“The best pizza in all of California”
I’m not even going to address that claim. I left this place
wondering how they can serve this crap with a straight face.
ANY brand of frozen pizza would be a superior choice. You
know of course that as a native New Yorker, I don’t say such
things lightly. It pains me to drag frozen pizza into this.
But that is the only possible basis for comparison. This was,
without question, the worst pizza I’ve ever eaten. I
seriously considered throwing it out half-eaten. Now I wish
that I had.
In terms of culinary dissatisfaction, this eclipses even that
unspeakable evening eight years ago when I was dragged to a
yuppie slime-den in Falls Church, VA. The bleach-blond
waiters wore black turtle necks with black jeans, and served
uncooked pizzas on stone slabs, swishing merrily to-and-fro to
the blaring accompaniment of the latest “alternative” hits(I
think it was the same year Budweiser was marketing itself as
“The Alternative Beer”).
If they served pizza on airplanes, it would be better than
this. I don’t know what confused, troubled soul recommended
this place, or what went wrong in his past, but whoever he is,
he owes me $6.00.
I realize that it must be hard for you to reconcile these
conflicting accounts, without being able to experience the
full horror of the offending “food” product yourself. I
consoled myself during the long trip back up the 280 by
devising this simulation for you to perform:
Find a baby. A good sized baby. One that’s old enough to eat
squishy foods with a spoon.
Stuff the baby full of Chef Boyardee Ravioli with Cheese.
Hold the baby upside down over a tray of unleavened bread.
Stale communion hosts would be an excellent choice.
Shake baby vigorously.
After the baby has vomited copiously, smear product into a
thin paste.
Place an iron on top of the “pizza”. Go do something else for
a while. Forget all about the “pizza”. Come back when cheese
and communion host are equally crunchy.
Enjoy.
I can’t overemphasize how awful this “pizza” is. As you know,
I’ve worked in several schools where the vast majority of
students recieved free lunches. Every now and again, at the
end of the lunch period, cafeteria workers would dump surplus
slices of pizza in the teachers’ lounge, still securely
wrapped in their polypyrene sleeping bags, having been
steam-heated approximately 1/2 an hour before. Am I proud of
the fact that I ate these cafeteria pizzas? No, of course not.
Would I recommend them to a friend? Uh, no. But I’d rather
eat them every night for the rest of my life than return to
this disgraceful piss hole. Bad enough to eat such things,
but to then go on the internet and make such outlandish
claims, goes beyond poor taste to outright malice.
I reiterate: this clown owes me 6 bucks. And he should start
cleansing his palate after the golden showers.
Yours in cheese,
Pat North