Like any other reasonable person, the last time I ordered pizza in Binghamton I stared at the consolidation of flaccid greasy crap in front of me and wondered — why? Why would the pizza so readily available from 15 different pizza shops within a mile of my house in Yonkers call in to question the very integrity of whoever anointed this stuff “pizza?” We’ve all heard the explanations: “It’s in the water;” “It’s expertise;” “They use cheaper ingredients,” and a litany of other defenses of “elsewhere” pizza. And like any other savvy, incredulous consumer of our crusty culinary friend, I am inclined to believe tap water is an insufficient explanation.

What I find remarkable is the slew of variables that should offset any differences in the tap water. A perfect one, for instance, is time. One would think whatever diminutive differences exist between southern tier water and downstate water would likely be offset by say, if it were prime pizza making time, or four in the morning. Not so. My friends that attend college at Columbia and NYU often rub it in my face that they get perfect steamy slices of New York pizza at 4 a.m., after a night of partying. Everybody knows the 4 a.m. pizza has been sitting there since 12. It doesn’t seem to matter, the hole-in-the-wall pizza shops in the Village somehow manage to resurrect dead pizza that would be hailed as the greatest thing since two-for-one Tuesdays at B-Mets stadium were it here in Binghamton.

Over Easter break I sought to finally resolve one of the greatest enigmas facing modern man — why can’t anyone outside the New York metro region throw some sauce and cheese on a pile of dough and actually make it work? My first order of business was to remind myself of what good pizza is. I went to Europizza, a fantastic Italian food boutique on Central Avenue in Yonkers. For sake of comparison, I ordered buffalo chicken pizza since people in Binghamton tend to put buffalo chicken sauce or mayo on anything, and I was desensitized to the taste. Of course this slice was huge, crusty, had about four pounds of chicken on it and when folded was able to maintain its highly critical structural integrity for maximum consumption utility. Absolutely delicious.

After I was done savoring every piece, including the crunchy, delightful crust, I approached the master of its creation and asked him why this sort of thing was only available in select locations. This guy was the real deal, from Naples, equipped with all the associated accents and culinary skills. His response: “It’s the water, man. I was in Florida for a few years and you can’t do anything with the dough with that water.”

Huh. Seemingly slammed the door on my theory, but I shot back: “So what, Italy and New York are the only two places with decent pizza-making water?” to which he responded, “Italy gets its water from the Alps.”

So I guess my theory doesn’t hold any water, no pun intended, and we can not blame any controllable factors for variances in pizza across geographic areas. As a school, we should acknowledge the value of good pizza to our community and devise an aqueduct system to pipe in the requisite goods. Perhaps the New York Public Interest Research Group could do something useful and push for the standardization of pizza water throughout the state.

Joseph Galante Eisenberg is a junior economics major, and as soon as he buys a fitted hat, he takes the stickers off and bends the brim to fit the contours of his head … in the name of justice.