Greenville: Pizza Mecca of Earth?

Spectators Sports Bar & Grill (W6165 Greenville Dr., Greenville, WI) is a place I’d driven by numerous times, but never thought I’d have a reason to stop by.

For one, it’s in Greenville, which one usually only happens upon when looking for discount Wasabi Peas, or when given bogus directions to the Fox River Mall. Secondly, the bar looks, from the outside at least, to be the type of place where Jager Bombs are considered “new” and unlicensed T-shirts bashing Brett Favre are routinely sold.

But fate, hunger and a tri-generational meeting of Mario (except not an alias) family males recently brought me to Spectators for the first time. There, I learned 1. Spectators is actually kind of a badass bar, 2. My grandpa is a dirty and hilarious old man, 3. Puerto Rican sluts on the rag are delicious (the shot isn’t bad either), 4. The secluded country bar’s pizza is that of wet dreams.
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Life is a game of give and take.

It’s difficult to recognize pleasure without first experiencing pain. People everywhere (except Michigan) brave the highways each morning to drive to a jobs they hate, just so they can support their lifestyles and provide security for loved ones. Any guy who’s ever seen a Hugh Grant movie probably did it for the Hanj (or better) he assumed may follow said sacrifice.

And in the case of Milwaukee’s newest place of pizza pie purveyance, Crisp Pizzabar & Lounge, one of the area’s better and higher quality wood fire pizzas in Milwaukee comes with the attached toll of being housed within one of the most overtly douchebaggish restaurant concepts ever.
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In addition to our shared affinity for local restaurants, we Doctors of Za are also staunch proponents of the local music scene. But when Gilead Media mailed me a press pack and CD of Milwaukee hardcore outfit Get Rad yesterday, I didn’t know quite why. I mean, I was glad to get the album 1. For free, 2. A day before tonight’s CD release show at Bay View Brew Haus… but the glut of my freelance work falls into the realms of local dining reviews, concert recaps, and professional baseball or arena football profiles. And sometimes I’ll slap on a moniker to write borderline offensive things pertaining to pizza. So why me?

But when I heard Get Rad’s masterpiece “Drug of Choice”, I understood. Spanning just over a minute, it wasted no time striking a chord deep within me. It’s nothing short of scripture. I’d like to share it with you.
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We are not these dudes.

Pizza sits alone in an unfuckwithable food category. Like a can cozey that says “A bad day of golfing is still better than a good day at work,” most people agree that even shitty pizza is still pretty good. So what happens when you take the power of pizza creation into your own feeble hands in service of trying to gross out your bro? Pizza vs. Pizza, in which two esteemed constables of pizza mastication, Dr. Tenderoni and Dr. Benji Mane, your two Madison correspondents, challenge each other to eat totes gross slices of the other’s creation at Roman Candle. Read more »

Not Jeff and/or Jim at all.

Eau Claire, Wisconsin is famous for so many things, you guys. Like…. Well, that dude from Bon Iver is from there. I heard he’s a cool guy. Also, Eau Claire is the last place to take a decent shit between there and Wausau or Madison. Seriously, just try taking a shit in Thorpe. Good luck, you poor unfortunate soul. Your anus will never forget the Thorpedo. Eau Claire’s fame is basically unfuckwithable, I’m saying.

At any rate, I recently found myself sequestered in the environs of Eau Claire’s bosom, visiting my parents (who don’t live there), my cousin (who doesn’t either), and my aunt and uncle (who do). And because I wanted to “see” what Eau Claire “had to offer” in terms of “pizza,” my cousin and I ventured to the “hip” part of Eau Claire (Waters Street, y’all) to eat at a pizza place called Jeff & Jim’s. I was informed by my cousin that Jeff and Jim were not gay lovers (at least as far as he knew), and they had a falling out at some point, which led Jim to change his name to Jimbo and move to Chippewa Falls and open his own pizza place. It’s like Eau Claire’s civil war or something. Read more »

Kind of badass.

Simply stated, there are just certain places you shouldn’t good to get certain things.

Think about it; when you want sushi, you don’t rush to a mini mall in a town of 5,000. I’d advise against venturing to either Dakota if you’re specifically searching for a hot piece of tail (though I once made out with a cute chick from Fargo). Families don’t, or at least shouldn’t, caravan to Washington D.C. just to see “a good baseball game”–even if they live in the D.C. area. In that same vein, very few people go to gas stations with the sole intention of getting a hot slice of pizza. But regional convenience store chain Kwik Trip (of selling milk in bags fame) not only stocks a myriad of pre-made Cheese Mountain Pizza beneath their heat lamps, they really, really push them on people. 

But somehow, I’d managed to resist the the onslaught of radio ads, TV commercials and in-store advertising that makes Avatar seem under-publicized by comparison. Maybe I wasn’t ready to have my mind blown. Maybe I didn’t feel as if I deserved to try Cheese Mountain Pizza. But probably, it was because they look fucking disgusting.
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3246 South 27th St.
Milwaukee WI 53215
(414) 645-2400
website

Sometimes you run out of fun things to do and end up in your girlfriend’s bed while she’s at work trying to figure out something to do besides look at porn. Man of The Year was doing the same sans girlfriend’s bed (or girlfriend for that matter) so we decided to tap an area of Milwaukee seldom visited by any of the DoZ. Growing up on the south side of Milwaukee, 27th street holds many a fond memory for me. My first bike was from the Toys R Us on 27th, my first car was purchased at Braeger Chevrolet, my mom ran a catering business that was located on 27th, and my first Target experiences were at the Target on 27th. A memorable street to say the least. Now, for some reason my parents never got me hip to Ned’s Pizza, but I really wish they would have.

