Week 6: Pig Ate My Pizza (and possibly my wallet)

I’m not going to lie to you.  Writing this review of our week 6 pizza date has been a teeth-gnashing, nail-biting, blood-pressure raising, anxiety producing exercise, and not just because of my natural tendency to procrastinate.  (Although, let me be clear.  That’s a factor, too).  Not even my favorite daily five mg pill can attack the anxiety associated with reviewing an establishment that is so new and so trendy that it recently received national recognition on CNN’s list of best new pizza places across the US. 

Our Week 6 destination, Pig Ate My Pizza, was recommended by friends both near and as far away as Indiana.  Since I am a firm and lifelong subscriber to what I affectionately call “food porn” (restaurant reviews) and since I am not living under a rock, Pig Ate My Pizza was on my radar.  Located just a few miles from our front door in my hometown of Robbinsdale, Pig Ate My Pizza is new on the scene and is definitely turning heads.  From the clever name to the pork-centric menu, Pig Ate My Pizza is definitely transforming Robbinsdale from “Bird-town” to “Pig-town”!

Given the aforementioned press, I decided to do a little research prior to our pizza date night – and it’s a darned good thing I did.  After learning that Pig Ate My Pizza doesn’t have a website but rather, relies on social media in the form of Facebook and Twitter to create a buzz about their food, I consulted Urban Spoon and Yelp for further pig intel.  What I learned was that this pizza joint would likely test the limits of my aforementioned patience     (or total lack thereof).  Some reviewers mentioned wait times in excess of an hour (kill me) and others suggested that I plan to arrive early and stand in line to secure a seat.  I am buying One Direction concert tickets or getting dinner?  Wait in line?!?  For a pizza? 

I alerted the hubby to the popularity of Pig Ate My Pizza and the very real possibility of waiting upwards of an hour to get a seat, and against our better judgment, we left the house for dinner at 4:45 PM so we could be at Pig Ate My Pizza when they flung open the doors for dinner at 5 PM.

Pre-pizza mood Ratings:

Princess D: 7

Hubby: 7

We were both in fairly high spirits as we arrived at Pig Ate My Pizza.  Because “Pig” is the site of the former Travail Kitchen & Amusements and is under the same ownership, I had a deep and abiding fear of being overrun by hipster doofuses and pretentious foodies.  My research also warned me that “Pig” featured family-style seating, and as a party of two with a healthy disdain for my fellow humans, the idea of eating dinner with friends I hadn’t met yet was unappealing at best.  However, in spite of these niggling fears, it was a beautiful Saturday and I looked forward to a pizza date with my beloved.  His pre-pizza mood, although decent, was marred by a rough day at work.

Parking Situation:  

A large parking lot with nice, wide parking spaces is conveniently located behind Pig Ate My Pizza, next to the McDonald’s.  If you can figure out how to enter the parking lot, you’re in luck.  There is some on-street parking in front of the restaurant as well.  My pre-pizza investigating warned me that although there is a front door at Pig Ate My Pizza, you should plan to enter at the back, so we parked in the rear of the building.  I wasn’t driving, but even I can handle parking in this joint.  Bonus points for a nice parking lot, Pig!

Exterior Appearance: 

While it’s entirely possible that the front of the building is quaint and welcoming, I didn’t get a good gander at it since we parked in back.  The back isn’t much to look at.  There’s some concrete, a door, a sign . . . and the night we were there, I was distracted by the line of people already waiting for the doors to open.

Entrance/Welcome:  We stood in line with the other pizza zombies.  At a few minutes after 5 PM, the door opened and a guy came out and said, “Sorry folks – we’re out of pizza!”  Since he then laughed uproariously, we assumed it was a joke and we all filed through the door like sheep.  It was very clear that we should follow the crowd, so we did.  If you arrived later, I’m not sure it would be quite as obvious as there is not a host/hostess and if you enter through the back, you have to walk down a little windy hallway.  We were promptly seated at the bar – not with friends we hadn’t met yet – and left to our own devices.

Interior Appearance:

If you are a pig-o-phile; a lover of the color pink; or a cross-stitch enthusiast, you are going to love this place.  The interior of the restaurant, frankly, looks unfinished.  There’s an open floor-plan that allows you to see what’s going on in the kitchen – because at “Pig”, the food is the entertainment.  The menu is written on chalkboards on the walls, and there are pigs of various shapes and sizes everywhere.  There is also a wall featuring beer mugs and it appears that repeat patrons are invited to bring their own mug to hang on the wall and drink out of in future visits.  I didn’t really get the full gist of how that worked and didn’t have an opportunity to inquire.  Perhaps you know and would like to explain it to me?

