tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59996441190913021542024-02-11T23:44:57.512+00:00Pizza QuestPizzas and what I think of them.Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-7145760282520509982013-03-03T12:39:00.000+00:002013-03-03T12:58:50.639+00:00For some reason: A crisp review.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUyF05jWCigM7auhv3OC1jt6Q2HexiM-QktzE553YRwbWZ83889e_fPUG6HqjHcPVUmIE5eRHtg4DacUpQSh0oFWioikoBkwXLfqBOhOqahIBc5iO-yuxVdz4-VWVTgROzJBZSemO9IxP/s1600/IMG_0895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUyF05jWCigM7auhv3OC1jt6Q2HexiM-QktzE553YRwbWZ83889e_fPUG6HqjHcPVUmIE5eRHtg4DacUpQSh0oFWioikoBkwXLfqBOhOqahIBc5iO-yuxVdz4-VWVTgROzJBZSemO9IxP/s320/IMG_0895.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">These turned up in my living room the other day, I'm not sure where they came from, but I try not to ask too many questions about that sort of thing; my guess is magic. Magic snacks happens a lot in my house and is how keep myself from dying from not enough food, or whatever the technical term for that is. Things I find on/under/in my sofa account for about 80% of my sustenance and if/when (when, definitely when) the non-Jurassic Park Attenborough decides to document my life in a series called 'Animal Losers' that looks at the world’s most pathetic creatures, there’ll be a great episode on my foraging techniques. I imagine it would include ol’ Dave dropping the line, “Mother Nature, it seems, is not without her sense of humour” and then cut to a clip of me slouched like a human puddle watching DMX films, eating a bag of two week-old Morrison’s own brand nachos I found behind the TV.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I like that there’s a picture of a pizza on the packet, just in case you needed a reminder of what these are supposed to taste like. But then I guess you kind of do, as they mostly just taste of ketchup and herbs, but that’s fine because I like both those things. I’m not really sure about these. I guess they’re kind of shaped like pizza so maybe they get some points for that. I don’t know, I have no idea what I’m doing really, there’s no method to this madness. This isn’t even pizza, it’s crisps. What the hell is going on? I should just write these off for trying to trick me into think they’re pizza with fancy packet design and artificial oregano. However, </span>that said, there is a skateboarding cheetah with sunglasses so I’m going to give them some extra credit for at least having a mascot that's cool and relevant to my interests.</div>
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4 out of 10</div>
Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-6546587143387334562013-02-24T11:34:00.000+00:002013-02-24T18:35:00.735+00:00Can't a Brother get a little peace? There's a war on the streets and a war in the Pizza East.<br />
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<span class="s1">I’ve had a little moan about <a href="http://pizza-quest.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/pizza-east-spicy-sausage-mozzarella.html" target="_blank">Pizza East on here before</a>. In fairness, my gripe was more my fault than theirs and was down to me not reading the menu properly. However, as I have yet to receive a box of my family’s fingers sent by some shady, multi-national pizza review watchdog, I’m happy to keep dishing out unfair, emotionally influenced scores like a recently divorced, newly alcoholic Olympic gymnastic judge. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Being the Jesus-like pillar of white-light virtue, decency and altruism that I am, I decided to give Pizza East a second chance. Also I was totally Romania. As in: ‘beyond Hungary’. As in: ‘really hungry’. As in: ‘I stayed in on Saturday night and watched cartoons until I fell asleep in my clothes’. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Anyway the pizza was better this time. Largely down to me learning from my past mistakes and making sure I chose one with tomato sauce. I think me and Pizza East can finally get along again, and so, as a token of our rebuilt friendship I’ll offer them the greatest gift one person can give to another besides news socks. The gift of advice. And this is it: Pizza East, you shouldn’t have called yourself Pizza East because it really limits your ability to expand into other parts of the city*, unless you’ve already copyrighted Pizza West, Pizza North and Pizza South, but I doubt you have. Also what if you want to open a restaurant in another city? What if that city’s Eastside is gross? What if it’s Swindon? That whole place is gross. Don’t go there.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I guess that wasn’t really advice and more a damning critique of their business model but it’s too late now, I’ve written it and the thing with writing things on the internet is that once you’ve typed it out,</span> it's there forever.<br />
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8 out of 10</div>
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<i>*I have since been informed that there is in fact a Pizza East in West London. As a result I'm putting 'Research' on my to do list, just below 'Pay TV license 2008' and 'Die a quiet death at sea'.</i></div>
Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-21188099526492105892013-01-26T13:43:00.000+00:002013-01-26T13:45:11.739+00:00Shorewitch H∆use<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0u_rSfGmSle4A4ClanH-Meg2vPDyXexq6sY6KkIKKpFrDQRbwINFW63AoCtVxjCNip5m3EjOIimb8aQTqLJdtIQUhALzt_6rNmfWjwtzEHBC6MdiaGp2EwUHXk2VIJvD55cLo2A94Ou0G/s1600/IMG_0855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0u_rSfGmSle4A4ClanH-Meg2vPDyXexq6sY6KkIKKpFrDQRbwINFW63AoCtVxjCNip5m3EjOIimb8aQTqLJdtIQUhALzt_6rNmfWjwtzEHBC6MdiaGp2EwUHXk2VIJvD55cLo2A94Ou0G/s320/IMG_0855.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">For those who don’t know, Shoreditch House is this multi-story members club in <strike>Croydon</strike> Shoreditch that has a whole bunch of bars, a restaurant, spas – like health spas, not the chain of convenience stores, (although, if you’re reading (you’re not), Shoreditch House bigwigs, maybe that could be something to think about), a gym, sofas and an outdoor swimming pool that steams when it’s cold. It’s the kind of place that, were I a young, troubled heir to an eight-figure fortune, I’d spend my days there, marching around, shirt open, mumbling about Faulkner, drunk on £200 scotch at 3pm on a Tuesday. I would think I knew all the staff by their first name but would be wrong and mildly racist about 80% of the time. They’d all hate me, largely due to the time I grabbed a waitresses thigh, asked her if she “liked to pogo” and then fell asleep, perhaps pissing myself and ruining a velvet sofa cushion. I wouldn’t apologise, mention or possibly even remember the incident. However they’d tolerate me because I’d constantly overtip due to not really having any sense of money or value or anything and my Dad would be a pretty big deal and had asked the owners to “For God’s sake, keep an eye on him”/me. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The only thing standing between me and making this dream a reality is a really big, unclimable wall made out of money. Also I never read The Sound and the Fury even though it was on my reading list at university because rules, like promises to myself to stop watching fail compilations on Youtube for literally three hours and just go to bed already, are made to be broken.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Anyway, they do pizza at Shoreditch House and surprising hopefully no-one, I ate it. It had salami on and I’m no salami expert, or as I desperately hope they say in the industry, ‘salami barmy’, but I think a good way to determine the quality of salami is whether it’s in a circular ‘log’ (gross) or a slightly oval one. I don’t know why this is. Perhaps no one except God and the pigs that poop out salami do.</span><br />
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7 out of 10</div>
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-55318013581256107152013-01-12T13:25:00.000+00:002013-01-12T13:58:54.892+00:00 Pompeii-back.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoM1moM2RTfrPlXXjJc3S4GcaFBkzQQjyp3EL-PXNtA6AlfzUj-kMJkeZ-XKlZ9v3JjOqjO2DZGjxdZJjlaTOHEA_0Le2zUVAxPeu4OJc_0g83b-d3RmE-8UTE-4m5Hmy2x0cYMd6dhIt/s1600/IMG_0826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoM1moM2RTfrPlXXjJc3S4GcaFBkzQQjyp3EL-PXNtA6AlfzUj-kMJkeZ-XKlZ9v3JjOqjO2DZGjxdZJjlaTOHEA_0Le2zUVAxPeu4OJc_0g83b-d3RmE-8UTE-4m5Hmy2x0cYMd6dhIt/s320/IMG_0826.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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What was cool about this pizza was that when I asked for no jalepenos, instead of being spineless, subservient wimps and complying to my outrageous demands, Vesuvio went ahead and, as you can see in the photo above, totally ignored me. I like that. That shows a real strength and belief in your vision. The unwillingness to compromise or waver in your certainty that you know what's best for your customer. That level of artistic integrity is rare, and the fact that it exists in a little pizza restaurant just off Clapton roundabout is a testament to the spirit and resilience of the human desire to create. It brings to mind inspirational figures like Ai Weiwei and Salman Rushdie, standing fast in the face of public opinion, refusing to budge no matter what. People and government are telling them what to do and they simply ignore them because they have a higher calling. Congratulations Vesuvio Pizza Takeaway, your legacy and example of fearless defiance will live on in the countless people who's requests you totally ignore, regardless of how much it disrupts their poop cycle.<br />
