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But when summer came, business in Lawrence slowed as people headed for the coast.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
So Tripoli followed them.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
On Memorial Day 1945, the Zappalas opened a small, garage-door-style pizza stand at Salisbury Beach. The unusual square slices caught on with the summer crowds and eventually picked up the inevitable name: Beach Pizza.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
Then, in March 1946, Cristy\u2019s opened nearby, serving its own version under the same name. Two takeout pizza stands selling the same thing\u2014almost.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
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I was expecting to uncover some great Ryan Murphy-stylized Hatfield-McCoy pizza blood feud. Instead, I watched as lines of sun worshippers picked their side, the same way they have for decades.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
No drama\u2014just two neighboring pizza shops with fiercely loyal camps and nearly 80 years of customers arguing over which one makes Beach Pizza better.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
\u201cToo sweet.\u201d \u201cNot sweet enough.\u201d \u201cThis one has a better undercarriage.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
Everyone had an opinion. So I had to take the Pepsi Challenge.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
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Hatfield and McCoy’s of Beach Pizza<\/span><\/figcaption><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
First bite\u2014Tripoli\u2019s sweet sauce, almost ketchup-y, immediately gave me pause. I pushed down my inner Jersey, who was ready to bust out, and reached for Cristy\u2019s.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
A more traditional, herb-forward sauce and an overly charred crust. The wilted provolone on each added an unexpected layer of creaminess. Without the extra cheese, it wouldn\u2019t be the same.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
This wasn\u2019t the Boardwalk Pizza I grew up on. It might not even be pizza\u2026<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
But it was good. Almost addictive.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
I chomped the two slices like Pac-Man watching a tennis match. I understood why I saw people carrying three and four slices back to their beach chairs.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
Over the years, more traditional New York-style pizza shops have popped up along the beach, giving vacationers plenty of familiar options.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
But Tripoli and Cristy\u2019s are still here. Never left!<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
Still making the same peculiar rectangular slices. Still painting them with sweet sauce. Still laying that unmistakable circle of provolone on top.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
And still sending generations of families back across the sand with three or four slices balanced in their hands.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
Beach Pizza isn’t trying to be Boardwalk Pizza. Because in Massachusetts it’s the beach, not the shore.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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