Clientele & Overall Vibe:  This is a busy, bustling, loud place.  After standing in line to get a seat, we were placed at the bar.  We had a great view of what was going on all over the restaurant, but as the night went on, we couldn’t help but notice that there were people literally breathing down our necks, standing behind us at the bar, waiting for a table.  The feeling of a stranger’s hot breath on your neck while you attempt to eat your dinner is not appetizing, FYI.  The clientele was a mix of foodies (possibly of the pretentious variety – since it was so loud in there, I couldn’t judge or mock others to the extent I wanted to), hipsters, and people like us. 

Wait staff:  Everyone here is a chef, a server, a bartender, and a comedian.  We were primarily served by the bartender, who was helpful in explaining the menu and making recommendations. 

Menu Selection:  Ok, gang . . . here’s the truth of the matter.  While I definitely enjoyed our experience at Pig Ate My Pizza, it’s not exactly your traditional pizza parlor.  It’s part charcuterie, part theater, part pizza joint.  The food is definitely ‘pizza-like’ but it’s not your father’s pizza.  In fact, if you didn’t know that you were eating pizza, you might be fooled into thinking you were in some kind of gourmet restaurant.  “Pig’s” pizza is round and has a crust, but that’s where the similarity to regular pizza ends. You can choose from their signature dish, “Cider Ham Rules” or you can opt for a pork-heavy tasting menu.  They also feature a wide selection of craft beers and wine.

The chalkboard menu describes the food but doesn’t really provide a lot of clues about portions – so be advised.  What is advertised as a pizza is really more of a meal for one.  Or a meal for two people if they are both on a diet, but if they were really on a diet, why would they be out eating pizza at someplace that features so much pork?   

Food Wait Time:  Like everything at Pig Ate My Pizza, you should be prepared to wait.  This is a place that emphasizes quality, showmanship, and fun – and you have a front row seat to all of it.  It takes about 30 minutes for your pizza to arrive.

Drumroll, please . . . the Pizza Itself:We didn’t realize that the pizzas were more of a meal for one, but we filled up on appetizers and ordered something called the “Piggy Pie”, which is Pig’s version of a deep dish pizza.  Served on a crisp brioche-style crust (turns out the pan is greased with bacon fat), it features a tangy marinara sauce, topped with pulled pork shoulder, pork belly, bacon crumbles, and pepperoni.  The cheese is a blend of mozzarella and asiago and maybe something else (my notes say “three cheese” but I didn’t get specific).  Cut into small slices, it’s worth the wait.  This is a pizza for almost all senses – it looks, smells, feels, and tastes amazing.  Sadly, it’s not much to listen to or we’d be five for five on the senses. 

Although it was a petite meal, maybe it was all that pig product; maybe it was the fat content; or maybe it was the Surly Furious I drank, but half of the Piggy Pie filled this little piggy up.  I managed to choke down some dessert (also delicious and lovely to look at) though. 

Price & Value:  A night out at Pig Ate My Pizza isn’t cheap.  Be prepared to drop $50+ on dinner. This was our most expensive pizza date at just under $60 and we didn’t even have leftovers!  Did the pig also eat my wallet?  Perhaps.

Waiting for the Check:  

We were ready to hit the road – particularly since we were being circled by vultures who were desperate for our seats.  We did have to request the check but upon request, it came quickly and we were able to make a hasty escape to the car. 

Post-Pizza Mood:

Pig Ate My Pizza is definitely an experience.  We left with plans to return – next time, to tackle one of the tasting menus.  We left at a mood of 8, but in agreement that Pig Ate My Pizza is really more of a culinary journey than a pizza date.

Bottom Line:  This is an experience you won’t want to miss.  Plan ahead or be prepared to stand in line.  Save your pennies because pigs aren’t cheap.  And if you’re just plain craving some good, old-fashioned pizza, you’ll probably want to head someplace else.  But if you like good food, creative presentation, and enjoy eating while surrounded by piggy banks, this is the place for you.  Bon Appetit! 

