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.

I’ve been visiting Village Pizza in Chicago’s Ukrainian Village for a couple years now and I don’t know why I keep going back. I recently spent roughly 2 weeks on the road with my good friends and fantastic musicians Red Knife Lottery. They are a Milwaukee based band but their guitar player, Dan, resides in Chicago. Dan also happens to be one of my best friends which finds me in Chicago more often than I’d actually like. He, like myself and my za doctor friends, is a big fan of drinking and we get about as drunk as you can get while I’m visiting.

This is where Village Pizza comes into play. I’ve never been there sober and there is a good reason for that. It’s a pizza by the slice style joint and they’re nice enough to oblige you with a free soda from their soda fountain. They are one of the only (if not THE only) places I’ve been to in my life that offers grape soda from the fountain. You’ve got your basic pizza flavor choices at Village Pizza. I usually opt for pepperoni while my typical drinking buddy usually rolls with the cheese. No fancy toppings here, plastic-like cheese (in that weird kind of good way), half hard/half soft crust, and the sauce can only be described as completely normal.

The slices are humongous. Humongous and greasy. When I wake up in the morning and put my pants on (actually they’re still on most of the time) I normally find little dark circles on my pants from the pizza dripping grease on me. The real story at Village Pizza isn’t merely the run of the mill slices. It’s the owner. The insanely racist asshole owner. It’s really unlike anything you will ever witness (think Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino). I can’t explain it and you really do have to just see for yourself.

Overall, I’ve never been unsatisfied while taking a 3-4 am trip to Village Pizza and I guarantee that I will be back. When I wake up in the morning and my mouth has that certain taste (you know the one) I definitely curse my drunken self for being so stupid… again.

The Good: Free soda (grape!!) and the fact that you know you’ve been drinking heavily. It’s cheap. I vaguely remember paying around 3 bucks for a seriously big slice.

The Bad: The staff is completely insane in sort of a scary way. The clientele is basically the same way. It may be the fact that I’ve never been in there before 1:30 am but it’s always an adventure. That almost makes it sound not bad. I guess the real bad is that taste in your mouth in the morning and the day long stomach ache you’ll be dealing with the following day.

Try: Going there when you’re not drunk and letting me know how it is.

Rating: Sex with a fat chick.