I make a-da Italians feel-a bad about dere heritage.

Just like every other college-educated, self-loathing white son of middle class parents who lives in Madison, I read the A.V. Club and The Onion too much. So let me break with what’s expected of me and link to an A.V. Club story in the next paragraph:

When I started considering writing a review of Rocky Rococo’s, Wisconsin’s pre-eminent corporate pizza chain a whole 36 hours ago, I ran across this Inventory running down movies in which the police detective is told he is too close to a case, and couldn’t help parallel (again, no one else parallels their lives to something they read in the Onion, and by no one, I mean everyone) that list with this review. Am I too close to Rocky’s to write a review of the Italian stereotype-furthering chain? Probably.

You see, I worked at Rocky’s for entirely too long, from the fall of 2002 till the late summer of 2007. I literally did every job you could do at Rocky’s, from starting out as a QC– the guy who cuts the pizzas–to getting laid off for two months by a manager who hated me because I didn’t like him (for the record, I never hated him, just disliked him). I then got rehired as a dishwasher, and worked my way back up to Prep—making pizzas—to delivery driver, and then to Shift Manager. I then resigned and worked as a delivery driver again, and made the pizza dough at seven in the morning two days a week.

I mean, I’ve cleaned shit-filled plugged toilets at Rocky’s. I got to help fire a dude from Rocky’s. I’ve technically stolen breadsticks from Rocky’s. I ate roughly 1,500 slices of pizza from Rocky’s (at least five slices a week for four years). I had to throw out old jeans because they didn’t fit any more because of Rocky’s. I had a guy steal pizza from me when I was on a delivery from Rocky’s. I nearly killed a motorcyclist the same shift. I slept in the office at Rocky’s. I’ve seen what their enormous sausage looks like when it’s not been made into patties, and it’s fucking gross. I’ve thrown up in a trashcan at Rocky’s. I sat on boxes of vegetables in the cooler when the air conditioner broke at Rocky’s. I paid for college by working at Rocky’s. I have permanent calluses in the “L” between my pointer fingers and thumbs because I burned my hands every day at Rocky’s.

So am I too close to Rocky’s to write this review? You bet your sweet ass, I am. But one of us pizza-loving fucks has to do it, and since I’ve got some time to kill between now and when I go to work, here it goes:

The Good: Rocky’s is basically the best available chain in Wisconsin, as it straight annihilates Pizza Hut’s butt, Papa John’s john, and Domino’s moldy ball sack. But it used to be a venerable Madison institution, like Ian’s before Ian’s. But after it went corporate in the ‘80s, it lost some of its magic. It’s now basically the place where you take your mouth-breathing kids when they want to play arcade games (at least at the Madison locations that have games) and you don’t want to eat the gonorrhea on a crust that is a Chuck E. Cheese ‘za.

But still, the attention to pizza-making craft is on a higher level than that of other chains. The crust is hand-made, and the toppings are generally fresh and delicious.  The whole-wheat crust might be the best crust on earth, and their sausage is famous the world over (at least from Appleton to Milwaukee and La Crosse), but it’s really more of a meatball. I still get a laugh whenever I think about how all the corporate handbooks said the sausage had to be three fingers. That’s what she said, am I right, guys?

The Bad: The main problem with Rocky’s is the fact that any pizza you buy might be way too doughy and uncooked in the middle. That’s the perils of ordering a pizza that is about 12 pounds of dough. I could never understand how people could order zas from Rocky’s with 8 toppings, because even they had to know that shit wasn’t going to be cooked right. Plus the fact that I am writing this after taking a break to eat a ‘za from Pizza Extreme should tell you something: Rocky’s isn’t going to beat your local place. But then again, that’s coming from someone who has eaten way too much Rocky’s.

Try: I loved a slice called the Motherlode, which is a promotional slice that is available every once in a while, and features stuffed crust. Rocky’s stuffed crust is made with smoked mozzarella, which is basically the best. For non-promotional times, you can’t go wrong with an Uncle Sal’s on whole-wheat.

Rating: Less offensive to Italians than all of the Mario Games (minus Mario Party 5), but equally offensive to that dude named Big Pussy on The Sopranos.

