Indo: Forestiere

Indo is either a pub or a bar in Whitechapel. I'm not sure which because it looked like a pub in the sense that there were old wooden tables everywhere, it was dimly lit and a man brought his dog in but it may have been a bar because have you ever heard of a pub with a name like Indo? I was there because it was a friend's birthday and it serves pizza, both valid reasons to leave the house.

They have a classic, old-fashioned wood fired oven that churns out crispy pizzas every fifteen minutes or so. Slightly irritating however is that this oven is apparently only big enough for one pizza at a time, so considering there were about a dozen of us, pizzas came out at a slow enough pace to leave each person taking turns being the solitary pizza eater, while everyone else had to sit around watching them chew. It's almost as if Indo never considered the possibility that more than one person could come in and actually want to eat pizza at the same time. Maybe, prior to my friend's birthday, their clientele consisted solely of sad, hungry loners. Not such an unreasonable theory, Whitechapel does kind of bum me out. I can imagine if I had to spend a lot of time there my sadness, loneliness and hunger levels would increase at a similar pace. I think it's because the pavement's so wide it feels a bit like you're adrift in some dismal, concrete desert, that and all the sirens. So a desolate, urban wasteland exclusively populated by crime and accidents. Cheery stuff.

The Forestiere was a simple enough affair, ham, mushrooms, onions and an egg. Good old eggs. I'm getting into eggs on pizzas. Do you think chickens realise how lucky they are that people value their menstruations? This is a little gross but, girls, would it ease the cramping and moods or whatever if someone were to write you a charming letter once a month whole-heartedly thanking you for your used tampons? Would that make all the bleeding a little more bearable? Bear in mind I'm not offering to write these letters, I'm speaking in hypotheticals, don't send me any creepy, damp parcels. They definitely won't get opened.

7 out of 10

Chicken Nugget Pizza

I've begun the last few posts apologising for my lack of activity and blaming laziness. I'm not going to do that this time because it's been over a month and apologising for being that negligent would be like apologising to a grieving mother after you'd mowed down her baby boy in your Fiat Punto with a box of Miniature Heroes. So in conclusion, I'm an awful person and I don't deserve your forgiveness.

This is my friend Cassie and she really likes chicken nuggets.

Her thirst for the little lumps of pulverised chicken guts is funny because Cassie is a girl and I'm disappointed every time I remember Cassie's pockets aren't filled with moonbeam lollipops or marshmallows made by unicorn babies. There's probably just some spare change, a cigarette lighter or lint in there. I'm just guessing, I've never asked because "Hey, so, what's in your pockets?" is a question only friendly muggers or a drunk Gollum could get away with asking.

Cassie fucking loves chicken nuggets. If it rhymed and she had more pop culture relevance, 50 Cent should have substituted his "Love you like a fat kid loves cake" line for "Love you like Cassie loves chicken nuggets". Were I ever to be dangling off one side of a bridge and there was a single chicken nugget hanging off the other and Cassie only had time to save one of us I wouldn't fancy my chances. I feel a bit silly using the word 'fetish', but I don't think phrases like 'keen interest' or 'enthusiasm for' quite convey the severity of her passion for chicken nuggets, so I'm going to have to go with it. Cassie has a chicken nugget fetish.

We had a conversation about how great a pizza with chicken nuggets would be that went exactly like this:

Cassie: Wouldn't a pizza with chicken nuggets be great?

Myself: Yes Cassie, it would.

So we made one. Here's a recipe that's easier to follow than Charlie Sheen's Twitter. (See, I haven't been locked away in an Eastern European prison for the last six weeks, I still know what's up).

1) Nuggets take longer to cook than pizza. To ensure both finish cooking at the same time, cook the nuggets on their own a little first.

Here are some nuggets about to be put into the oven. The more astute amongst you will notice a distinct lack of pizza.

2) Once your nuggets are half cooked stick those squishy little dickheads on a pizza and put it all back in the oven.

If you compare this photo to the one above, you will see that the quantity of pizzas present has increased by precisely 1.