Our Pizza Schedule . . . 33 / 52 Weeks Accounted For! (Alphabetized List)

Pizza Every Week . . . An Alphabetical List

Aurelio’s Pizza – Week 7 – Recommended by Jennifer Ehrhardt Read Review Here

Black Sheep Pizza – Week 16 - Recommended by Lyndsay Nelson & Kimberly Murrin

Broadway Pizza – Week 14 – Recommended by Mark Marjala Read Review Here

Carbone's Pizza – Week 21 – Recommended by Keith Glasch

Cossetta's Italian Market & Pizzeria – Week 17 – Recommended by FBI Agent Bui

Davanni's – Week 24 – Recommended by Andrew Craven

Element Woodfire Pizza – Week 15 - Recommended by the Main-Hamlow family & my mom!

Fat Lorenzo's – Week 3 – Recommended by Michele Bordo and April Hurley Read Review Here

Fireside Pizza – Week 20 – Recommended by Keith Glasch and Mark Heydt

Frankie's Pizza – Week 28 – Recommended by Jennifer Ehrhardt

Galactic Pizza – Week 25 – Recommended by Jon Hamlow

Green Mill Pizza – Week 32 – Recommended by Jim & Val Usselman

Hello Pizza – Week 27 – Recommended by Missy Durant

Italian Pie Shoppe – Week 4 – Recommended by David Leonhardt Read Review Here

Jakeeno's Pizza – Week 23 – Recommended to me, by me!

Jet's Pizza – Week 18 – Recommended by Trainer Jared

Lake Harriet Pizza – Week 22 – Recommended by Jean Nitchals

Latuff's Pizzeria – Week 2 – Recommended to me, by me via a drive-by Read Review Here

Leaning Tower of Pizza – Week 9 – Recommended by Heidi Martens, Dede Fitzmaurice, and Mark Marjala Read Review Here

Mozza Mia – Week 30 – Recommended by Daniel, Melissa & Victor Muro La Mere & Jeanne Androsoff

Parkway Pizza – Where it All Began!  Week 1 – Recommended by ME Read Pseudo Review Here

Pig Ate My Pizza – Week 6 – Recommended by Kris Rosen & Jennifer Butler Read Review Here

Pizza Biga (Turtle Bread Co) – Week 31 – Recommended by Daniel, Melissa & Victor Muro La Mere

Pizza Luce – Week 13 – Recommended by Jean Nitchals Read Review Here

Pizza Nea – Week 33 – Recommended by Kimberly Murrin

Pizzeria Lola – Week 11 – Recommended by Dave Hamilton Read Review Here

Psycho Suzi's Motor Lounge & Tiki Garden – Week 26 – Recommended by my hubby!  And Jon Hamlow

Punch Neapolitan Pizza – Week 8 – Recommended by Jhanel Ebert Read Review Here

Red Savoy – Week 4 – Recommended by Mir Ali, Amy Stern & Randy Ross (after the fact) Read Review Here

Sammy's Pizza  - Week 12 – Recommended by Mark Marjala Read Review Here

Tasty Pizza – Week 19 – Recommended by Jhanel Ebert and my hubby

Turtles Bar & Grill – Week 10 – Recommended by Kim Motz Read Review Here

Unhinged Pizza – Week 29 – Recommended by Becca Rausenberger

Week 5: Italian Pie Shoppe & Winery

I come from a long, long line of anxious people.  Perhaps you’re acquainted with some of my anxious ancestors and relations, and you therefore know of what I type.  While I’d like to pretend that I managed to dodge the anxiety bullet, I think we all know better.  While some of you were in line signing up for athleticism, basic balance, and mechanical skills, I opted for a double helping of “tall” and “anxious”.  Thus, it should really come as no surprise to me or anyone else that I am starting to find my own hobby stress-inducing.    

There appears to be no correlation between the actual consumption of pizza and my anxiety level.  It’s the commitment to weekly blogging about said pizza eating that is raising my already elevated (although improving, according to my recent check-up at Park Nicollet Clinic!  Thanks, Dr. Milburn!) blood pressure.  But don’t you worry – it’s nothing that a daily five mg pill can’t keep in check.

