When All Else Fails, There's Pizza . . . Sometimes

Pizza. Yum. 'Nuff said.

Today, my husband and I made a valiant attempt to have lunch at a small European-styled café not far from our house. This café—whose proprietor is currently featured in local news spots because, as a survivor of the World Trade Center attack, she has a story to tell—has seen its fair share of goofy mishaps as of late when in early August a 92-year old man drove his car through the café, and the following week the café was robbed of $400.

Nothing says good eatin’ like overcoming adversity.

So Maarten and I were all set to have a delightful European-inspired lunch. While he ran across the street to the bank, I was charged with running into the café to save a table. Unfortunately, all eight tables were already occupied and there was no telling when another one would open up.

Dejected, we schlepped over to Stamford Town Center Mall. The food court inside the mall was out of the question. However, there were still a few places to choose from on the outside of the mall: Capital Grill (too pricey for lunch), Cosi (um uh, ehhh), P.F. Changs (been there, done that), Kona Grill (been there, done that, Part II), Mitchell’s Fish Market (just wasn’t feeling it) and California Pizza Oven.

The last time I had been to a CPK was roughly, er um uh, eons ago when I lived in Atlanta, but Maarten had never been. While I never remembered it as something to rave about, I recalled the food was better than decent and it would suffice in filling that empty void in our bellies that was now beginning to rumble and undulate all by itself.

I’m not sure why, but pizza was the only thing I had a taste for. That European café surely didn’t serve pizza, so I’m not sure why the urge was so profoundly strong. As it turned out, neither of us had an original thought in our heads; we both ordered pizzas.





White Cheese pizza with chicken

The pizza that I really wanted to order, the White Cheese Pizza—complete with mozzarella, Fontina, ricotta, parmesan, pecorino romano and sautéed garlic spinach—was making my mouth water but it was missing one crucial ingredient: Chicken. So feeling like a Burger King throwback to the 1970’s, I relied on California Pizza Kitchen to have them serve my pizza my way. I wouldn’t have been the least bit ashamed to break out into song, either:

¯"Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce, special orders don’t upset us. All we ask is that you let us serve it your way!"¯

Fortunately, for the sake of the other diners it didn’t come to that, and I was able to get my pizza exactly as I wanted it . . . without any cajoling, crying, kicking 'n screaming or a song and dance routine.

Maarten ordered the Original BBQ Chicken Pizza with smoked gouda, mozzarella, BBQ chicken, red onions and cilantro. His hopes were running very high, especially since right next door, we knew that Kona Grill served a phenomenal BBQ chicken pizza. And they're not even a pizza joint.

Beautiful pizzas to look at. Unfortunately, only one was worthy of a repeat performance.

The White Cheese Pizza, although deluged with enough garlic in the spinach to ward off vampires, was a buttery, cheesy treat. I ate the entire pizza. For the record, this wasn’t a miniscule personal size pizza, either.

Maarten’s pizza, on the other hand, had no excuse. This was CPK’s original BBQ pizza . . . the very same one that they invented in 1985. You would think that after twenty-six years, they would get it right. If you're gonna have the audacity to use the word "chicken" in a pizza's title, there should be enough of said chicken on the pizza to tell the difference between that and, oh say, a vegetable pizza. And the BBQ was almost entirely denuded of BBQ flavor and yet, strangely enough, there was enough cilantro on it to send Maarten into a coma. Is it no wonder there are entire groups of people in existence who absolutely hate cilantro?!?

Cilantro, um er uh, BBQ Chicken pizza

http://ihatecilantro.wordpress.com/

http://ihatecilantro.com/

I emerged the clear victor on the alternative meal for the day. But despite the not-so-fantastic BBQ chicken pizza, Maarten still managed to eat five of the six slices. And he had the unabashed gall to get the last piece wrapped up to-go!

It just goes to show you . . . when all else fails, there’s pizza . . . even if you don’t like it.