!!! Faux-Posh Pizza Double Review !!! Maximum WOW !!!

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.

At least this is the information I'm gleaming from Domino's and Pizza Hut'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.

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.

Domino's Gourmet Range: Rustica

So this is Domino's attempt at class and it's a bit like the pizza equivalent of MTV's G's to Gents. Did you ever watch that? It was like a hip-hop version of Tool Academy. 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. 

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!"

Pizza Hut: Primo Italiano

'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.

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.

Verdict:

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).

Princi: White Cheese and Smoked Ham

Princi is a bakery on Wardour Street. I like it because it's simultaneously classy and cheap. Sort of like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. What gives Princi the edge over Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman 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'.

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.

*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).

7 out of 10

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