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This was pretty good even though I had to pick off all the jalepenos myself. I stupidly did this with my fingers and before I took out my contact lenses. If you've ever man handled chili and then given your eyeball a big old poke you'll know how fun it is. My eyes frazzled up like bacon bits in a deep-fat fryer and I am now completely blind. I've just been randomly bashing away at the keyboard for the last ten minutes like an ADHD five year old at a piano. If what I've written so far actually makes any sense then it's a miracle and I am that one monkey with a typewriter, out of an infinite number, that managed to hammer out Shakespeare. My mum's watching and crying because of what's happened to her family. It's pretty sad.<br />
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On the plus side the hospital gave me these sick new sunglasses. In my head I look like James Dean.<br />
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6 out of 10</div>
Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-8021832304068462852012-12-13T12:43:00.000+00:002012-12-13T12:49:29.769+00:00The Hotfella: a pizza, not a gay dating site.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFY1kpkgvgeFt2wBXfokny7cht2ILtANJ6kAIzUZsUxEDMhFieopprx5RuOtXXuF2-SUMv3K0ZFZFI_v6Dj4ExkGj7hhRpSVPXEKZpUTdb5YX0aW1op7kEClCB3iiO-WUtypBZ4NljRJeC/s1600/IMG_0702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFY1kpkgvgeFt2wBXfokny7cht2ILtANJ6kAIzUZsUxEDMhFieopprx5RuOtXXuF2-SUMv3K0ZFZFI_v6Dj4ExkGj7hhRpSVPXEKZpUTdb5YX0aW1op7kEClCB3iiO-WUtypBZ4NljRJeC/s320/IMG_0702.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The Hotfella is Goodfella's new spicy pizza. It's like their regular frozen deep-pan only a bit spicier. I can't tell you much more than that because I was pretty drunk when I cooked it. Whenever I have a naughty little pre-bed, hangover-thwarting, booze pizza I wake up convinced that I left the oven on and burned my kitchen down, or worse, wasted loads of our gas credit. So far, to the best of my knowledge, I haven't caused any drunk pizza related fatalities, but that said, I can be quite unobservant and it's possible I'm directly responsible for numerous casualties in a Sgt. Frank Drebin from the Naked Gun kind of way. Happily whistling away, totally oblivious to the motorway pile up I just caused by throwing away that banana skin. Or something like that. Ignorance is bliss so it's probably best if I don't ask too many questions about my frequent memory blanks between 11pm and 4am, the bloody kitchen knives under my bed and the growing pile of prostitue corpses that I keep finding in my cupboard. I'll just do what Leslie Nielsen (R.I.P.) would; a wide-eyed grimace, a gulp and a nervous shuffle away from the scene of the crime. Because that will work. If slapstick comedy has taught us anything it's that old men know gymnastics, people being shot and falling off buildings is hilarious so long as they're relatively insignificant characters and that OJ Simpson was too funny to have done it.<br />
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I'm usually a bit of a wimp about really spicy food. Partly because it can give me a dicky belly, but also because once my brother decided he was a big dog and ordered a Vindaloo at an Indian restaurant. He got a third of the way through and had to be given two massive jugs of water, cucumber dipped in yoghurt and a cold towel on his forehead to stop him passing out. I'm way too self-conscious to handle that much attention. Anyway this pizza wasn't that spicy at all, and if there was any justice in the world then Will.I.Am's career would have gotten no further than 'Canned Goods Aisle Manager', and this pizza would be called something more accurate. Like the 'Warmfella', which in my opinion, sounds just as homoerotic, albeit in a slightly fuzzier, long-term commitment, kind of way.<br />
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6 out of 10</div>
Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-36874744762834625642012-12-08T12:24:00.002+00:002012-12-08T12:24:52.120+00:00Halo. Is it me you're looking for?<div style="text-align: center;">
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Well no-scope me out of a Warthog and call me the Reclaimer, if Pizza Hut haven't thought of yet another way to make me hate them, myself, the world, you probably, and just about everything ever. You don't have to be Cortana to know that the thing stuffed crusts are definitely not lacking is more cheese. So it's slightly perplexing as to why 'the Hut' have decided to celebrate the release of Halo 4 by sprinkling – although it's more like 'coating' really, let's call a horse a horse – their stuffed crust with Red Leicester. I guess it's because it's in the shape of a halo, and the video game's called Halo, and those two words are the same and so it all makes sense and could be totally justified in a war crimes tribunal. Which, after experiencing what can only be described as digestive genocide, seems a likely direction for events to unfold in. I don't know if you've ever played Halo. If you're not sure either, a good way of checking is to quickly assess if you have any or all of the following: </div>
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1. A healthy, non-racist-expletive filled, social life.</div>
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2. A girl/boyfriend who doesn't thoroughly resent you. </div>
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3. Regular interactions with sunlight.</div>
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If these sound familiar, then chances are you haven't played it. If however, you're like me and have decided a worthwhile way to spend the dwindling remnants of youth is to perfect your four-shot with the Battle Rifle, then add a brother up and we'll go smoke some suckers. My Xbox Live gamertag is 'Ninjoe'. It's a combination of the the word 'ninja' and 'Joe'. I thought of it about ten years ago and it is, by far, my greatest achievement and contribution to the world to date.</div>
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Anyway, this pizza is gross and unnecessary and I hate it and I hate Pizza Hut. Also, the other night, at the bar I work in, I got talking to a guy who said he does the advertising for Pizza Hut and apparently their CEO is some sadistic, psycho-devil woman who everyone in the industry (the pizza advertising industry presumably *vom*) totally hates. Kind of like Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, except with pizza instead of fashion magazines. So there's that too.</div>
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0 out of 10</div>
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-5234072492811623722012-11-29T10:49:00.001+00:002012-11-29T10:51:56.049+00:00Reggae Reggae Jerk Chicken Stonebaked Pizza<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The pizza so nice, they technically named it once but repeated a word. Levi Roots, the man behind Reggae Reggae sauce, not a new denim heritage collection, has decided that just selling sauce in bottles is boring and that he needs to step in and give people ready made examples of what they could be putting the sauce on. All that time spent in the Dragon's Den - presumably fighting off dwarves and sleeping on huge piles of gold or whatever, I dunno, I don't watch the show. LOL JK I do. Loads. I live for that shit - has really rubbed off on him and turned him from a mildly eccentric Jamaican man who sings to grumpy rich white men for money into a shrewd capitalist, devoted to expanding his jerk sauce empire. I read somewhere (possibly in a daily publication I get called <i>My Imagination</i>) that a couple of years ago, Reggae Reggae sauce outsold Heinz Ketchup. I find that hard to believe because I get through, on average, four bottles of tomato sauce a day. And I don't buy any of that Daddie's shit. But then I am just one man and can only do so much. For now at least... *glares at nervous group of bioengineers locked in my basement. They yelp and scamper back to work on their cloning machine*.<br />
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Jerk chicken is great, and I feel far less of what psychotherapist's don't call, but should, 'Carnivore's guilt', when eating it. It's reassuring to know that I'm eating a very unpopular chicken, that chances are, the chicken community is grateful this chicken is dead. I like to think that jerk chickens would bully the other chickens, perhaps make jokes about their cowardice, throw their unborn children at their coops, or dress up as Colonel Sanders for chicken Halloween. Stuff like that. And now they've got their comeuppance by being eaten by someone like me. Surely the ultimate, final humiliation.<br />
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6 out of 10</div>
Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-45602454521130613462012-11-15T13:12:00.000+00:002012-11-15T13:12:54.500+00:00Pizzeria da Mario: Pizza Mario<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The other week I went up to Oxford to visit my two little brothers. They're both at University there and when I tell people that they always ask if I mean Oxford Brookes. I don't, I mean actual Oxford-Oxford, as in the closest-any-of-us-stupid-muggles-will-get-to-Hogwarts-Oxford, and whoever I'm telling is a little surprised by this. They may deny it but I can read their eyebrows like two, hairy little books. I don't blame them for their scepticism, because it seems like a bit of a stretch that the same sperm - egg DNA combo can produce such wildly different levels of academic success; but such is the miracle of genetics, and it serves as a reminder that God is both very real and has a sick, sadistic sense of humour. Also don't we share something like 96% of DNA with potatoes or whatever? I can kind of believe this though because there are days when I sit around for so long I get this weird urge to peel off all my skin, chop myself up into strips and hug fried fish.<br />
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Anyway, this little place is on Cowley Road which is about as rough as central Oxford gets. I feel pretty confident I could mince up and down the Cowley Road at 2am on a Saturday night in acid-washed denim hot pants, several sealed and boxed iPhone 5s hanging round my neck on easy-to-snap chains, telling track-suited, overly gelled teenage boys I think they're sexy and slapping their cans of Skol out of their hands and not get 'crimed against' once, but then maybe the savage, everyday-is-a-battle-for-survival lifestyle I lead on the Mad Max 2-esque streets of Stoke Newington has given me an overly rosy view of the Cotswolds.<br />
