I'd seen a few Perfect Pizza shops around town and had written them off as existing about one rung below Domino's on the ladder of 'gross pizzas'. That's a pretty bad rung to be on, in fact I'm not even sure it's still part of the ladder. It may just be lying on the ground at the foot of the ladder, probably in a puddle of muddy water. Despite my reservations I decided to give it a shot on the glowing recommendation of my flatmate. New rule: Never listen to my flatmate.
For £22 we got two large pizzas, chicken wings, potato wedges, garlic bread and some dips. In fairness that's a pretty good deal, here's a list of those things ranked in order of how much I liked them:
1) Chicken wings.
2) Potato wedges.
3) Garlic bread.
4) The dips.
5) The pizza.
Like my old Gramps has never said, nor will ever say because he's not from the old West, "When dips trump pizza, shit ain't right".
In the photo, if you look closely, you can kind of see the cheese is shining a little bit. I don't want shiny cheese. Shiny cars, shiny shoes, shiny shins, fine, shiny cheese, not so much. Also, and maybe I was unlucky and this was just a one off, but I think the guy that made my pizza ran out of tomato sauce and the only thing he had to replace it with was salt. Loads of salt. Luckily for me I'm not a slug because this pizza would have shrivelled the shit out of me. Not that having to spend the rest of my life unable to eat this pizza because it would now be fatal to me would be the worst thing about waking up to find I'd become a slug. There'd be loads of other drawbacks, like not having legs, or eyes or arms or no slime. I think perhaps I (and possibly all of us) take not being slimy for granted, we shouldn't, we're so lucky to be able to live slime-free lives. Think about that. Jah bless.
3 out of 10