Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery






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Saturday, December 06, 2008


A Slice of Sorrow

I'm unhappy.

For months, I've been drooling with anticipation--at times, literally--for the opening of a new pizza place a few blocks from here. Harlem, you see, while full of all kinds of really great buildings and culturally significant places and cool little shops, has a dearth of decent pizza places.

Most pizza joints around here are the kind that also have chicken and burgers and whatever else they can scrape together and their pizza is generally lacking. There's Papa John's, which is the same crappy mediocrity it is everywhere in the country. Other than that, you kind of have to go to another neighborhood to find anything decent, and none of those places deliver outside of their small area.

Tonight, then, I was utterly heart-broken when I finally got to order from this newly-opened pie-slinging establishment, only to find that it sucks thirteen flavors of ass. I knew I was about to be disappointed when I picked the box up to leave and discovered that the pizza was not significantly heavier than the box itself. Never a good sign. Another ominous moment came when a kid who saw me exiting the place called after me, "Mister! That pizza's nasty!"

That little jackass was right. Crispy cracker-ish crust. Sickeningly sweet sauce. Mostly, what I tasted were my own tears.

Please, baby Jesus, bring my neighborhood some decent 'za.

God. First the drive through PA (thankless, as far as I'm concerned) and then no pizza? WHAT NEXT?
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