At the recommendation of DoZ reader Adam, I found myself pestering my friends to bring me to a downtown Giordano’s location when I was in Chicago last weekend. Like almost everything else in Chicago, the famous pizzeria chain had a line out the ass and the occasional self-important fuckface who threatened everyone’s enjoyment of the experience. But — also like Chicago — Giordano’s Pizza also had enough great and impressive things incorporated to make it well worth the time, excess money and inevitable frustration expended in the process.

Saturday, after a short bus ride, a trip on the L in which the monotone P.A. utterance of “Nature Center” made me laugh like a moron, and a 10-block hike that found my host tripping a bunch and stepping in dog shit, we arrived at the crowded corner eatery as visions of deep dish danced in our heads. Obviously, there was a 20-minute wait, but we were able to place our order (a large pepperoni and mushroom-stuffed deep dish) at the counter immediately, making up for the delay.

THE GOOD: Holy shitballs, the pizza was cheesy. It strung off each slice –almost comically so — and would, at times, clog your throat with its unwillingness to separate. It was like auto-erotic asphyxiation in pizza form. David Carradine would’ve loved the place. Beyond that, the sauce was both abundant and zesty; the toppings were plentiful, the crust was fluffy and the mushrooms were fresh.

At one point, I made my friend laugh, and she totally spat all over the five remaining slices of stuffed pizza. The pizza was so good, I didn’t even care. I still ate two more pieces. And for the price ($24), three people left uncomfortably full.

THE BAD: Giordano’s is kind of chain-ey. That makes sense, it being a 55-restaurant chain and all, but I felt like I was sitting down for a Xtreme Jack Daniel’s Fajita Shooter at an outlet mall T.G.I. Friday’s instead of renowned stuffed pizza in downtown Chicago. Kitsch “art” and iconic re-prints were a plenty. Hoards of breeders with kids in tow, and a fanny-packed guild of obvious tourists (such as myself) crowded the dining room. Names of famous people with Chicago ties were painted on the beams and wall’s borders. We sat in a Jim Belushi-adjacent booth, which was 10 times more disgusting to me than eating someone’s spit was.

The worst aspect of the restaurant was, without question, the service. The crowded, overtly-affable pizzeria it is, it’s obvious the place is busy as shit. But the host called us up to claim out table, and literally yelled at our group for arriving exactly three seconds after he said “last call.” Dude was a total dickfive (one larger than a  dickfore) to us. Doesn’t he know how difficult to negotiate your way through a narrow hallway when it’s stuffed with fat people from Indiana holding shopping bags? Admittedly, our server was very nice though.

TRY: Get the stuffed pizza. Chicago is one of the most unique and reputable pizza locales in the world. Sure, Giordano’s is a chain with a more standardized take on Chicago-style deep dish, but if you find yourself in the joint, you’d better not get a fucking Hot Chicken Ranch Sandwich.

RATING: A Hurricane Ditka of deliciousness.

Despite the rarefied air of, like, every girl’s favorite restaurant, I didn’t relent to the pressure of trying some fancy ass almond-crusted- or lemon pepper-type dish — or even the cheesecake North America has been slinging jizz over since 1978. Single-minded as I am, I was there to eat up some motherfucking pizza.

I don’t go to places like The Cheesecake Factory often. Besides the fact that I’m a sparely-employed journalist who’s too busy being corn-holed to death by student loans to blow $18 on roasted artichoke appetizers, there are a number of reasons I don’t frequent reputable restaurant chains:

A. Most are located in annoying, mall-adjacent areas that significantly increase the chances of encountering shit like the elderly, fuckers who abruptly stop to gawk at nothing in particular even though you’re right behind them, crying kids, people with cellphone holsters, and teenagers with badditudes and overtly loud hooded sweatshirts.

B. You always have to wait to be seated. It could be Tuesday mid-morning… during a tornado warning on the day of an election and I’d still have to wait in the ever-crowded front lobby area for my table. At least you get those vibrating things. Ever put that thing on your lap? It’s almost worth the wait.

C. The menus are too diverse. If I want a burger, I go to a burger place. When I’m hankering for Thai, I go to a restaurant that specifically serves only Thai food. When a place sticks to one thing it knows, they own the fuck out of it. They need to for the sake of staying in business. There’s no “Next time I’ll try… instead” at non-chains, and that ups the ante.