The blogging related stress began last weekend, which, to be fair, was a strange weekend altogether.  After spending most of my Friday fighting city hall and shrieking insults at various city workers at volumes so loud that people in New Zealand were asking me to pipe down, I woke up on Saturday feeling vaguely relieved to be in my own bed and not in one of Brooklyn Center, MN’s finest jail cells.  The sense of relief, however, was overshadowed by a deep and profound sense of utter shame and humiliation – the kind that only occurs when you completely lose your flipping mind and hurl every expletive you know (and maybe even some new ones) at a pear-shaped, power hungry, troll-like woman who happens to be your city building inspector.  I can’t defend my behavior.  It was as if I suddenly morphed into Theresa Guidice from Real Housewives of New Jersey and the building inspector was a much shorter, less attractive Danielle Staub with an accent straight out of Fargo instead of Newark.  Had there been a table within reach, I assure you, I would have recreated the infamous RHONJ finale.  It’s fair to say that I was definitely carrying a wagon-load of shame for my “straight out of central casting” ghetto-fabulousness while also harboring a fair amount of indignant rage when pizza night rolled around.

Week 5 brought us back to St. Paul, to a little pizzeria located near Macalester College.  Both the hubby and I were looking forward to pizza night.  He started clamoring for pizza, quoting his favorite lines from the 1996 Michael Keaton classic, Multiplicity, around 10 AM, and by 4:30 PM, I caved and like good senior citizens, we headed out for our early-bird pizza special.  What’s unique about week 5 is that this was the first truly “new” pizzeria we’ve sampled to date.  Sure, Week 2's Latuff's was a new experience for us, but it’s a place we drive by approximately 130 times a week and we’d talked about stopping in.  Week 5, on the other hand, was a brand new experience – a pizzeria recommended to me by an old friend, my former high school alphabetical neighbor.  (Side note: if you’re unfamiliar with the concept of alphabetical neighbors, it’s pretty simple.  Back when I was in school, we were often organized in seating charts, homerooms, locker assignments, etc by last name, meaning that I spent three years wedged between Adam K. and David L.) 

Thanks to social networks and the fact that I’m so old that I had a 20 year high school reunion a couple of years ago, I happen to know that my former alphabetical neighbor, David L., and his lovely family happen to share a zip code and local post office with us.  When he recommended the Italian Pie Shoppe & Winery on Grand Avenue in St. Paul, I quickly put it on our pizza itinerary, not realizing that there are actually three Italian Pie Shoppes in the Twin Cities, including one just a few miles from our front door in New Hope, MN.  But my alphabetical neighbor was quite specific in his recommendation, and since we are geographic neighbors now too, I figured that this pizza must be something special if he’s willing to drive to St. Paul for it.

Pre-pizza mood Ratings:

Princess D: 8

Hubby: 5

Our pre-pizza moods were impacted by an unexpected detour we took on our way to the Italian Pie Shoppe.  Since I am a lousy driver and my hubby can’t stand being a passenger in my car, we took his expensive German automobile and I kept my eyes clenched shut as we flew down I-94.  As we approached St. Paul, his car beeped angrily and informed him that it needed oil.  Because it’s an expensive German automobile, you know this car is high maintenance.  It won’t be satisfied with regular old gas station 5W-30 Penzoil.  Hell, no.  It needs special, expensive oil that can only be procured at automotive dealerships and specialty stores, which meant we were suddenly on the hunt for the closest O’Reilly Auto Parts store.  When we finally found the store, I opted to remain in the car, as I could see that the parking lot was rife with crazies, and they often confuse me for their patron saint.  The hubby bravely ventured indoors and that was the last time I saw him for 20 long minutes.  When he finally returned with the oil, he popped the hood, splattered oil all over himself and the engine, and got trapped in a conversation about fancy headlights with one of the crazies I refused to make eye contact with.  When he finally hit the gas and pointed us toward our pizza, he was crankier than normal, whereas I was feeling pretty good.  Not only was I not in jail, I cleverly eluded the weirdo convention at O’Reillys and I was about to eat pizza! 

Parking Situation:  

In spite of our pit-stop (pun intended!), we were still well in advance of the Saturday night dinner rush.  When you visit the Italian Pie Shoppe & Winery, be prepared to park on the street.  We were able to secure a great spot near the door, but I imagine that parking might be a challenge during prime dining hours.  When it’s not busy, even a parking-challenged idiot like me could manage to navigate a compact car into on-street parking, so I give passing grades on the parking situation.

Exterior Appearance:  The Italian Pie Shoppe & Winery in a quaint storefront in the middle of the block.  Sidewalk tables are available for those who prefer their pizza al fresco.  Me, I hate to sweat when I eat and the only thing I hate more than sweating while I eat is the possibility that a bird might crap on me, so we voted for indoor dining. 

