Lame logo for lame pizza.
Sorry I haven’t contributed here lately. I’ve been up to other things, like writing a musical based on the life of Andre the Giant, writing shit about plays that are about dogs and fucking, and generally doing important shit like ruining the days of 12-year-olds on Halo Reach. But it’s not like I haven’t eaten pizza; my doctor, who I recently saw for the first time in like five years assured me that I am indeed still obese, a pizza lover, and headed to a heart-attack filled grave. When I asked him how he knew I love pizza, he looked at me, and said, “Because of that pepperoni on your chin.”
The problem is, I haven’t eaten much new pizza. I’ve balled down on plenty of Rossi’s, eaten at Roman Candle, (not) mourned the loss of Gumby’s, and eaten (roughly) 100 frozen pizzas. The only new place I’ve tried was Rosati’s, a place so thoroughly inoffensive and unmemorable, that I forgot I ate there when I discussed not writing pizza reviews much any more with my roommate. “I don’t eat at places we haven’t ate anymore,” I said. “Yes you do. We ate at that one place before Social Network,” he said. “I hate you so much,” I said. The Good: You should know Rosati’s in Madison (at least the one on the west side) isn’t directly affiliated with the Rosati’s Chicago-style pizza chain. It has the same menu and everything, but it’s not affiliated with the chain that has operated for 50 years in Chicago, or the one on the east side that is basically in Sun Prairie (which I’m told sucks dong). But enough with the background on pizza chain affiliates and onto the ‘za.
The pizza comes in three different types, basically a pan style, a super huge pan style, and a fucking enormous pan style that promises to be an obelisk of bread and cheese. My roommates and I went with the middle option, and it was pretty okay. Unlike Brett Favre’s penis, the pizza was thick, it was stiff, it could please a woman, and it didn’t wear Crocs. But…
The Bad: It was huge and bland. It was like taking five one-pound bags of shredded cheese from the grocery store and cooking it on top of a pile of pepperoni and a loaf of bread. It entirely gets wrong the original spirit of Chicago style pizza: It’s not about how high you can make the crust, it’s about how good you can make your sauce. Think about it; that well of crust allows pizza makers to show off their sauce in a way that New York pizza doesn’t allow. Instead, chains like Uno’s and Rosati’s pile on the crust and the cheese, leaving very little sauce. Which in Rosati’s case, might be a good thing, since their sauce also tasted like it was store-bought. I mean, my mom makes pizza just like this, and I don’t have to pay $18 for a medium that takes 30 minutes to cook. Also, mom, if you’re reading this (I hope not), that Brett Favre penis joke was for you. Happy birthday? And Christmas too?
Try: One of my roommates had a gnarly looking Chicago-style hot dog that looked pretty rad, as Rosati’s offers more than just za. Other than that, just try finding a Rocky’s instead.
Rating: Like Ben Roethlisberger in a bar, the pizza comes on strong but…I have no joke for this.