I found the Cheesecake Factory to be a versatile chain exception that doles out tastebud boners regardless of the food type… but have you ever had stir fry at AppleBee’s? That place can make any genre of food sub-par. And TGI Friday’s can munch my rug too. I hate TGI Friday’s.

But since I had never eaten at The Cheesecake Factory before… and I wasn’t paying for it, I gave it a whirl. I swear I looked at the menu for about 43 seconds before my food decision was delivered to me in a way not unlike that naked babe riding the clam in that ”The Birth of Venus” painting. Roasted Vegetables and Goat Cheese Pizza.

THE GOOD: This thin crust pizza came to play. A gorgeous culinary mural of roasted eggplant, red and yellow peppers, tomato pieces, olives, artichoke hearts, onion and pesto tied together with both mozzarella and goat cheese — this 10-inch pizza was both extravagant and delicious. If you’ve never had goat cheese before, get your head out of your ass and try it. It’s like a creamy, less-bitter feta + the cure for polio x the first day of spring. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s corporate policy that every server and hostess there has to be cute and bubbly.

THE BAD: The high school reunion of toppings made for a greasy and overly-flimsy pizza. It was great… but it got progressively more soggy as I ate. I’m into crispy crust and prefer to not need a shower to clean up after eating a small pizza. To me, a day’s second shower is like the TGI Friday’s of personal hygiene practices. And the place is loud as hell (300 people and Top 40 (s)hits), not to mention it’s pretty Goddamn expensive compared to the weak portions.

TRY: The pizza. In another world, they could have called this place The Pizza Factory. Atmosphere aside, the Roasted Veggie/Goat Cheese ’Za would make a “Good pizza’s I’ve eaten” mix tape if I made one for my best friend or a girl I just began dating. In all, they have about 10 single-serving specialty pizzas on site.

It might not be a place I’ll visit often, but I must admit the pizza at The Cheesecake Factory is actually worth going to The Cheesecake Factory for.

RATING: A naked Jane Seymour offering to do your income taxes.

The magic was all in their sauce. If they told me it was made out of leprechauns and cocaine, I’d probably have said ‘Yeah, that makes sense.’ I continued coming back even after the time that my companion and I ate almost an entire pizza without plates (normally they give you these shortly after you order). For whatever reason, they just couldn’t find and keep competent waitstaff. But goddamn did they make some awesome pizza.

THE GOOD: THE SAUCE. Holy shit, is the sauce good. I don’t know if I’m willing to actually back this up, but I would probably eat just about anything if it was served with this sauce. They had a few really good vegetarian ‘zas, including my personal favorite, “The Popeye.” This delicious pizza featured cheese, spinach, feta and extra garlic. Even the shittiest of service couldn’t ruin this combination. That Fox NFL robot could be my waiter, but as long as it didn’t fuck up my pizza, I’d still leave a satisfied customer. I also vaguely remember them having some decent happy hour drink specials, and that’s always good.

THE BAD: The service at this place was notoriously bad; I’m fairly certain that’s why then ended up closing after a few years in Appleton. It was fairly common to have one of the waitstaff take your order and never see them again. An entirely different server (or sometimes a cook) would bring out your pizza. If you were lucky, you’d get plates and napkins and maybe a drink refill. Also, they removed “The Popeye” from the menu, leaving only one vegetarian specialty pizza (the Florentine, pictured above). Granted, you could still custom order a pie with the same toppings, but it ended up costing more that way.

TRY: Try not to crack your server in the skull with the first blunt object you can get your hands on. FUCK do they have some bad service. But seriously, their nachos are possibly the best ever, and make for a great appetizer if you’ve got a group of people. Also, probably try not to get too attached to any specific menu items. In the two or three years the Appleton location was open I think they changed their menu like 8 times or some shit.

While the Appleton location was plagued with terrible waitstaff, the magical (and possibly drug-laden) pizza kept me frequenting the place. Their website lists other Wisconsin locations in Eau Claire and Middleton, but I don’t really feel the need to go on a road trip just to find out if their service is any better. Although it almost certainly couldn’t get much worse than the shitfest that was the A-Town location.

RATING: RoboCop on a unicorn