Entrance/Welcome:  

We opened the door, walked in, and were greeted right away. A sign told us to seat ourselves, which we did. 

Interior Appearance: 

Frankly, this joint’s name (Italian Pie Shoppe & Winery) is bigger than its real estate footprint.  This is a petite pizza joint that does a brisk business.  Between delivery, eat-in, and their “take and bake” business, this place was hopping even at 5:30 PM on a Saturday, which is typically reserved for the AARP-crowd.  Although petite, the Italian Pie Shoppe is charming with old-style wooden booths, tables and chairs and high ceilings, and it feels like an old-fashioned, neighborhood pizza parlor, with nary a vampire in sight. Your water, soda, and even beer are served in an old mason jar and the tables feature old pre-WWII newspaper ads.  The restaurant itself might be petite but it has oodles and oodles of charm.

Clientele and Overall Vibe:  

As a neighborhood pizza parlor, this place attracts all kinds from families to neighbors to dating couples.  No one even blinked at the hubby’s eau de motor oil (he did wash his hands before we ate) and we felt comfortable in our jeans and t-shirts. 

Wait staff: Our server was amazing!  Not only did she make sure we had everything we needed, I watched her single-handedly run the entire restaurant while never missing a beat.  Since we were newbies, we consulted her for advice on the menu and she was helpful and quick to point out that the Italian Pie Shoppe is “the only place to get real Chicago style pizza in MN.” 

Menu Selection:  My alphabetical neighbor recommended stuffed crust pizza, but I was a little unsure.  I really dislike over-cheesed pizza and as such, I’ve never sampled a stuffed crust before.  The menu wasn’t much help, because although it pointed out that this place is known for “award winning pizzas”, they actually feature three different varieties and it’s not clear which one(s) are the award winners.  They can’t all be winners, right? 

You can order a thin crust, a deep dish, or a stuffed crust at the Italian Pie Shoppe.  Consult your high school alphabetical neighbor and your server, and you’ll be sold on a large stuffed crust pepperoni, sausage and mushroom.

Food Wait Time:  

The menu warns you upfront that a stuffed crust or deep dish could take up to 40 minutes to make it from the oven to your plate, so we were prepared to demonstrate patience.  Imagine our delight when our pizza arrived to our table within 30 minutes of placing our order.

Drumroll, please . . . the pizza itself:   

It’s a hung jury.  One of us was only able to shovel two pieces of this delicious pie into her pie-hole before her stomach waged a formal protest, but two pieces was more than enough for one of us to proclaim that this stuffed crust, deep dish, Chicago style pizza was the best thing she’s tasted.  (Have you guessed which one of us I’m referring to?) 

While the other one of us enjoyed several more pieces of this amazing delicacy, he maintains that nothing can top Week 4’s Red Savoy pie.  We both agreed, however, that there is something very special about the stuffed crust at Italian Pie Shoppe.  Served in a cast-iron skillet, this pizza was at least four inches deep with the classic “sauce-on-top” we all recognize as Chicago-style.  Layers of dough, cheese, and toppings created a true “pie” versus a pizza, and our pizza was crispy, tangy, saucy and yummy all at once.  Frankly, I lack the vocabulary to appropriately describe how much I enjoyed this pizza, so I’ll merely say this: if you haven’t tried a stuffed crust from the Italian Pie Shoppe, your life is incomplete.  You know what to do.

Price & Value:  

A stuffed crust pizza, I now understand, is not like your typical pizza.  It truly is like ordering a pie for dinner.  Where I can usually demolish half of a large pizza in one sitting (you don’t get hips like this by eating salads, folks), in spite of my strong desire to eat more, I could not eat more than two pieces of the stuffed crust pie.  For $20 plus tax, we got a 3-topping pizza.  I enjoyed a nice Mason-jar of Stella Artois while the hubby had his go-to iced tea with lemon and pink sweetener.  (He prefers the pink to the blue or yellow and is secure enough in his manhood to request it by color.)  Our total bill was just under $30 and we even had pizza leftover for lunch the next day.  At least, I seem to recall bringing pizza home.  I don’t believe I enjoyed any of the leftovers, which seems to be a recurring theme . . .

Waiting for the Check:  

Our server kept a close watch on us, and when it became clear that we were stuffed to the gills, she magically appeared with a box and the bill.  