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This was a good pizza even and, although it had artichokes on, we didn't have any problems. (It also usually comes with olives, but obviously I demanded they take those shrivelled little hell nuggets off because I had a whole colostomy bag of AIDS-blood soaked razor blades I'd sooner eat before I'd let Lucifer's testicles get anywhere near my gorgeous, gorgeous face).<br />
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8 out of 10</div>
Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-59617786002247447272012-10-12T18:39:00.000+01:002012-10-14T13:26:10.210+01:00Who 'Demands' Pizza Hut's Garlic Butter Stuffed Crust?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmnyWsnc4NIpAc_pYjm1CPq_6AgGapOCWiADSmFDCZpvOaEE3Rw0x9H6EubN78XTuCF0In-7f1edbZJbxeHLakvwYQyJ-6lbfR-S7DyIC5LmHsqx3UiJM5CFj29CY-nlqAfgRezWGgp7h7/s1600/photo+(5).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmnyWsnc4NIpAc_pYjm1CPq_6AgGapOCWiADSmFDCZpvOaEE3Rw0x9H6EubN78XTuCF0In-7f1edbZJbxeHLakvwYQyJ-6lbfR-S7DyIC5LmHsqx3UiJM5CFj29CY-nlqAfgRezWGgp7h7/s320/photo+(5).JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Woah, woah, and another woah Pizza Hut. Hold that drove of horses you've let run rampant through the quiet town of Plausibilityville (the potentially incredible sequel to <i>Pleasantville,</i> where a couple of teenagers are sucked into a TV town where everything happens under very likely and unsurprising circumstances. Also starring William H. Macy). Pizza Hut do you really expect me and every other pizza-centric, linguistically pedantic chump with too much free time who walks past this sign to just nod and accept whatever you say like a drunk monkey asking for more wine gums? Popular demand? What happened, did someone send you a petition?<br />
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"<i>Dear Pizza Hut,</i></div>
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<i>Below you'll find 50,000 signatures of concerned individuals who feel your decision to cease the option of adding a garlic butter stuffed crust to your pizzas (large only) both insulting, irresponsible and possibly a little homophobic. Please rectify this blatant oversight by returning the garlic butter stuffed crust to it's rightful place as a staple on the Pizza Hut takeaway menu. Your understanding on this matter is appreciated and we just hope you take steps to make amends for the hurt your decisions have caused.</i></div>
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<i>We sincerely hope you do the right thing.</i></div>
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<i>Yours,</i></div>
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<i>Loads and loads of people apparently.</i>"</div>
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Bah. If Pizza Hut brought out a limited edition 'Elixir of Everlasting Life' stuffed crust I'd be surprised if I could muster up the energy to do anything about it when the offer expired. But then sometimes I worry I'm a kind of pioneer, testing the boundaries of the human capacity for lethargy so don't go by my example by any means. </div>
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-49389370081778651202012-09-10T15:38:00.000+01:002012-09-10T17:08:21.563+01:00Papa John's: The Works<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpwY_cMe29tRXB6a2lwYnlu5Yo1BocRPgx7CsMjOmZmdXNPONGPSIAGxMijKg25KtsHZ6E5IPWTVzXIHqqHYIyL-8EaQ7QpyL9PkCC4BeBM4gYjq16TRAW5CZPHJNTf5WHBuu32aGUaAKy/s1600/photo+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpwY_cMe29tRXB6a2lwYnlu5Yo1BocRPgx7CsMjOmZmdXNPONGPSIAGxMijKg25KtsHZ6E5IPWTVzXIHqqHYIyL-8EaQ7QpyL9PkCC4BeBM4gYjq16TRAW5CZPHJNTf5WHBuu32aGUaAKy/s320/photo+(4).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I fell out with Papa John a while ago. He wouldn't deliver a pizza to me when I was only 5 minutes up the road and this made me quite cross. It felt like he was being lazy and boy, do I hate laziness. I'd sure as heck do something about if I could be bothered and this bed wasn't so comfortable and I didn't already have a full day of sitting around in pants booked into my diary. I know calling him out for laziness is a bit rich coming from a semi-unemployed Call of Duty addict who hasn't updated this blog for two months, but then this is the Internet not afternoon tea with Aunt Judie so I can be as rude and unreasonable as I want and the worst you can do is stop reading. (Please, for the love of God don't stop reading. I'm a drowning man and you're my oxygen, don't leave me. I love you).<br />
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Anyway, in retaliation for not getting a pizza, I sent him numerous inflammatory e-mails and a couple of sexy dick pics (you know, just in case that greased the wheels in my favour). You can read about the whole, tawdry, regretful affair right <a href="http://pizza-quest.blogspot.co.uk/2010/11/pizza-quest-vs-papa-john.html">here</a>. Suffice to say, I didn't get my pizza. :(<br />
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That was over a year ago now and, since then, I feel I've grown both spiritually and gastronomically. So, as I was both really hungry and willing to overlook past slights, I returned to Papa John's with my tail between my legs. (I don't have a tail. This is just a phrase. I don't really understand why a tail's location would indicate being sorry. Maybe it's a cat thing. I'd ask my cat but he's an idiot and we're not talking at the moment).<br />
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In fairness the pizza was pretty good. Obviously I swapped the olives for something else because I'd rather lick between the toes of a dead hobo that eat those shrivelled little demon goolies, but overall a tasty meal was had by all (It was just me. I'm so lonely). HOWEVER, and I'm sorry to bring politics up, it's something I try not to do on account of knowing nothing about anything, but did you know that in America, Papa John has gone to great lengths to advertise the fact that he is raising the price of pizzas a few cents to pay for their employee's Medicare and that it's all Obama's fault? He's basically saying: "Sorry guys, Obama's making me do this because he's a dick. Why are you such a dick Obama you dick?" For a multi-national company that peddles in auto-chubbening cheese disasters, contributing to the clearing up of the mess they make seems like the least they could do. Obviously this doesn't apply to me in any way whatsoever because I'm English, live in England and am very happy to shave off decades of my life in exchange for extra pepperoni. Still, seems like a dick move if you ask me.<br />
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6 out of 10</div>
Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-62480239621935969172012-07-09T15:52:00.000+01:002012-07-09T15:54:52.581+01:00Waitrose's Unconventional Fruit Pizzas!! Double Review Power Edition!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUtL59ipeIV7SWcSGr9SXd_TkzyL1UJ-ZBrHlj2UpRY_l7YoBusst8Sn4rlRcPKuF2zBmVD4w8DOoDHw-G2CbHyxvpcNH0x-p1SwAA61pSVKDETCllA3869GeFo-4cxs7xWnPNRo61ue4/s1600/fruit+pizzas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUtL59ipeIV7SWcSGr9SXd_TkzyL1UJ-ZBrHlj2UpRY_l7YoBusst8Sn4rlRcPKuF2zBmVD4w8DOoDHw-G2CbHyxvpcNH0x-p1SwAA61pSVKDETCllA3869GeFo-4cxs7xWnPNRo61ue4/s320/fruit+pizzas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've been going to Waitrose quite a bit recently because it's fun to pretend I'm successful and middle class, when in reality I live in something that can only be described as half-flat, half-armpit. If there was someone in charge of maintaining the standards of middle-class living and they were to inspect my house, I would be stripped of my Cotswold laurels, dragged into the back of a pristine 4x4 and thrown onto the pavement outside the Sports Soccer in Swindon. And rightly so. </div>
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Anyway, fruit on pizzas is not new. Look at Hawaiians. The pizza not the race of people. Although feel free to look at them as well, just don't be obvious about it. Wear sunglasses and do that thing where your head is facing one way and your eyes are facing another, but no one can see because you're wearing sunglasses. That's my favourite stalking/perving technique. I have many, but that's my favourite. Or at least my favourite that doesn't involve a full-body ghillie suit and pinhole cameras. </div>
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Here's a couple of Waitrose's recent and ambitious forays into fruit on pizza. Let's all take a look shall we? No? No? Not you either? None of you? Fine. Just me then. It's cool, I'm quite happy in my own company and I have the new Usher song on my iPod, so screw you guys.</div>
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<b>Calabria Inspired Salami, Red Onion and FIG Pizza</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6KQSBHLRiBNmIjfm-SYCFWfcbl7EiUJOr0Zh5e3NrdRetmp1rNhK3aaSGfX5I86IjYmuj8X5VupiS1HpjGIDHR2uyPFpRbmVAhQrpbBA3E5Lo_qeGq-4z4kMUKmFmJ5MM5sS9gAxJlUf/s1600/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6KQSBHLRiBNmIjfm-SYCFWfcbl7EiUJOr0Zh5e3NrdRetmp1rNhK3aaSGfX5I86IjYmuj8X5VupiS1HpjGIDHR2uyPFpRbmVAhQrpbBA3E5Lo_qeGq-4z4kMUKmFmJ5MM5sS9gAxJlUf/s320/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Before we get all figgy with it, can I talk about the fact that the salami has been inspired by something? How does that work? Is the pig shown flattering pictures of real Calabrese Salami and encouraged to reach for something greater than just being a run-of-the-mill, blue collar pork product? Was this salami made from a particularly aspirational herd of pigs? How do you inspire meat? I don't want to sound like a nit-picker, but if it can be inspired then are you sure it's dead enough to eat. It all sounds a bit silly to me. Silly old salami, silly old Waitrose, silly old pizza. (Also, I should point out I have no idea why this passage is highlighted in beige. I didn't do that, and if I did, I wouldn't have chosen beige. My theory is that, as the last person on Earth using Blogspot, the website's feeling starved of attention and has decided to act up in a pathetic, self-destructive cry for help. The Internet equivalent of facial tattoos.)</span></div>
