the pizza itself. Leave it for last, sure, but do not dare feel entitled enough to throw it carelessly into the trash.

4. Cutlery is forbidden. 

I am not typing this as an innocent woman. On vacations or in cities where I was surrounded by people who knew nothing about the person I truly am, I freely and unthinkingly ate pizza with not just a fork, but a knife as well. The cheese was too hot, or maybe the sauce too abundant. Regardless, I picked up my fork, cut a slice through my pizza and now know what it’s like to butcher something that was once pure.

But by experiencing that dark side of humanity, I was able to rethink my life, and find the right pizza path.

And the truth is that a cutlery-free pizza is the correct kind of pizza. The westernized idea of table manners revolves around using tools to devour our food, but the truth is that pizza does not demand that sort of formality. Put the forks aside. Cradle that slice with the tenderness of something beautiful, something worth cherishing, something that is altogether sacred.