For those born and raised in the United States of America, there seems to be an expectation when it comes to certain food. Surely, you are un-American if you do not like apple pie, burgers, hot-dogs, and, of course, pizza. I am a vegetarian, so I can easily avoid having to offer an explanation when it comes to declining the cuisine of carnivores typically served at summer barbecues or in ballparks across the nation. I’m not a pie lover, but for some reason people do not see my refusal to dig my fork into a slice of fruit-filled flakiness as troublesome. Pizza, however, is another story. It has become downright socially unacceptable to decline a slice of pizza. I have literally had people stare at me in disbelief or question the validity of my claim that “I don’t care for pizza, thank you very much.” I suppose this is not surprising when you consider that, according to the Mayo Clinic, Americans eat an average of 46 slices of pizza per person each year.

As a child, it was more difficult to avoid pizza. And it came in all shapes and sizes. With two working parents and after school activities that often interfered with a normal dinner routine, there were those dreaded occasions when I was fed frozen rectangular slabs of tomato sauce and curls of cheese, thankfully accompanied by a healthy salad. If I was really lucky, the pizza would be “homemade,” which during the rushed school week meant jarred pizza sauce was plopped onto toasted English muffins, topped with fresh mozzarella, and popped into the oven.

Pizza was always the food of choice at birthday parties, at sleepovers, and at school events. At times it was fairly edible, depending upon the chain from which it was ordered, but often it was a bad excuse for a meal. The problem I have with the pizza from the chain delivery franchises is the fact that the crust is the best part of the pizza in my humble opinion, and these establishments have somehow closed the gap taste and texture-wise between pizza dough and sponges. The slices that you pull out of a delivery box are limp, sometimes even damp.

In addition to the fact that I am not a fan of tomato sauce, the greasiness of pizza is perhaps the biggest turn-off. I have been burdened with a flimsy white, paper plate laden with a piece of pizza so greasy that the oil has soaked through onto my hand. Of course, in addition to the grease, pizza is a sodium nightmare.

I must admit that I have had some slices of pizza which will pass muster. There is a spot in my hometown of Tucson, Arizona that makes their pizza in coal brick ovens, which is supposed to lend a unique flavor and crispiness to the pie, and tops it with handmade mozzarella. While I would not jump at the chance to go there for dinner, if it is my family’s choice, I can stomach a single slice. I’ve also tried their white pizza, which is definitely preferable, assuming the chef does not overload it with garlic.

Pizza is an absolute given in my home, and in many others, when breaking Passover. This holiday forbids the eating of leavened products for a week. No bread, no pasta, no pizza, of course. By the end of Passover, my friends and family are craving pizza so badly that there are lines at pizza establishments far and wide.

In the end, no matter which way you slice it, pizza is not my thing.