Pizza in Our Time

Born in 1889 to a Neapolitan baker named Raffaele Esposito—and some would say perfected at a Cantabrigian restaurant on Winthrop St.—pizza is an unassuming peacemaker with a storied past.

There have been other attempts at formulating an unbeatable weapon for peace. Samuel Colt tried in the 1870s with his Colt 45 “Peacemaker” revolver. U.S. scientists tried during the Cold War, with their LGM-188A “Peacekeeper” intercontinental ballistic missile. And George Clooney and Nicole Kidman tried, and failed miserably, in 1997 with their movie “The Peacemaker.” But Pinocchio’s Pizzeria, the aforementioned Winthrop St. hangout, seems to have perfected the recipe. Or, at least, so hopes the Cowperthwaite Street Project Team.

To make up for the bedrock-shaking noise of the construction in the former parking lot between Dunster and Leverett Houses, the project team offered residents of the three East River Houses free Pinocchio’s pizza on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of last week. We tried lining our windows and floors with the pies before concluding that: 1) pizza is not a good sound insulator; and 2) we were meant to eat it.

The project team may want to invest in a little more image research. Though to them, pizza is an oily olive branch, it doesn’t represent the same thing to everyone. Pizza is a symbol rooted in sorrow and conflict.

East River-ites associate pizza with the smell of tomato sauce and broken scapulae, especially after trying to get their hands on a slice when the project team delivered them to House dining halls. In anticipation of the pizza’s arrival, undergraduates gathered to Lamont Burrito Riot density. When the pizza caravan arrived, it was set upon like Harvard students on Wyclef tickets—on opposite day. As pizza boxes fell empty to the floor, so did injured undergrads (including the several dozen trampled physicists in Leverett). In light of this reaction, we can’t help but wonder whether the pizza sparks more conflict than it solves.