Ecco: Margherita

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.

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.

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!

8 out of 10

Tesco: Spicy Meatball Calzone

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 Blue Peter's Totaliser 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.

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.

7 out of 10

Pizza Hut: Sizzling Sweet Chilli

Sshhh. This review is being whispered to you because I ate this while watching Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban 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... :,(

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 "Woah, this guy's zingy", without becoming a "I can feel my brain sweating out of my nose, I'm going to stop eating so I don't die." 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.

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).

7 out of 10

La Formachetta: Casareccia

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.

* F.Y.I. "Ciao, vorrei acquistare questi tamponi super economic per favore?"
**"Mi piace il tuo boobies"

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.

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.

0 out of 10. WRONG PIZZA DICKHEAD.

The Haggerston: Margherita

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.

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:

Phase 1: Realisation 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 decide to illustrate this fact in pun form.

Phase 2: Gestation Having realised and accepted my negative feelings towards the vegetables I look at ways to subtly work this into word play of some kind. Fartichokes? Too childish. Although, obviously, bloody funny. Something less toilet orientated....Aha!

Phase 3: Actualisation Thus artiNOPES is born. Like a human birth there is a lot of blood, screaming and women in pain.

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.

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.

8 out of 10

Trattoria Da Luigi: Spicy Sausage

Story time! 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:

Dull story time! 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 "The Il Baccio pizzeria on Stoke Newington Church Street". 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.

See what I mean 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.

*To snore and yawn simultaneously.

9 out of 10

Homa: Calzone

If I was a travel card I’d want to make sure I was valid in zones 1 – 'Cal'. ßWhat a shit opening joke. I was going to make a funny about the Kenny Loggins song, you know the one from Top Gun 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.

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.”

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.

8 out of 10