Upon walking in the door of Ned’s you’re greeted with a photoshopped picture of Brett Favre that says “Drama Queen” and a clock that looks like a pizza. I already knew I was going to love it here. The inside of Ned’s feels like 27th street. It has some serious south side character. MoTY stated that he “would never bring a date here.” I couldn’t disagree more and this is most likely why he is single. We seated ourselves and were brought menus quickly. Directly in the middle at the top of the inside of the menu “MILWAUKEE’S BEST THIN CRUST PIZZA” is boldly displayed. Big talk. I’ll be the judge of that.

Seriously.

Ned’s offers a fairly basic pizza menu. No pesto, goat cheese, or spinach here. The one thing that sets them apart from almost every other pizza joint in the city/state is that they have pickles as topping. It is even a main ingredient on one of their specialty pizzas, the Triple “P” (Cheese, Pepperoni, Pepperoncini, and Pickles). Our waitress also highly recommends the Triple P. I’ve only tasted pickles done correctly once on a pizza (Pizza Shuttle) so I had to try. MoTY is afraid of pickles so we got them only on half. Ned’s also has a sandwich, appetizer, and dessert menu. On top of all that they also offer “Ned’s Pizza Parbakes.” From the website: “A Ned’s Pizza Parbake is a pizza prepared by us for you to take home and bake yourself.”

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2856 N. Oakland Ave.
Milwaukee, WI 53211
414-964-2850
http://www.oaklandtrattoria.com/

My first visit to Oakland Trattoria was in the year 2000 for Tami Hooyman’s 19th birthday party. Our group sat in a private room with a large table that is opposite the restaurant’s wood burning oven. It was that night that I realized that all my then current girlfriend’s friends were douchebags. Oakland Trattoria seems to attract a lot of douchebags. Mostly, UWM students who want to go somewhere nicer than The Gasthaus when their parents are in town. My lunch was no different. We were seated near a douchebag with his parents who didn’t utter a single word throughout their lunch. I thought it was weird.

I allowed Man of The Year (my friend and possibly yours, Chris Stingl) with me since he had finally found a little bit of money after being unemployed for a little over 14 months (and counting). We were greeted by our waitress promptly and his 1:00 PM Jack & Coke order caught me off guard so I decided on a Budweiser and we were on our way to fun. Man of The Year, as well as myself, hadn’t been to “The Tratt” in a few years but he definitely remembered the focaccia bread and oil that they start you off with. He was overjoyed to find out that they still maintain this practice. Read more »

Its pizza is much better than its fugly logo.

I like to pay out-of-season visits to places like Lake Geneva.

For some reason, things like saltwater taffy, novelty T-shirts with something pissing on something else, and the presence of water manage to bring in tourists from around Wisconsin, and a plethora of self-important fuckheads from Illinois in summer.

But in winter, the place takes on a whole new persona — like a sleeping city of sorts. Or like Sheboygan with more stuff to do and fewer sexual assaults.

With the aforementioned FIB-influx, Chicago residents — who would probably melt if ever forced to eat a thin crust pizza — have used their loud-mouth influence to bring a bunch of stuffed pizza joints to Lake Geneva. Down panderingly-named routes like “Wrigley Street”, “Curtis Enis Run” and “Honk your Horn Because the Guy Ahead of you Didn’t Run a Red Light, and You’re in a Hurry to Watch the Cubs NOT Win the World Series Again Boulevard”, you’ll see Chicago-based chains like Geno’s East, and various other purveyors of the stuffed pizza shamelessly using the word “Chicago” in their names.

When my pal Vince invited me to his hometown of Lake Geneva to meet him for some stuffed Za at Original Chicago Pizza Co., get drunk, talk about Sons of Anarchy and make fun of Corey Hart at length, I gladly accepted.
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I spend most of my time reorganizing shelves at a big box store, which is to say I spend most of my time trying to entertain my co-workers with my near perfect memory of the lyrics to 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” (my strength is the first verse), my flawless singing of the Miley Cyrus songbook and my hilarious tales of “being a writer” at a big box store. One evening recently, one of my 14 supervisors, a no-nonsense dude who I won’t name here, upon hearing my tale of writing for a pizza review site, had this to say:

“You should eat Rossi’s. It’s in Monona, and it’s the best pizza on the planet. It’s how pizza should be. You say you like Ian’s? Blegh. It’s gross compared to Rossi’s.”

I think I answered noncommittally out of fear, but holy shit, dude was on to something. There’s a giant ass sign outside of Rossi’s that calls it the best pizza on the planet too, and it’s probably the first sign that is totally true since that one I saw that asked if I was tired while driving when I totally was. Rossi’s is hands-down the best pizza I’ve had in my short time in Madison, to the point where I’m not even sure if it’s worth eating anywhere else. Which isn’t exactly the thing you want to feel when you review pizza for fun. Am I right, ladies? Read more »