Giants or Dodgers? That’s nothing. The rift between red state and blue? Tame by comparison.
No, it you want to stir seething culinary division, just enter into the pineapple on pizza debate. Some are stubbornly opposed to the idea — so much so they form into social media hate cliques, demeaning those in the “kinda like it” crowd.
As manager of Lakeport Pizza, Mason DeHart is keenly aware of the rift. To list pineapple as a topping option is to risk the ire of patrons. Yet the downtown Lakeport parlor offers two specialty pies finished with the controversial fruit.
The second — the Aloha Diablo from Hell — proves the value of pineapple on pizza.
OK, so this particular pie is really about heat. It starts with a diablo sauce, a traditional tomato spread taunted and teased and smacked around by chilis until it simmers with rage.
“It has about five different types of pepper in it,” DeHart explained, ticking off combustible additions including habanero, jalapeno and serrano.
“It’s quite a sauce — and it’s not even super hot,” he added.
The fiery nature of habanero is calmed by an earthy adobo. This smothers roaring chili until just the embers remain, sending warm streaks of smoke through the sauce. Yet the embers are glowing, eager to rekindle. And the sauce is just one of the pie’s nefarious toppings.
Slices of jalapeno tossed over ham and pepperoni stoke the flames back to life, flaring over the earthier adobo. Pepperoni steps in between, with a familiar snap. Flickers of dry chili ignite here and there.
Mellow ham and creamy mozzarella provide a haven, but they only manage to corral the heat. The pizza continues to fume and glare, keen to scorch the palate.
So you welcome the cooling, juicy bursts of pineapple. Not only a respite from the heat, the cubes of fruit work with the ham and cheese to tamp things down with an earthy, biting sweetness — earthy and biting because kitchen staff at Lakeport Pizza decided in a demonic moment to dust the pineapple with Sriracha powder.
Spicy heat and tropical sweetness is a balancing act performed well. Yet containing the chili into a controlled burn is a true skill.
Despite the fiery glare of the sauce, the snarl of jalapeno, the low growl of earthy spice, the heat remains on a leash. It rages until constrained, where it remains — perched on its haunches, but no threat to those beyond its reach.
The Aloha Diablo is not beyond those who tolerate even a modest amount of spice. It may even push their appreciation of food and fire even further.
Owner Al Menchaca created the devilish pie as an everyday take on the ghost chili-fueled pizza promoted during the location’s Cheese’s Pizza days. But that was conceived as more of a dare, to be finished in 30 minutes.
“This is not a challenge pizza,” DeHart explained.
Indeed, it is a composition. The toppings roil on a delicate cracker crust — thin and crisp, with blistered here and there with a bittersweet char. Over the crackling veneer the dough is airy and chewy, yet stern enough to hold up to the brawl between chili and pineapple. And the mellow, malty flavor helps the pizza find its wonderful balance.
“We reworked it,” DeHart said of the sometimes fickle dough recipe. “It’s more of a New York crust.
It’s a pizza that Dodgers fans would share with their Bay Area rivals. It’s a pizza that would bring the most ardent conservatives to the table with their political foes. And for a moment, it might even temp those adamant in their opposition to pineapple as a topping.
OK, for a moment. It probably won’t settle the matter. So, pineapple on pizza remains a divisive issue. No matter — the Aloha Diablo shows that pineapple can take the heat.
“I’m a fan myself,” DeHart admitted. “If you put it with the right saltiness, it works.”
Dave Faries can be reached at 900-2016
