It's somewhere in this fucker.

Eau Claire is known for many things — La Crosse Lager, the mighty Chippewa Falls, UW-Whitewater and the Minnesota Twins, to name just a few.

Okay, so Eau Claire isn’t known for shit… except being annoyingly far away from everywhere else, and Bon Iver’s falsetto occasionally echoing out from the woods.

But, as I found when I paid Eau Claire my innaugral visit recently, Pizza Del Re is pretty alright too.

Since I feel like everyone needs a specific reason to go to Eau Claire — the Sabrina the Teenage Witch in the TGIF lineup that is Wisconsin — I feel obligated to tell you that I drove the 12 combined hours of yellowing grassfields, busted grain silos, anti-abortion signage and unincorporated townships to get drunk and eat pizza with Mozza Fella.

Once I arrived, shaved the beard I grew entirely during the drive, and spent the necessary 9 months in a state of hypersleep, Mozza, Ms. Fella and I went to buy some beer and take a look around town. There, we found a tiny little used book store tucked into the downtown façade. Since they didn’t have any 1st edition Goosebumps paperbacks on hand, our visit was almost as sparse as our downtown excursion itself. The pizza hour was nearly upon us.

After tying on a nice buzz via Central Waters and Old Chub (a beer, but also a nickname for Mozza Fella’s dick), I relented to the native Eau Claire…ians’ choice in pizzeria. Initially, we checked out nearby Pizza Ranch, but figuring we’d all rather be part of a suicide pact than contemplate eating there for five seconds longer, they eventually settled on Pizza Del Re, a semi-popular joint on the edge of town. And might I say, it beat the living shit out of Pizza Ranch.

THE GOOD: Though Pizza Del Re might be the place to go for a great pizza, I saw the restaurant and its week-long pizza buffet to be more of the eat until you sweat and are want to update your will-type place. The buffet, though small, was continually tended to with random ass pizzas and garlic bread. The pizza was exclusively thin crust and was cheesier than a Carrot Top routine (or using a Carrot Top analogy). The sauce was spattered in oregano, like Cranky Pat’s buttfucked an Orv’s Riser and somehow knocked it up. 

The real kicker: The price. The buffet was just $5.50 and left us all uncomfortably full. PLUS!, we scored a pitcher of Leinie’s 1888 Bock for only 4-fucking-fifty. Apparently Eau Claire runs on pesos.

THE BAD: Ironically, buffets are sometimes the worst options in terms of pizza variety. Having laid waste to a buffet or two in my day (not my first rodeo), I was half-expectant yet disappointed to see a good percentage of Del Re’s pizzas to be sloppy combinations of pepperoni, too much onion, and green pepper. Seriously, who does a guy need to blow to get mushrooms on a pizza? The assistant manager? After a second pitcher of $4.50 micro brew, I might’ve considered it.

TRY: Pizza Buffet and $4.50 pitchers. What were you expecting, “salad bar or french dip”? … as if. 

RATING: Pizza Del Re is the Los del Rio of pizza places. You won’t want to take the taxing journey that brings you to either, but once there, you won’t regret your involvement. BTW: Los del Rio was responsible for “Macarena” – so that’s why it’s funny. What? It’s not? OK… then, Pizza Del Re was pretty good, I guess.

Pizza, check. Baby, check.

Let’s call it quits people. Enough with the resolutions already. We are not even a full month into a new year, and almost everyone I know has failed miserably. Just look at my co-worker, Judy. She said she would lose at least 50 pounds to put her diabetes in check. January is almost over and she’s lost like a pound. I bet most of it was from that mole she got removed. It was huge. God, bless her for trying.

I’ll get right to the lead mozza-followers… This year I can’t fail. I know. I know, resolving to do something is my biggest weakness.

There were years past where I choked on my resolution like most women do on my manhood. Sorry, it is a simple truth. Let me drop another truth bomb on you. I’ve broken every resolution since I made the first one in 1996. I promised I would stop killing my Tamagchi for the fun of it. It’s not like I was worried about developing a weird desire to kill, but I am white, male, and sweat when sitting down. In the eyes of the world I am pretty much a serial killer. I had to drop any and all signs of becoming a mass murder. My sobriety from starving my pixelated pal lasted all but a week. Then, I let the good times roll until I got my first dial up internet connection and some therapy. Since the “Summer of Samagachi,” as my mom called it, I have broken every resolution. But let’s face the facts, “Honky Tonk Ba-Donk-A-Donk” is nearly impossible to not dance to (I hate to deprive the world of these moves — Kazaam, I’m like jumpin’ jack flash!)

You can almost track my life by the failed resolutions. Here’s the short list:

* Get organized for more than 72 hours.
* Routinely shave neck
* Cut out sweat pants all together
* Stop looking like a squinty-eyed bag of dirty laundry

Look out because that is all in the past. You heard it here first. This is a resolution too big to fail. This year my resolution is to embrace life like the sweet piece of pizza pie that it is. I am going to do every thing I have to to love life. This can’t fail. No matter what I do or don’t do (count me in SyFy). I will resolve the shit out of this resolution.  Sure times may get me down, my wife may nag,  and my job might suck, but I have secret weapon —Fat Boys Pizza.

No matter how bad things get, I guarantee Fat Boys will light this face up like the Bloomer High school football team does with score board. Go, Blackhawks! Ok, I don’t even know if that is true, but I’m a true Fat Boys convert. This place is like playing Call of Duty 36 hours straight… fucking sw33t.

The Good:

The pizza crust is unbelievably perfect. It is not to thick and is not to thin. It is super crisp, and it is lightly dusted with flour and cornmeal. Biting into this crust was like staring deeply into the eyes of Xena (making an emotional connection) while she lets you take her into physical ecstasy. This ain’t over yet. While you’re totally doing her, she is also chopping off some evil warlord’s head. That’s how good it is. You can put that in the bank. Besides the crust, the tomato sauce would make an old shoe taste good. Do your self a favor and get some extra to put on everything you own. This pie is a juggernaut of taste by topping everything off with a generous amount of toppings. I could easily eat any of my problems away.

If the pizza didn’t deliver, trust me Fat Boys the place most assuredly would. I firmly believe that if the world fell into a nuclear holocaust and somehow only Fat Boys survived, the world would know this owner’s whole family history and his love for Bloomer High School football. I like that (it’s both calming and reassuring). Those nuclear fallout survivors would also know the glory days of Packers Football, thanks to the wall devoted to the 1996 Green Bay Packers. Where else can you enjoy a slice and big old grin from Antonio Freeman? I feel like the walls of this establishment encapsulate all that is good in my life. If I am feeling down, all I would need to do is look up and see Fat Boy pointing to the opening of his restaurant (I’m a little entrepreneurial, a little) or water skiing (no explanation needed).

The Bad:

I really honestly couldn’t find much wrong with the place. The worst thing about Fat Boys is that the caricature of Fat Boy himself looks slightly Asian, when he clearly is not. The poor artistic skills are forgiven instantly when you see the professional photos of the owners children sitting atop pepperoni pizzas. I imagine that truly being Sophie’s choice (the pizza or the baby).

Try:

Try driving to Bloomer, Wisconsin and diving into one of these sweet pies. You might even meet the Bloomer legends The Bacon Family. They are deemed so because they love bacon. I mean they really love bacon. Not to mention, they also really love Artic Cat Neon jackets, and the mom will karaoke til the cows come home. This family proves the proof is in the pudding and this place is filled with pudding. Ooww… pudding… goodbye depression, hello snack pack.

Rating:

Three Babies on pizza