Post-Pizza Mood:

Had we not spent our entire dinner rehashing the events of the previous day – also known as my great shame – and plotting various forms of revenge against the city of Brooklyn Center, I suspect we would have left with moods hovering around 10.  The incipient rage that accompanies dealing with bureaucratic nonsense knocked us down a peg, but we both agreed that a night at the Italian Pie Shoppe and Winery left us at a solid 9.

  

Bottom Line:  

Don’t make me repeat myself.  If this place is good enough for my former alphabetical neighbor to venture 15 miles out of his own ‘hood for a pizza pie, it’s good enough for you.  And if I happen to proclaim that it’s the best pizza I’ve had in the past five weeks of consecutive pizza eating, then your instructions are clear.  Get your butt to Grand Avenue.  Eat the pizza.  You’re welcome.

Week 4: Red Savoy's

Under normal circumstances, going out for pizza is the highlight of the social calendar in our household. 

Between our jobs, my never-ending quest to be less fat (aka gym-related penance), and all of the stupid adult obligations to things like taking the dog to the vet, making sure we don’t run out of toilet paper, and a commitment to not having our house featured on an upcoming episode of Hoarders , we’re not exactly painting the town red.  (Unless multiple trips to SuperTarget, fueled by a pathological fear of running out of toilet paper suddenly earns us cool points, that is.)  Hence, our commitment to 52 weeks of pizza consumption didn’t exactly overburden our schedules – which, because we are nothing if not organized, we manage in Google calendar.  If it ain’t in the Google calendar, it ain’t happenin’, folks.  Our fourth consecutive week of pizza consumption was a deviation from the standard middle-aged calendar.  Week 4 happened to coincide with the ninth anniversary of my 31^st birthday and both planned and some unplanned (surprise) celebratory activities and therefore, we didn’t make our weekly pizza pilgrimage until Sunday evening.

Our fourth week was a return to the scene of the crime, as we ventured 20 miles to the east and visited the very same pizzeria where we had our first date, almost two years ago to the day!  Red Savoy is infamous amongst true pizza connoisseurs, and while they have franchise locations across the Great Plains in Minnesota, Nebraska, and Wisconsin, we chose to dine at the original 7^th Street location in St. Paul, which is apparently, “where it all started in 1965.”  We waxed nostalgic about our first date, back when we groomed ourselves, cared about how we smell, and when good manners prevailed.  Since pizza night nearly coincided with the two year anniversary of our first date, we were giddily excited to visit Red Savoy and this excitement was reflected in our pre-pizza moods.  But – it was Sunday night and so the dread of the impending work week was also lurking in the background.

Pre-pizza mood Ratings:

Princess D: 7

Hubby: 7

Parking Situation:  

Red Savoy is conveniently located at the top (or bottom, depending on your point of view) of a freeway ramp and they thoughtfully provide off-street parking.  Unfortunately, the lot is small, the parking spots are tightly packed, and it features a mix of regular and parallel parking spots.  The very act of pulling into the parking lot caused me to break out into hives.  At every turn, I spotted parking hazards – people, places, and things that I might smash, crash, or otherwise damage.  I clamped a hand over my eyes, sweated profusely, and waited for the car to stop.  I will never, ever drive myself to Red Savoy because I cannot afford the increase to my insurance premiums.  Even my hubby, who thinks he is a pretty damn good parker, mentioned that he finds the parking lot at Savoy’s to be “sucktastic”. 

Exterior Appearance:  Red Savoy’s has anchored this corner of East 7^th Street in St. Paul for almost 50 years, and the years have not been kind.  It looks like the kind of establishment you’d find anchoring a freeway on or off-ramp, and the exterior is there for function, not fashion.  It’s square, it’s squat, and it keeps the rain and snow off the pizza.  If you’re looking for something more than that . . . you’re in the wrong place. 

Entrance/Welcome:  

After you finish navigating the Atari Pole Position style parking lot, you’ll wander around the square building until you find a door.  This is common since doors are the primary mode of entrance and exit in modern day buildings.  Upon entering, you may suffer temporary blindness, as you walk down a cavernous and very, very, very dark hallway that spits you out into the bar area of Red Savoy, which is even darker than the cavernous hallway if that’s possible.  As your eyes slowly adjust, you’ll blink slowly and stand foolishly until someone – possibly a vampire, although I can’t be sure – addresses you and seats you.  I was trying so hard not to walk into something or trip that I can’t accurately assess the warmness of the welcome, but I can tell you that we were seated awfully quickly, so I can’t find fault with that. 