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I'm not sure how I feel about figs. I think I'm slightly prejudiced towards them because of that Christmas carol about demanding figgy pudding. I always felt like a fat, Dudley Dursley-esque spoilt brat singing that. That's not to say I wasn't. It was just tough hearing it confirmed, out loud, by me and everyone else in the room. I'm sure you can understand the depth of the emotional scar this could leave on a child. Poor me and my Christmases spent feeling bad about the songs I had to sing. Where's my TV charity appeal Lenny Henry? Why haven't you recreated Flashdance to help me with my struggle Robert Webb? Needless to say, these experiences have left me a quivering shell of a man, full of nothing but insecurity, crippling terror and the odd internal organ. </div>
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6 OUT OF 10</div>
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<b>Lombardia Pizza with Salame Brianza, Blue Cheese and PEAR</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha339d_4K_ic4gdzs6fM6PCpBfm5bfKO_wr4BEHZEL-TFvk9MKP_Itx-5vh0Js73zJ7o9XhLf9w2yJyzNM_I1fez0CCGOuQpS3XWsyihYOFmWW_uaajotD48YD6Ou1py0ICzHhr6lwp6BY/s1600/photo+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha339d_4K_ic4gdzs6fM6PCpBfm5bfKO_wr4BEHZEL-TFvk9MKP_Itx-5vh0Js73zJ7o9XhLf9w2yJyzNM_I1fez0CCGOuQpS3XWsyihYOFmWW_uaajotD48YD6Ou1py0ICzHhr6lwp6BY/s320/photo+%25282%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I feel bad for pears sometimes. Not so bad that it registers on any kind of emotional scale, but bad enough that it seems worth talking about here and trying to desperately drag out a hundred or so words. This space won't fill itself you know. (<-- God's angry Mother, two minutes before the Big Bang). Anyway, the reason I sympathise with pears is twofold: A) I have too much time on my hands and so am able to spend it thinking about things this pointless and B) because I feel they get overlooked in favour of apples as the 'go-to' British fruit, when in fact they are much juicier, less easily bruised, and don't taste gross if they're more than a week old. I sort of see them as the best friend of a dull, yet hot and popular girl in this rather weak school = a fruitbowl metaphor. A bit like Ugly Betty. Although I've never seen Ugly Betty, I'm just guessing that that's what happens in Ugly Betty. It looks like that's what happens. I'd ask someone but have you ever met anyone that watches it? Of course you haven't. The only person that watches Ugly Betty spends all his time at home, watching Ugly Betty, not outside meeting people like you. If the 'pears are the overlooked, yet beautiful on the inside, (and out, post makeover montage obvs) girl' thing doesn't make sense, just watch any film about teenagers ever made. That's not a method of explaining my point, just a fun suggestion to pass the time because who doesn't like High School movies?</div>
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7 out of 10</div>
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<br /></div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-29167203536800478692012-05-11T16:13:00.000+01:002012-05-11T16:13:15.640+01:00Pronto Pizza: Pepperoni<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When this arrived the other night I was concerned because it looked like they'd got my order wrong. Play 'Where's Wally?' on the picture above, except this time it's called 'Where's Pepperoni?'. You'll lose. It was there though, just hidden under the cheese. Like they were trying to smuggle it past the border that is my mouth, into the low-paying horticultural and landscaping industry that is my belly. It worked and I was awash with pepperoni/illegal immigrants. If my body was a democracy, (it's not, it's a dictatorship and I'm the dictator and I will be until I die) then a right-wing government would probably print off a series of campaign posters with pictures of evil looking pepperoni with exaggerated, racist facial features groping young girls, robbing old people and hogging jobs. Thankfully for struggling pepperonis all over the world, when it comes to meat immigration, I have a pretty relaxed policy. I don't think I even have customs or passport checks or anything like that. Everyone's welcome. Come on in. I might regret this one day, or even today in fact. Actually definitely today, because I've recently noticed a significant increase in the amount of tummy I have. It's OK, I'm going to start jogging twice a year. That should sort it out. I just wish someone had told me excessively eating stodgy, fatty foods on an almost daily basis and then lying or sitting down all the time would give me the chubbs. Misled youth or what?<br />
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Pronto Pizza is on Stoke Newington Church Street and has a whole selection of contradictory offers that you'd need a complex diagram to fully understand. I took the easy option and went for the 'Buy One, Get One Half Price'. Which was pretty good because they're not that expensive to begin with and assuming you have friends, (perhaps a foolhardy assumption) it means you can get an XL for around £7. Not bad. Also they're pretty tasty and have that kind of oil that makes paper transparent and if you get it on your clothes, it will literally never come out. This makes the whole thing more exciting because there's that little hint of danger. If you're not careful, you could ruin a t-shirt. The only way you could get higher stakes than that would be if you hot-boxed a slaughterhouse.<br />
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8 out of 10</div>
<br />Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-34672960933313142872012-04-30T15:05:00.000+01:002012-04-30T15:05:32.121+01:00Co-op: Chilli Chilli Bang Bang<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0c_LeDcFmjuQWmzIgZ_uLMzEBtlBlFx8fvnqU7MlyTRzYQJt8WO8WVvN3MELE9vQiuIUO6Ki-UpgdWvs0xb7uIcXerRmz30q0BxF6ak4q4JxDJpH3O8S3ALClNNYcGN7bsBGAV11MrCo/s1600/IMG00230-20111029-2245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0c_LeDcFmjuQWmzIgZ_uLMzEBtlBlFx8fvnqU7MlyTRzYQJt8WO8WVvN3MELE9vQiuIUO6Ki-UpgdWvs0xb7uIcXerRmz30q0BxF6ak4q4JxDJpH3O8S3ALClNNYcGN7bsBGAV11MrCo/s320/IMG00230-20111029-2245.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Someone in Co-op's branding department needs to get fired. I'm all for a good pun. In fact there's not much I like more than a witty play on words. In the unlikely event of you being curious, here's some of the few things I do like more than puns: Take Me Out, my cat, freshly squeezed orange juice, The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time and Krysten Ritter. That's about it. Everything else can git aurrt as far as I'm concerned.<br />
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Anyway, what ground my gears about the name of this pizza was that, sure, it had chillies on, and 'chilli' sounds like 'chitty' and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is a film, but so what? Chitty Chitty Bang Bang has nothing to do with this pizza, or any pizza. Perhaps if this pizza could somehow abduct children or had a terrible-to-the-point-of-being-potentially-racist cockney accent then I'd get it. But, to my knowledge, it can't and doesn't. (I should point out there weren't any children present at the eating of this pizza so I can't confirm or deny it's kidnapping skills outright). Also does Dick Van Dyke even have his silly accent in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? Or is that just in Mary Poppins? Don't answer, I so don't care about whether he does or not that I'm annoyed I even wrote it down, and I'm not going to waste even more time deleting it. But then explaining it to this extent is actually taking up even more time. Oh God. I'm just going to stop before this gets worse and I scratch my own eyes out.<br />
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6 out of 10</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-84174192799387744142012-04-24T13:47:00.002+01:002012-04-24T13:47:14.457+01:00Franco Manca<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you don't know me in real life then it would be so great if we could pretend that my recent splurge in inactivity is due to me being in prison for a really cool crime. Some Ocean's 11 style con or fighting off a gang of rapists and accidentally killing one like Nicolas Cage in Con Air. I'd be pretty pleased if I went to prison for something like that. After I got out I'd definitely try and slip the fact I'd been sent down into as many conversations as I could. Typically I imagine it would go something like this:<br />
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<b>Person</b>: "Nice weather we're having huh?"</div>
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<b>Me</b>: "Yeah. Do you know where you don't really see much weather?"</div>
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<b>Person</b>: "No."</div>
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<b>Me</b>: "In prison."</div>
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<b>Person</b>: "Mmhmm."</div>
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<b>Me</b>: "Yep. I know that because I just got out."</div>
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<b>Person</b>: "Right."</div>
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<b>Me</b>: "Of prison that is. I've been in prison."</div>
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<b>Person</b>: <i>Makes ringing noise out of the side of their mouth. Answers pretend phone call. Walks away.</i></div>