3) Eat the bastard.

CHICKEN NUGGET out of CHICKEN NUGGET

Top 1 Pizza: Meat Lover's

I grew up in Oxford and went back this weekend because my friends were putting on a night that we all used to go to when I was a young 'un. This night's heyday was about five years ago and most of my memories of it involve rolling around on broken glass and hi-fiving people after they'd been sick. Sorry Jesse Lacey but I'm glad I didn't stay 18 forever. That said, drinks were drunk and fun was had and this was the flyer:

Anyway this is all sort of irrelevant because if this blog starts becoming more about my issues with my ever escalating age and less about pizza then it's gone horribly wrong and I should just give up and move to Egypt. I feel the most interesting/least uninteresting thing about this pizza is that it was a lesson in context, in the sense that despite being no better than your average 4am takeaway sludge-fest, there were outside factors that lifted this pizza out of the cheesy mire and into genuinely non-awful territory. A victory for crap pizzas everywhere, Lord knows they needed one.

These contributing factors were three-fold. Firstly I was really quite drunk, and as a result more positive and enthusiastic about things like spicy beef and BBQ sauce. Secondly, it was fucking freezing and the two slices I scoffed in the shop before running home acted like an electric cheese blanket for my belly. And finally when I convinced my friend to let me into his house with a subtle, yet assertive amount of knocking, I had to eat it on the stairs because that was the only floor space not occupied by irritated, nagging bodies. It was completely dark on the stairs, which meant I was able to redistribute the energy I'd normally spend on using my eyes to my taste buds, which gave everything a little more oomph. I don't want to give this pizza more credit than it deserves, it was way too cheesy and it's name has overly homoerotic undertones. To be honest it was just well timed, that's all, but then so was Woodstock so I guess I shouldn't really dismiss it on those grounds.

7 out of 10

Pizza Sandwich

When I first had the idea of making a pizza sandwich I imagine I was equal parts hungry and smug. In retrospect, next time I'm feeling 'smungry' I'll listen to the little voice that's telling me what a disgusting slob I am and that I'd be better off eating an Elevenses breakfast bar and shutting up. Sorry blood pressure, it wasn't anything personal.

Here's a bit of context to hopefully pry the tiniest bit of sympathy out of you: I was really quite hungover and there were two Morrison's thin and crispy pizzas sitting in my fridge looking sad no-one was eating them. Pizza empathy got the better of me and I decided I couldn't stand idly by and do nothing about this, but with two pizzas and only one slot left in my daily meal allowance it was like Sophie's Choice but with toppings. The solution to the two pizzas, one plate dilemma seemed obvious at the time, but looking back I now see it was the culinary equivalent of deciding the solution to itchy mosquito bites is shotgun shells.

If you're ever faced with the unlikely situation of suffering from a split personality where one identity is Kevin Spacey in Seven and the other is the fat guy that Kevin Spacey kills with baked beans in Seven then here's the recipe for a slightly less boring alternative to beans for your psychotic, biblical suicide:

Step 1) Get two pizzas that are the same size.

Step 2) Put them on top of each other, one face down, so the toppings are touching.

Step 3) Cook them.

Step 4) Eat them.

Step 5) Hate yourself.

I did this at about 4 in the afternoon, felt dreadful for the rest of the day and had to go find a dark corner in the street to make myself vomit that evening at work. GOOD TIMES.

NEVER AGAIN out of 10

Pizza Quest Sells Out

I have a friend who works for a clothes company called Lazy Oaf. They've got a jumper that's covered in pizzas, so knowing I'm partial to pizzas she decided it would be best for everyone if I had one.

This is it:

It's a bit like that Simpson's Halloween Special where Homer gets his head transformed into a giant donut and he keeps nibbling himself, except 80% cotton is perhaps less tasty than a genuine pizza so it's unlikely that I'm going to start ripping chunks out of my belly and eating them, at least not in public.