Interior Appearance:  Red Savoy is about the food, not about the ambience.  The interior of the restaurant is so dimly lit that I wondered if they cater primarily to vampires and the undead.  I didn’t have any garlic on my person and there are no mirrors decorating the walls here, so I cannot confirm or deny this rumor.  My seat was conveniently facing the door, so I enjoyed watching patrons stumble into the restaurant and I watched more than a few patrons stumble out of the joint after enjoying a few adult beverages.  If you’ve ever been inside an Elks Lodge, Knights of Columbus building, or even a VFW, you’re familiar with the interior decorating scheme of Red Savoy.  It’s dark, it’s faux-wood paneled, and it’s functional.  What I didn’t expect was the flat screen TVs, whose displays alternated between a live MLB baseball game and live video surveillance from the parking lot.  Who doesn’t want to keep an eye on their car while they eat pizza, after all?

Clientele and Overall Vibe:  

The people-watching doesn’t get better than this.  First off, Savoy’s does a brisk takeout business.  Pizza boxes were moving out the front door like cars on a freeway.  We were there on a Sunday evening, and we were joined by families with small kids, including an alarming number of babies in car seats; couples on dates; old marrieds like us; and hardcore drinkers who have their own bar stools.  Savoy’s is a place where you’re welcome to come as you are.  If you want to dress up, go ahead – but you’ll be just as welcomed in your Zubaz and baseball cap as you are in your Sunday finest.  We played it safe and wore jeans and t-shirts, since we like to save our Zubaz for special occasions.  There’s a buzz in the air here – it could be a contact high from the aroma of alcohol fumes, but I prefer to think it’s the anticipation of eating a really good pizza.

Wait staff: Our server was delightful.  We were seated at table 53, which was in the middle of the joint and we were surrounded by other patrons on all sides.  She frequently had to sidle up to us to take our order and as a result, we didn’t really establish much rapport, but she was efficient and friendly. 

Menu Selection:  Savoy’s featured a Sunday menu the day we visited, but to be honest, it doesn’t look all that different than the menu they feature the other six days of the week.  This is a pizza joint, but should you be in the mood for something else, you can order other bar fare such as burgers or sandwiches here too.  True to form, we ordered something called “the special” which featured sausage, pepperoni, onion, green pepper, green olives, and mushrooms.  Red Savoy also has a full bar with plenty of beers on tap and the hard stuff for those who want something a little stronger.  I may have had one or two beers myself. 

Food Wait Time:  

Total time elapsed from ordering the pizza to its arrival was 34 minutes.  Had we been starving or had I not been so entertained watching people stumble through the door, this might have annoyed me. 

Drumroll, please . . . the pizza itself:   

This is definitely a memorable pizza.  It’s served on a plastic cafeteria tray, because at Savoy’s, it’s about the pizza, not the frills.  Our 14 inch, thin crust pizza was cut into squares.  The crust was crispy and the toppings were plentiful.  There’s no skimping on toppings here, and there is an appropriate amount of sauce.  The so-called “Savoy sausage” has a nice bite to it that might have you reaching for the Rolaids later.  The pizza’s edges were a little well-done (aka burned) and the pizza was a little too cheesy for my preference, but the hubby was in heaven.  (I hate when the cheese takes on a life of its own and tries to strangle me in my throat.)  If you like your pizza cheesy, greasy, and homemade, you won’t be disappointed.  There is something about eating at Savoy’s that reminds me of those hole in the wall, meat raffle and pull-tab bars you’ll find in Northern Minnesota when you go “up to the cabin.” 

Price & Value:  

A pizza large enough for leftovers (for the one of us who is not the author of this blog); iced tea with one free refill (weird, I know), and two tap beers totaled $28 plus tip, which after four weeks of experience paying for pizza, seems to mean that Savoy’s is price competitive. 

Waiting for the Check:  

Our server kept a close watch on us, and when it became clear that we were stuffed to the gills, she magically appeared with a box and the bill.  Like the entire Red Savoy experience, paying was no frills and efficient.

Post-Pizza Mood:

 We came, we talked about our first date, we ate pizza, we laughed.  We pretended we were vampires.  And we left Red Savoy’s at a mood of 9, which is as close to perfect as you can get on a Sunday night in St. Paul. 

Bottom Line:  

You don’t go to Red Savoy’s for the ambience – you go for the pizza, which is pretty darned good.  We go for the pizza and to relive the magic of our first date.  We’ll be back, same time next year.