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<b>Me</b>: <i>Sobs silently into hands.</i></div>
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Pretty dramatic right?</div>
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Anyway, the opinion of the enlightened masses is that Franco Manca do one of the best pizzas in the UK and whenever I'm in Brixton I eat there because how often am I in Brixton? (Clue: Not often, because I like my belongings). They use some fancy kind of dough that takes 20 hours to rise. That seems like a long time but I can't be too critical because that's about the same amount of time it takes me to get up in the morning (or afternoon), (or evening. BTW my life's a joke). This confirms what I've been telling my mother/therapist/whoever's sitting next to me on the bus for years. I am as lazy as pizza dough. It's not like I'm asleep, it's more like there's very little I need to get done that involves getting out of bed. Also I have a wonderful cat who comes and sleeps on my belly and if you can get up and walk away from that you must have a heart made of soggy, popped tennis balls.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7NyQHpGy1PF-bLqxnLcECuhxBhqvKP6d2c4Wk2Bl19Uc2zaUE4ZftXsK6S0dva94XaXiUWSkPFL7chp7xuR977EyBXD62oOdNoVE4oqFsBypbt2capQ7GUqHTpqrsBUGchMcxJ6062VOo/s1600/IMG00220-20111014-1823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7NyQHpGy1PF-bLqxnLcECuhxBhqvKP6d2c4Wk2Bl19Uc2zaUE4ZftXsK6S0dva94XaXiUWSkPFL7chp7xuR977EyBXD62oOdNoVE4oqFsBypbt2capQ7GUqHTpqrsBUGchMcxJ6062VOo/s320/IMG00220-20111014-1823.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My favourite thing about these pizzas would have to be the fact that they're chewy. Kind of like a marshmallow, only heterosexual. Marshmallows are definitely the Russell Grants of the confectionary world, in the sense that they're fat, gay and harmless. Not that they possess any astrological insight. But then I've never asked one about my zodiac so what do I know? In case you're curious, I'm a Gemini. Which means you can't trust me with anything. I will fuck you over and stab you in the back 100% of the time because of planets and space or some shit. You've been warned.<br />
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If I was a character in Glee or Gossip Girl or some TV show that isn't Game of Thrones I'd probably describe these pizzas as 'totes delish' but I just checked and do still have balls so I can't really get away with that. So instead I'll simply call them 'really quite tasty'. Apparently there's a Franco Manca in the Westfield in Stratford which is much closer to me so if anyone wants to go one day I'd be totally up for it. I don't even care if I know you or not, but if I don't then please don't expect me to talk or look at you, that would be weird.<br />
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10 out of 10</div>
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<br /></div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11656066518726008943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-4063194950654028632012-02-25T17:19:00.003+00:002012-02-25T17:22:47.979+00:00Pizza Sandwich 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4inxVpLeU03mnR3YISMLcUxLRKRTUm9DCmVwjEUShDHGHnFgyDsfMEG3XACpdRVShngulOHYpQmkstrpOl50gE1d5ibGIxZfF3LWbUcDvEHGb2jdkbQs18HQDv7n_cH49b1Q_CK1LqYkt/s1600/IMG00326-20120222-2209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4inxVpLeU03mnR3YISMLcUxLRKRTUm9DCmVwjEUShDHGHnFgyDsfMEG3XACpdRVShngulOHYpQmkstrpOl50gE1d5ibGIxZfF3LWbUcDvEHGb2jdkbQs18HQDv7n_cH49b1Q_CK1LqYkt/s320/IMG00326-20120222-2209.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I tried <a href="http://pizza-quest.blogspot.com/2011/01/pizza-sandwich.html">this</a> a while ago, and unless you consider mid-evening, self induced vomiting a sign of success, it was an unmitigated disaster. I refuse to believe the concept was the problem, because I still feel it's a pretty solid idea. I think where I went wrong the first time (aside from making the various life choices that led me to trying it in the first place) was that I let quantity take precedence over quality. I've since realised that when you're putting two pizzas on top of one another to make a giant pizza sandwich, quantity isn't really an issue. This was a mistake I was reluctant to make twice. Only reluctant, mind you, not incapable.<br />
<br />
Anyway, Sainsbury's were doing a buy one get one free on Pizza Express and this seemed like enough of a sign to consider having another go at giving myself heart disease. Besides, other than being an atheist sceptic, who am I to deny fate itself?<br />
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One of the lessons I'd taken from last time was that despite what workaholic dentists may tell you, there is such a thing as too much filling. With this in mind, I bought one Sloppy Giuseppe and one Margherita. I'm OK with Pizza Express. Even though they're expensive and too small, they're still better than most store bought pizzas. Don't be too impressed by this however, because on the scale of achievements, 'being better than most store bought pizzas' sits between 'putting your shoes on the correct feet first time round' and 'getting through a bus journey without crying'.<br />
<br />
Overall, it was pretty good. Certainly better than the last attempt, but then snorting a line of iron filings would have been better than the last attempt so who knows what that means. I certainly don't, and I wrote it, so what chance do you have?<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">7 out of 10</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-87043754517738836732011-12-17T12:53:00.000+00:002011-12-17T12:53:02.483+00:00Homemade Pizza<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmElElat4NfnUbQmlyrs44JwR_ry2dUwzYw_9t886gBqGF5o0Iyy7cEYyBGacA8cm8T0hdym_HJHWFq2w4Ylntz7iyl51FBd9-ytrH6PEPDwHTlJVcAtOiCbNFRgzJ8sbqHvMpGC1b4efA/s1600/IMG00241-20111130-1803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmElElat4NfnUbQmlyrs44JwR_ry2dUwzYw_9t886gBqGF5o0Iyy7cEYyBGacA8cm8T0hdym_HJHWFq2w4Ylntz7iyl51FBd9-ytrH6PEPDwHTlJVcAtOiCbNFRgzJ8sbqHvMpGC1b4efA/s320/IMG00241-20111130-1803.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza #1 Slightly deformed, potentially incestuous. Still tasty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I've been doing this blog for nearly two years now and in that time I've eaten a lot of pizza; and as we all know, with great eating comes great learning. A bit like how Vikings would drink the blood of their enemies in the hope they would absorb their fighting knowledge, like a more gruesome <i>Highlander, </i>I feel I've digested enough pizza to now know what I'm talking about. What I'm trying and failing and getting distracted by Christopher Lambert and Sean Connery to say is that I think I've now eaten enough pizza made by other people to have a go at making it myself. If my Father were alive and literate, I'm sure he'd be hugely disappointed that this will be the greatest achievement of my twenty-five years.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXEGoS6Jl0amwHiewN1DuKRGObwSx87TPXyKLL5SRSFqaYMlVJS7WpF25jNlMEfDKAXWA1Tl3ch3dPiL0cChOD4OrSG-vQi-Fesnr3_2iz6rVH6732nTOIBBSC_B_QLxzUOVc0wB2FYh7/s1600/IMG00244-20111206-2118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXEGoS6Jl0amwHiewN1DuKRGObwSx87TPXyKLL5SRSFqaYMlVJS7WpF25jNlMEfDKAXWA1Tl3ch3dPiL0cChOD4OrSG-vQi-Fesnr3_2iz6rVH6732nTOIBBSC_B_QLxzUOVc0wB2FYh7/s320/IMG00244-20111206-2118.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza #2 Getting better, maybe the result of a coupling of greater distance. If the last one was brother-sister, this is maybe cousin-cousin? Maybe even second cousins, or is that me being big headed?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Whenever I'm feeling unsure what the right thing to do is, or lost like a lamb with no shepherd, there's one book I turn to for advice, spiritual support and hope for Mankind's salvation. I think we all know what I'm talking about, <i>Jamie Oliver's 30 Minute Meals</i>. Seriously, the recipes in this totally make up for Jamie's multitude of sins. Which I've handily listed right here:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>He dresses like a rich, fat, fourteen-year-old on non-school uniform day (i.e. he's making an effort, but it's still gone horribly, horribly wrong).</li>
<li>He calls everyone 'brother'. He is way too white to do this.</li>
<li>His haircut is so, so awful, to the point that it almost excuses those dreadful trucker hats he keeps wearing.</li>
<li>When he's tasting something he does that thing where he rotates his finger because he's concentrating on the flavours so much. This annoys me because I've started doing that when I cook, and I hate to think I'm that easily influenced.</li>
<li>His wife is too beautiful.</li>
<li>He cried a lot on his American show and made us, as a nation, look weak and badly dressed.</li>
<li>He opened a shop near my Dad (who's not really dead or illiterate FYI) where people learn to cook a meal then buy all the ingredients for it. This feels too smug and makes me want to riot a little.</li>
</ul><div>But, like I said, all those perhaps over zealous criticisms are forgiven because this book is so handy. Particularly it's recipe for <i>Cheat's Pizza</i>. I guess it's called 'cheat's' because you cook the pizza in a frying pan not in a wood-fired oven. This annoyed me because I only found that out after I'd bought and installed a massive wood fired oven in my tiny kitchen. It's huge, it blocks the kitchen door and I think my flatmate Jack is stuck in there because I haven't seen him for a few weeks and there's a weird(er) smell coming from the other side.</div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPefp8F8aM6LsHGCUDSpgvTxNGu6PjlGF2a5_Rg9YLcUAYOrkXWDfBVWEBS1lX3QeZ7GEbbx5n9ARL0dPKz6tsqa8fDJKTuzi9CO9aWwgGUT2VfO0K2vpUEpFCGYU55N4mWdWbfqlqXCO/s1600/IMG00246-20111215-1532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPefp8F8aM6LsHGCUDSpgvTxNGu6PjlGF2a5_Rg9YLcUAYOrkXWDfBVWEBS1lX3QeZ7GEbbx5n9ARL0dPKz6tsqa8fDJKTuzi9CO9aWwgGUT2VfO0K2vpUEpFCGYU55N4mWdWbfqlqXCO/s320/IMG00246-20111215-1532.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza #3 This guy's parents met online, they're both really good looking and from entirely different countries. Actually one of them was black. Yep, that's right, this pizza was so good, it was mixed race.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div>Basically you fry the pizza for 10 or so minutes then stick it under the grill for 5 minutes. It tastes pretty good and is really quick to make. As you can see from the photos my pizzas, like my belly, are getting steadily rounder. I've tried to give these pizzas a fair and unbiased score, it wasn't easy, but I think you'll agree this is what they deserve:</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">10 out of 10</div><div><br />
