What a joke of a pizzeria, the first time I went in, I’m surrounded by all these tributes to the history of Italy’s biggest culinary contribution to the world, and then I’m face to face with a pimple-faced kid who asks me what I would like, I order a Margherita pizza and she asks what kind of sauce I would like on my Margherita pizza, and I want to cry, after pointing out to her that Margherita pizza should only have one type of sauces, of course, she looks at me like I’m an idiot, I somehow manage to mutter a few more words and ask to explain to me the choice of sauces available, tomato sauce, piccante sauce? Butter garlic sauce ??? she explains Wtf? And of course, everybody’s favorite, pesto sauce, which automatically means some kind of basil flavored concoction??? double WTF?, I’m hungry for a pizza and by a large margin, the Cleveland suburbs have the worst Italian food of all major metropolitan area suburbs in the whole USA, bar none!! It’s downright pathetic, but anyway, like I said I’m hungry for pizza, I’m 40 miles away from my house so I realize I’m trapped in this travesty of a pizzeria, ok, so I finally pay and move to the next station, and it gets worse, another fresh pimple-faced male version of the previous one, he’s going to make my pizza! now I really want to cry but I hold on to my tears for just a little longer to watch this kid get a dough ball and put it under some kind of a pizza press to’ stretch the dough into a round shape, and then I watch him assembling my
( pizza) and the tears of horror are getting harder to contain, I survive, he puts his creation into a state of the art wood and gas fired oven and another fresh pimple faced kid takes over the baking duties, finally my pizza comes out and it has the look of a pizza or at least resembling a pizza, at this moment I realize the total absence of any of the smells and aroma my mind is trying to pick up, to no avail I might add, zero signals to that sense if I were blind, I would never know where I was, I take my pizza to eat in my car and after the first bite I proceed to take everything off the pizza, for me, it’s not edible, I proceed to eat only the crust being the only thing that I can honestly say doesn’t warrant to thrown in the trash. As I’m eating this piece of freshly baked flatbread I’m just thinking at all the tributes paid to the history of the pizza and at this point I would love the opportunity to have in front of me the person in charge of this company and ask him/ her if that is a good product, ask if they ever considered hiring an actual pizzaiolo with experience in the industry, then again I rethink my question because I already know the answer, why should we hire an experienced pizzaiolo or pizza maker and have to pay the associated wages for that type of employee when we can hire some pimple-faced teenagers and pay them minimum wages and we can achieve the same result? I guess for the masses that type of product is ok, actually more than ok, outstanding, amazing is the favorite descriptive word used today. But what about us, yes the people that know what you are selling doesn’t deserve to be associated with pizza in Italy or an authentic pizzeria anywhere in the world for that matter, so please make your millions selling your stuff but a little respect for people like us would be nice, please remove all those things about pizza that you have on your walls, you want to tell people a story about pizza but then you can only offer something that is made by kids with zero experience because you think that by putting that fancy oven anything else required to make an authentic pizza is irrelevant, here’s a little secret, it’s not the oven that makes the pizza, it’s the pizzaman!! , yesterday, today, and tomorrow.