They also gave me this little pizza necklace:

The necklace is pretty shiny and I don't know if it's too girly for my hairy, man-neck, but free stuff is always appreciated so I can't really complain. If this whole pizza thing goes too far and I start a crusade against crime as a pizza-themed vigilante then it's good to know I already have most of my costume sorted out. I know it's not on the same level as having your parents gunned down in Crime Alley but my phone got nicked the other day so I also have a tragic origin story prepared. Thinking about it, perhaps it would be irresponsible for me NOT to become a pizza themed super hero. The Mozzarella Avenger? The Scarlet Slice? Suggestions welcome.  

Lazy Oaf also asked me some questions, so if you fancy exploring the deepest recesses of my psyche in my most revealing and shocking (read: first) exposé yet, looky here.

If he were still alive, Henry Rollins would be so mad at me.

Domino's: Duluxe with Double Decadence 'Basil Burst' Base

I've been really lazy and not put up a review for a while. I'm not going to apologise, I don't owe you anything, I never agreed to do these at a specified rate, so leave me alone and please stop hassling me about it.

Obviously no-one has actually hassled me and there have been precisely zero concerned e-mails asking if I'm OK or if I've choked on a stuffed crust or OD'd on cheese or some other Darwin Award worthy death. I'm fine, no need to worry non-existent fan base.

Speaking of bases, Domino's have got quite creative with their previous 'Double Decadence' idea, which, in case you're blissfully unaware, is when they slip a thin layer of cheese between two thin crusts effectively turning the whole thing into a giant, revolting sandwich. The Domino's creative team, no doubt operating from a dark tower lined with human heads on spikes, in a forest filled with bats,  have taken this concept one step further, (which, if you're keeping track, is two steps too far). So now, instead of just boring old cheese they've generously given us the option of the 'Basil Burst' base. Despite sounding like a headline in the obituaries section of the CBBC newspaper, it is in fact something far worse and not nearly as funny.

I didn't actually check the ingredients of the 'Basil Burst' filling, but I don't think I need to because I'm fairly sure it would look like this:

Soap (64%), Salt (22%), Green Plasticine (9%), Regret (5%), Not Basil (>1%).

Basil Burst eh? More like Basil Worst! Don't worry, my New Year's resolution is to finally come up with one genuinely funny joke. I think I'll manage it eventually, I've got a good feeling about August.

2 out of 10

Pizza Hut: BBQ Civil War

Pizza Hut have two pizzas with barbecue sauce on instead of tomato. Do you give a shit which one's the best? Of course you don't, but carry on reading anyway because that time's not going to kill itself is it? It's way too jolly.

On the left hand side we have the BBQ Steak. He's got chicken, steak and onions. It was a pretty good combination, and I got over excited and started eating before I took the above photo. That's why there's a teeth shaped hole in one of the slices. It's not because the delivery man got peckish on his way over and hoped no one would notice. I wouldn't have blamed him for having a cheeky chomp but I would have noticed and chased him back to Pizza Hut like Robert Patrick in Terminator 2, latching onto the back of his moped with my liquid metal fists and killing his ass.

On the right it's the New York Meatball. Something about having 'New York' as a prefix makes a food automatically sound tastier. I'm not sure why this is. American cuisine could be considered a slow form of suicide. The yummiest suicide mind you, but suicide nonetheless. Incidentally, one you're all bearing witness to right now, AND YET DOING NOTHING TO PREVENT. Hope your bags are packed because I just sent you on a guilt trip. Zing.

After much consideration I've decided my favourite was the BBQ Steak. I think that's because it's toppings were most in keeping with the barbecue theme. I don't know whether this means consistency is an attribute I value in my pizzas or whether, if the government were made up of pizzas, I'd vote Tory because I hate progressive pizzas (This won't be why because I love wacky pizzas, look). Either way BBQ Steak, I crown you 'king of the Pizza Hut pizzas with barbecue sauce instead of tomato', a trophy you can proudly place next to your trophy for 'being a pizza that exists' and 'getting digested frequently'. Bravo you cheesy scoundrel, bravo.