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</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-29577975565053367812011-11-17T19:42:00.002+00:002011-11-17T19:49:17.611+00:00!!! Faux-Posh Pizza Double Review !!! Maximum WOW !!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqxVTCFH7tMZGVtSlK1W32mwoEU95z_-bD6B-9A5Vfb1A26PasQaccWXfuce2roKaKzQOW-07HiBqLOqJLoOHNL0qqYGO3qoSHNmTd-XxUzWB3FIPB9PiuqZMYNV4dMjZxcZYl94Ir-dN/s1600/poshpizza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqxVTCFH7tMZGVtSlK1W32mwoEU95z_-bD6B-9A5Vfb1A26PasQaccWXfuce2roKaKzQOW-07HiBqLOqJLoOHNL0qqYGO3qoSHNmTd-XxUzWB3FIPB9PiuqZMYNV4dMjZxcZYl94Ir-dN/s320/poshpizza.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
So it looks like fancy pizzas are the new 'in-thing' in the mass pizza delivery world. How exciting. Call your children to tell them. If you don't have children that's fine, just record a video of you telling them to show your future baby the moment it pops out of your/your wife's/your girlfriend's/some girl's vagina.<br />
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At least this is the information I'm gleaming from <i>Domino's </i>and <i>Pizza Hut</i>'s recent foray into 'not-obviously-crap' pizzas. I like the idea of companies watching the rise and fall of pizza trends. I'd like to think there are such things as pizza trends. It's nice to imagine they have charts and graphs measuring the popularity of various toppings all pinned up in their boardroom, so they know what kind of pizza is most likely to be the biggest thing on the pizza scene since someone decided to stuff a crust. There must be countless meetings where a bunch of pizza bigwigs discuss what new, so-hot-right-now, pizza is going to be the pizza equivalent of the music industry's seemingly relentless attempt to cash-in on the pedo-pound. They're searching for their very own Justin Pizzber. That's not a great pun, but I needed to lighten the mood quickly because mentioning pedophiles is rarely good for morale.<br />
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ANYWAY. Here's a couple of pizzas that, despite the fact they were obviously thought up in a horrible, corporate factory somewhere and are made of shit, are trying to convince me they're Fancy-Pants McCheese. Like they think I'm stupid. I'm going to prove I'm not stupid by writing about them. Could a stupid person write an irritating, pointless review to be read by perhaps a dozen people? I think not.<br />
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<b>Domino's Gourmet Range: Rustica</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFl0quuWbC-4sRso8Ev-eFC_AOxBzh24sGaOQGtrvD0dhjm-BxpMXLIW1FZyTQMI6oDTh3ThbJuRvB9O-_eyUrUS_3enmaAdkxZ06o424gEWUnQQwHv8RxNwh9vBZkJVT3mOTKiG8DjH49/s1600/IMG00204-20110916-1453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFl0quuWbC-4sRso8Ev-eFC_AOxBzh24sGaOQGtrvD0dhjm-BxpMXLIW1FZyTQMI6oDTh3ThbJuRvB9O-_eyUrUS_3enmaAdkxZ06o424gEWUnQQwHv8RxNwh9vBZkJVT3mOTKiG8DjH49/s320/IMG00204-20110916-1453.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So this is Domino's attempt at class and it's a bit like the pizza equivalent of MTV's <i>G's to Gents</i>. Did you ever watch that? It was like a hip-hop version of <i>Tool Academy</i>. You didn't watch that either? Good for you. Basically they just took a bunch of loser dickheads who all thought they were major players in the game and told them to start wearing ties. Not that that's bad advice, it's just that some people look so uncomfortable in a tie you wish they'd take it off because it's making your neck itch. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's pretty much what's going on here. Domino's are dressing one of their regular pizzas up in a fancy suit and telling me he's a changed man. As if just because they're using 'SunBlush' baby tomatoes, the maxi-stodge base isn't going to turn my belly into the digestive equivalent of a motorway pile-up. As if having something as unconventional as spinach on there is going have me reassessing my belief that all Domino's ingredients are actually made from the same Play-Doh-like substance and all the guy at the shop has to do is paint the different toppings the right colour. No way buddy. Not happening dog. I'm like the girlfriend of a recently released convict who got banged up for domestic battery. "You ain't never getting in this house no more! No way, no how!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Pizza Hut: Primo Italiano</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtnMDAnw-LkpTnVRdsr6TusdHV7CU46Y4g0wLhiRKtngITwid_ENGxNHeSx4DIuPihCclUKvui59ytcwE6xEbH9d-VRqGJ6AxOGIbCSmR9EGCDJcjHNCLYTg_eopK8NuP6Et3_1XK_uJg/s1600/IMG00217-20111010-2021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtnMDAnw-LkpTnVRdsr6TusdHV7CU46Y4g0wLhiRKtngITwid_ENGxNHeSx4DIuPihCclUKvui59ytcwE6xEbH9d-VRqGJ6AxOGIbCSmR9EGCDJcjHNCLYTg_eopK8NuP6Et3_1XK_uJg/s320/IMG00217-20111010-2021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>'Primo Italiano'? Seriously? That's the best name you could come up with? It sounds like when you're on holiday and your Dad talks in an accent because he thinks that will help locals understand him. If that has ever happened to you, then don't worry, I don't know that because I was hiding behind a lamp post, watching, while your Father argued with an Italian traffic warden outside the airport. I'm not stalking you, or following you and your family and that dipshit boyfriend of yours around while you're all on holiday. That would be weird. Anyway, plane tickets to Tuscany are too expensive at this time of year and I know you might think you saw me when you were at that market trying on that bracelet but try and remember I have a very generic face. It could have been anyone. Anyone except me.<br />
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Anyway, this pizza can do one. It's like those guys that go to bars alone in tacky suits and sit there sipping a lime and soda and barging their way into girls' conversations. They reek of cheap perfume and I imagine they get home at 2am and try and call their mother and when she doesn't pick up they have a crank and stay up all night entering those TV roulette shows. I feel sorry for those guys. I don't feel sorry for this pizza though because it's just a pizza and therefore has no feelings, only cheese.<br />
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<b>Verdict:</b><br />
<br />
When you polish a turd all you end up with is a polished turd. Which admittedly is better than a normal turd, (it's all nice and polished for God's sake!) but it is still a turd and you wouldn't want to put it in your mouth. Which is exactly what I did with these two pizzas. But then I am by no means a good example of someone who makes sensible decisions concerning what to put, and not put, in their mouth (not much homo).Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-14683456174015415152011-10-09T16:26:00.000+01:002011-10-09T16:26:36.554+01:00Princi: White Cheese and Smoked Ham<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOSCefDaiVyozM0-RrnT9NXPRLt-D-RPCjtbxeP7r_Oo1bZH89UdejyDPSx0BpBKVH7DKT_IUH2YHQQI-wzt9qb88t5V7vdj3opvLDXdhKNIt4GYsOmWyyHkLh3kV-_dYBRn-x8zuhXE3/s1600/IMG00213-20111004-2054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOSCefDaiVyozM0-RrnT9NXPRLt-D-RPCjtbxeP7r_Oo1bZH89UdejyDPSx0BpBKVH7DKT_IUH2YHQQI-wzt9qb88t5V7vdj3opvLDXdhKNIt4GYsOmWyyHkLh3kV-_dYBRn-x8zuhXE3/s320/IMG00213-20111004-2054.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Princi is a bakery on Wardour Street. I like it because it's simultaneously classy and cheap. Sort of like Julia Roberts in <i>Pretty Woman</i>. What gives Princi the edge over Julia Roberts in <i>Pretty Woman</i> is that, as far as I know, Richard Gere was not involved at any point, and had nothing to do with the production of my pizza. That was a good call, managers of Princi. Before they opened they probably had a meeting debating whether or not to have a Richard Gere themed restaurant, mercifully they decided against it. They didn't even opt for a subtle compromise, like a loaf of bread shaped like RG's big, smug, face. They took a staunch 'No Gere Here!' policy, and it paid off. As far as an extra point being added to their score on a lame, little pizza blog that is read by precisely no one of significance* can be considered 'paying off'.<br />
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I got this pizza on a Tuesday night, and even though it was only a Tuesday, Princi was totally full and there was nowhere to sit. So my companion and I decided to find a nice park bench and have a late night, urban picnic. I'd never noticed this before, but the West End of London is severely lacking in the park bench department. We literally walked around for about forty-five minutes, and literally did not see a single bench. Literally, literally. In fairness this was only a minor inconvenience. Grumpy, middle-class white boy had to sit on the curb to eat his fancy pizza, boo fucking hoo, but it did make think how tough it must be being a homeless bum in that part of London. Sure there are probably shelters for them to sleep in, but I imagine those places have a bit of condescending view on all the crack and smack that I, as a homeless bum, would be looking to score.<br />
