I used to have a long-running argument with an ex-friend about how, while pizza as we know it may have been “created” in America, it wasn’t inaccurate to call it Italian, because it was the Italian immigrants who made it here, not those dirty potato eating Irish. But he was stupid, so he said it didn’t matter that Italians in America made it, it was only American cuisine. Apparently his definition of what makes food of a certain culture is similar to how South American countries view territory disputes (look that shit up, I don’t have time to explain that metaphor here).
Why did I bring up a fight I had with a douche I don’t even talk to any more? Well, because Pizza di Roma, one of the less reputable pizza joints on Madison’s State Street, unlike about every other pizza place in Madison save Paisan’s, is 100% about referencing Italy. I mean, they’ve got Roma in the fucking name. Plus a prerequisite to working there seems to be that you have to be Italian (or at least Mexican) and have a love of hair oil and Italian soccer team t-shirts. Which probably makes Pizza di Roma the most authentic pizza joint in all of Madison. That is if you have a logical definition of what makes for “authentic” Italian pizza.
The Good: You can’t beat the size of Roma’s slices, since them shits are enormous. It’s like trying to eat half a frozen pizza at once. Plus their toppings are generally solid, with their sausage splitting the difference between Ian’s gastronomical annihilators and Rocky’s meatballs. They’ve also got a lot of side items (like cheese bread), which is a break from the norm of just slices at most downtown pizza joints.
The Bad: I know we are supposed to focus on the pizza here, but let me pull out my Doctor of Décor degree here for a moment; Pizza di Roma has easily the worst table-seating options of all time. They have those old plastic booths that used to be hot in Hardee’s, and you can’t move the table, which means lard-os like myself leave the place with a giant mark on our tummies from getting crushed by a booth for the duration of our meal. But then again, given that I’ve eaten at old pizza places in NYC, Pizza di Roma is more like a New York pizza place than any other non-NYC place I’ve ever been to (dingy, poorly-lit, shitty tables).
As far as the pizza goes, the cheese tends to be hit or miss, probably depending on how old the slice your sliding down your gullet is. I’ve had pieces with excellent cheese, but I’ve also had ones where the cheese tastes like that school lunch pizza cheese that is still causing childhood obesity and diarrhea across America. It probably depends on when you head to the place; the morning is good, the afternoon less so, and it’s better again at dinner.
Try: There are some more daring slice combos at Pizza di Roma (eggplant on a pizza? Fuck you), but mostly they are by the books with the kind of topping combos you can buy on a Jack’s at your supermarket. But Roma’s za is way better than that, obviously.
Rating: Four out of eight John Stamoses