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</div>*If you are reading this and consider yourself significant, please give your reasons as to why and, if I find them convincing enough, I'll happily send you an apology, hand-written in blood (not my own).<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">7 out of 10</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-58092227969314649822011-09-17T15:14:00.000+01:002011-09-17T15:14:28.482+01:00Ecco: Margherita<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmAApQ9J9eLAZClU_PK9fvRFNdTWI4BU7LicbSXvQdA2c92Dto7W0gbdBem-p3wvAICIzUCJN3FLNk9qI1CVFehjBsX4q2SPXniZDV7kTfFtAAQHpjj4JqcHbp6yio8h3_mz86e9SulqqH/s1600/IMG00202-20110914-1858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmAApQ9J9eLAZClU_PK9fvRFNdTWI4BU7LicbSXvQdA2c92Dto7W0gbdBem-p3wvAICIzUCJN3FLNk9qI1CVFehjBsX4q2SPXniZDV7kTfFtAAQHpjj4JqcHbp6yio8h3_mz86e9SulqqH/s320/IMG00202-20110914-1858.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
On Drury Lane there's a little cafe with a sign outside offering 11" pizzas for £3.50. Normally I'd see that and do a little scoff because, for £3.50, you usually end up with a lump of bread that's been soaked in floor cleaner and liquid heart disease. However I was right to stifle my scoff. Partly because I was by myself, and what kind of jerk stands outside a quiet cafe in the middle of the afternoon making audible scoffing noises? That would both look weird and be weird. People walking past would think "Why is that guy staring at that sign making those odd throat noises? He must be a weirdo" and they'd be right. That's one reason it was a scoff-free experience, the other is that Ecco make a bloody nice little pizza. Really gooey.<br />
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I like gooey, sloppy pizzas. I like when holding it all together actually takes serious concentration and if you're not careful your fingers take a long, sticky trip down Hot-Tomato-Cheese Road. That's quite an unlikely name for a road and probably doesn't exist, but if it does and anyone lives there, let me know so I can come and live with you.<br />
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I don't think you should be able to hold a pizza upside down above your head without getting a messy head massage from uncle gravity. This is perhaps not a test that should be carried out in real life because the only possible outcomes are either that you have a pizza made partially of glue or you get a unusually tasty new hat. Definite lose-lose. Yummy pizza guys, nice work!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">8 out of 10</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-40763514644372244192011-08-05T17:46:00.001+01:002011-08-05T17:49:11.340+01:00Tesco: Spicy Meatball Calzone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0lZNGnpi3pcH4q8FT6-J4mVGC-hw9VY3TSz2L8dudYZ-WOZqaDmO8G5mMbkUvcAXYY1TihieGQzvez9IuNvhlOhFIuf2WOeDSZclywcV3BOfX4rPTMX_J_INOkZ4nUEHLslb8jiznIsd/s1600/IMG00128-20110704-1611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0lZNGnpi3pcH4q8FT6-J4mVGC-hw9VY3TSz2L8dudYZ-WOZqaDmO8G5mMbkUvcAXYY1TihieGQzvez9IuNvhlOhFIuf2WOeDSZclywcV3BOfX4rPTMX_J_INOkZ4nUEHLslb8jiznIsd/s320/IMG00128-20110704-1611.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This seemed a bit posh for Tesco, but then in my eyes not living in a car with your wife-sister-daughter-mum is a bit posh for Tesco so maybe I'm a little bias. I hate shopping at Tesco. I'm not some anti-capitalist, burn 'em down revolutionary. I'm more than happy paying for Mr and Mrs Sainsbury's eighth summer holiday of the year, and I'm pretty sure I'm putting the Morrison's kids through higher education, but Tesco just feels evil. I think it's the font. I also don't like the slew of faceless celebrity voices that keep telling me 'every little helps.' Whichever way you look at it, that's a horrible slogan. Either it's really patronising, and suggesting that the huge, unbearable awfulness that is my life is, albeit briefly, relieved by the infinite benevolence of Tecso's 2 for £4 offer on Innocent Smoothies, or, and perhaps more sinisterly, it's implying that 'every little' purchase is inching Tesco closer and closer to some nefarious goal. Like there's the equivalent of <i>Blue Peter's Totaliser </i>in their head office, except evil, filled with blood and covered in skulls. Actually, I think I was right the first time, it is the font. Also, is there a more boring colour scheme than red, white and blue? I'd be more into a subtle range of greys and beiges. Patriotism, shmatriotism.<br />
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This was actually not bad, and I think it only cost about £3. That's pretty good for what is essentially a fancy, unorthodox pizza. What's fun about calzones is the way that, because all the toppings are compressed together, they burst in little pockets of tomato and cheese when you bite into them. Mmmm. That was definitely the sexiest sentence ever written in the history of this blog.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">7 out of 10</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-34233450828206321272011-08-02T21:30:00.000+01:002011-08-02T21:30:21.843+01:00Pizza Hut: Sizzling Sweet Chilli<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEycGz_4RoP35wTnTAmd9t0qgY3p328fWB00lTPdet2FVTrB_UyZJndidDn0ws2JARwVHzZQqSEox3WfmKYb1F43wzTsK-JvMq-nlPNR_PfIVi2KNtsdrl-fW9ab58pq_8bQRymQFhyr6/s1600/IMG00138-20110717-2320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEycGz_4RoP35wTnTAmd9t0qgY3p328fWB00lTPdet2FVTrB_UyZJndidDn0ws2JARwVHzZQqSEox3WfmKYb1F43wzTsK-JvMq-nlPNR_PfIVi2KNtsdrl-fW9ab58pq_8bQRymQFhyr6/s320/IMG00138-20110717-2320.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Sshhh. This review is being whispered to you because I ate this while watching <i>Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban </i>in a friend's living room. It was quite a small living room, there were about seven people there and as I was the only one who'd ordered food I felt bad because I was making a lot of noise while people, about 50% of whom I knew, pretended the volume of the TV was enough to drown out me wafting the cardboard pizza box around and chewing like a lawnmower. It wasn't. If they'd been a gullible bunch they might have thought Voldemort had cast a 'Super-Irritatus-Soundius-Everywherio' spell on Harry and the gang. However they didn't think that because I make a point of not hanging out with morons. Although we were a bunch of twenty-somethings getting emotionally involved in a Harry Potter movie, so maybe I do. Buckbeak... :,(<br />
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I've had bad experiences with spicy pizzas in the past. Sadly not exciting 'bad experiences', like attempted murder or heartbreak, only pedestrian ones like them being too spicy. Thankfully this pizza was spicy enough to warrant a "<i>Woah, this guy's zingy</i>", without becoming a "<i>I can feel my brain sweating out of my nose, I'm going to stop eating so I don't die.</i>" This is a delicate balance to get right. I should point out those would have been internal thoughts and not said out loud, especially to group of already annoyed half-strangers, and especially not half way through arguably the best Harry Potter film of them all, and especially not when I was so hungry doing anything with my mouth other than eating seemed inconceivable. Especially, especially.<br />
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Sometimes I get like that, where I have food and I'm so hungry that literally all I can think about is eating. Things like breathing, manners and snogging hotties take a few steps down the priority ladder. The amount of times I've had to pass up smooching some next-level babe because I had pizza to eat is higher than you'd think, (assuming you'd guessed a negative number).<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">7 out of 10</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-72634414185942925422011-07-05T21:06:00.001+01:002011-07-06T01:07:14.571+01:00La Formachetta: Casareccia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjdGDHKRMxO_BudKWY665cjiLPIfdXNwx-j_EqXEugWSZODSioJ1oDiA1GP4TQ5LIkUdaVVBHK2-hRMEjSbRaVfR74yV9Ndq7m13yhVeyWwTlT5_LB9sTZLbvc6RY2e-AESNIUXqOwDLN9/s1600/IMG00116-20110624-1719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjdGDHKRMxO_BudKWY665cjiLPIfdXNwx-j_EqXEugWSZODSioJ1oDiA1GP4TQ5LIkUdaVVBHK2-hRMEjSbRaVfR74yV9Ndq7m13yhVeyWwTlT5_LB9sTZLbvc6RY2e-AESNIUXqOwDLN9/s320/IMG00116-20110624-1719.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I've put 'Casareccia' in the title of this post because that was the pizza I ordered. The pizza I ate and the pizza in the photo is not a 'Casareccia' it's a 'Ortolana'. Which, if you ask me, (which you didn't, I'm just pre-empting your curiosity, you're welcome), sound more like Lamborghinis than pizzas. But then that could be down to the Italian-ness of the names. And when you're as pig-headed as I am, buying supermarket own brand tampons* would sound like describing how a girl's cheeks glisten like rose petals in the fresh morning dew,** just so long as you said it in Italian.<br />
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* F.Y.I. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Ciao, vorrei acquistare questi tamponi super economic per favore?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">**"Mi piace il tuo boobies"</span><br />
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I'm getting a bit distracted from explaining why the pizza listed wasn't the pizza eaten. The explanation's pretty simple. Dumb waiters. I'm not talking about the little lifts used to transport food, although they had those as well. They had both types of dumb waiters, the useful kind and the useless kind. If they also had a waiter that was literally unable to speak then that would be great because then they would have the full spectrum of 'dumb waiters'. It could be like a dumb waiter museum. That would be a good day out, perhaps a potential date spot. Preferably take someone you don't want to go out with anymore but are too scared to dump.<br />
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Anyway the idiot shmuck with the notepad brought me the wrong pizza, I told him it was the wrong pizza, he told me it wasn't, I told him I'd ordered one with sausage and this had aubergine and aubergines aren't sausages, he didn't believe me and then I noticed I had about 15 minutes to eat it anyway as I had places to be. So I put down the gun and let the hostages go. It's cool, we still keep in touch.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">0 out of 10. WRONG PIZZA DICKHEAD.</div><div><br />
</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-26786613849806076892011-06-10T16:09:00.003+01:002011-06-10T17:00:03.336+01:00The Haggerston: Margherita<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKetTRp49FEqz3WsUvrezgUCwHS_NbMrAkf1-N32h_3_e_JoK9K1GQg-Z6B3TiHe4ug6CdJO0FUjBlju1bNlLpgZFU12BeZNot3eUz5Xef6dNeCcK87f2MIyYOoBq5ubpwIkPYwr0-RN-/s1600/IMG00100-20110514-2003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKetTRp49FEqz3WsUvrezgUCwHS_NbMrAkf1-N32h_3_e_JoK9K1GQg-Z6B3TiHe4ug6CdJO0FUjBlju1bNlLpgZFU12BeZNot3eUz5Xef6dNeCcK87f2MIyYOoBq5ubpwIkPYwr0-RN-/s320/IMG00100-20110514-2003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
If you've never been, the Haggerston is a pub in Dalston. In fact, even if you have been it's still a pub in Dalston. It's location is in no way dependant on your attendance. That must come as a relief, to know that you are in no way responsible for the livelihood and well being of one of my many local drinking establishments. Or perhaps not, maybe its highlighted the true magnitude of your insignificance, to know that you, a self-aware, semi-capable human being are powerless to have any real effect on a pile of bricks. Maybe you could burn it down? Molotov cocktails through the windows? All that alcohol must be a fire hazard, and think of what it would do for your sense of self-worth. I expect you'd finally feel ready to audition for X-Factor or something. Don't though, (burn down the Haggerston or audition for X-Factor), I have a couple of chums that work there and I'd hate to think of them jobless/dying in fiery agony.<br />
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It would also be a shame because the pizza's are pretty good. They're kind of sloppy in a good way and the margherita's only £5.50 or something. And there's chilli oil if you're so inclined. They do a bunch of wacky toppings like pear or artichokes. I don't like artichokes, they're wankers. More like artiNOPES! Geddit?!?! If you didn't understand, let me deconstruct that shit little joke for you like it was a brand new set of reverse-Lego. Consider this a little peek behind the curtain to see how the magic happens:<br />
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<b>Phase 1: Realisation</b> <i>I don't enjoy artichokes. I find them tough to chew and rude. They are rude vegetables. If they had the facilities to ignore more me I'm pretty sure they would.</i> - I decide to illustrate this fact in pun form.<br />
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<b>Phase 2: Gestation</b> Having realised and accepted my negative feelings towards the vegetables I look at ways to subtly work this into word play of some kind. <i>Fartichokes? Too childish. Although, obviously, bloody funny. Something less toilet orientated....Aha!</i><br />
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<b>Phase 3: Actualisation</b> Thus artiNOPES is born. Like a human birth there is a lot of blood, screaming and women in pain.<br />
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Now you know the extreme lengths that I go to for all these crap jokes. Gratitude please. Or money. In fact forget gratitude. Gratitude can't earn me Nectar points.<br />
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The other thing I like about the Haggerston is that there's a little room before the toilets where both the girls and the boys queue up. It's separated by communal sinks and I always think must be a great place to chat to ladies. Classic lines like "Washing your hands are you? Why? Did you accidently piss on them?" or, directed towards some hottie mid-queue, "Hey, so what are you here for? Poo or a wee?" have, as of writing, gained me precisely zero girlfriends. I'll let you know if that changes.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">8 out of 10</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-75305633266599886162011-06-05T21:08:00.003+01:002011-06-09T20:28:26.550+01:00Trattoria Da Luigi: Spicy Sausage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-58CVugQc7BQmQHBRkLCFMd4UGX4zzDe_ueO1g6GPCzksXtFYnX42SeG0DApnehamERyp0N63tflF5nY7CjERCFN2jP1G7fcmLA58U8yx2LjAfnN1kGdIcFha2UV8bqaflxe1GgXFArTo/s1600/IMG00094-20110507-1530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-58CVugQc7BQmQHBRkLCFMd4UGX4zzDe_ueO1g6GPCzksXtFYnX42SeG0DApnehamERyp0N63tflF5nY7CjERCFN2jP1G7fcmLA58U8yx2LjAfnN1kGdIcFha2UV8bqaflxe1GgXFArTo/s320/IMG00094-20110507-1530.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<b>Story time!</b> Actually wait, that's misleading. Calling this a story implies there's some kind of drama or suspense involved, or it has even the tiniest amount of narrative drive. I wouldn't want to lead anyone on by suggesting something like that. I'll be more specific and try again:<br />
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<b>Dull story time! </b>A few days ago my friends asked me if I wanted to meet them for a lunchtime pizza. I'm not going to tell you what I said because you should really be able to make a fairly educated guess by now, in the same way you should have caught on to the predictability of the 'sticking hands in flames = burns', and 'large Nazi memorabilia collection = a lot less custody' patterns of cause and effect. They told me to meet them at <i>"The Il Baccio pizzeria on Stoke Newington Church Street"</i>. However, and I'm ashamed I haven't noticed this before, there are four different pizza places with 'Il Baccio' signs on that road. It is possible that there are more than four pizza places vying for the title of Church Street's premier Il Baccio, but I had to wander around three of them looking like I'd been victim of a particularly unimaginative prank before I found my chums.<br />
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See what I mean<i> </i>about dull stories? How uninteresting was that? The concise version of that 'story' would be: It took me longer than expected to find the restaurant. Snawn* or what? I feel sorry for my Grandchildren, they're going to hate hanging out with me. I'll be the senile, grey-haired equivalent of Nytol. I probably don't need to worry about Grandkids just yet. I hear to get to that point you need to cross the 'kids' barrier first, and to get to 'kids' you need to cross the 'fertile, vaguely consenting woman' barrier. Neither of which looks like it will be happening any time soon. Anyway this pizza was actually really tasty, and totally worth the wandering.<br />
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*To snore and yawn simultaneously.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">9 out of 10</div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5999644119091302154.post-82959881946862306102011-05-28T16:00:00.000+01:002011-05-28T16:00:13.761+01:00Homa: Calzone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCDdio49tBpFiihr-6ZIbLUeR02lhKK0HiZkiX0XEw4w3E5cfxufW_zOptGF5PkZJJgipec7en3nSanuu4XcDjtGTtf1ZyZZ9aDxRrqaP4kWwe9JBR-VvDRmBCiErPFBo8kdSoB7KZXYI/s1600/IMG00091-20110505-2108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCDdio49tBpFiihr-6ZIbLUeR02lhKK0HiZkiX0XEw4w3E5cfxufW_zOptGF5PkZJJgipec7en3nSanuu4XcDjtGTtf1ZyZZ9aDxRrqaP4kWwe9JBR-VvDRmBCiErPFBo8kdSoB7KZXYI/s320/IMG00091-20110505-2108.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
If I was a travel card I’d want to make sure I was valid in zones 1 – 'Cal'. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">ß</span>What a shit opening joke. I was going to make a funny about the Kenny Loggins song, you know the one from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Top Gun </i>and substitute “Highway to the dangerzone” to “Highway to the calzone” but it didn’t have enough syllables and doesn't really work phonetically due to pronunciation issues. When it comes to shoddy puns about 80’s power pop let it never be said I’m not a stickler. I don’t imagine anyone has ever actually said the words “that Joe guy can't stickle for shit”, which I guess means people are abiding by my wishes. Thanks guys, let’s keep a lid on this ‘non-stickler’ nonsense. I don’t want to get some kind of reputation.<br />
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I like to think of calzones as the Italian Cornish pasty, in the sense that they are like a pastry parcel filled with lunch. It’s quite telling as to how much classier Italy is than Cornwall based on what constitutes ‘lunch’. In Cornwall you open up your pasty and you get a lump of ground up meat and carrots, in Italy you get tomato sauce, cheese, ham, mushrooms, a bit of basil, maybe some olive oil. This comparison is basically a less funny and more specific version of Homer’s (the Greek poet) “White people have names like Lenny and black people have names like Carl” joke, except it would be “Italian people have things in their pasties like mozzarella and Cornish people have things in their pasties like mincemeat.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Speaking of the famous yellow fat dudes, (not Jackie Chan you racist pig, he's not fat) these guys are pretty big fans of Homer, so much so they named the restaurant after him. However they obviously went over budget and could only afford an ‘A’ and not an ‘ER’ for the sign. I like this because it gives everything a bit of an urban edge. It’s basically a hip-hop/Simpsons themed restaurant. I went there once before, for brunch, but I just had a fry up, not pizza. If you’re the kind of person that has pizza for brunch then you’re sick and probably know where Maddie is.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">8 out of 10</div></div>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14509628603711401391noreply@blogger.com2