I know you’re sick of hearing about my difficulties driving
and parking my own car. Beyond those
challenges, I also happen to harbor an almost pathological fear of automotive
warning lights. I believe these are
referred to by smug automotive manufacturers and mechanics as “idiot
lights” and they are meant to alert the car owner or driver of a possible
malfunction somewhere. My own car has a
variety of colored lights on its instrument panel, designed to warn me of a
variety of impending and likely expensive doom.
I’m also quite convinced that the people who design idiot lights are
cruel sadists. Otherwise, perhaps the
lights would indicate the actual car problem versus simply flashing up red and
orange pictures of wavy lines; water spigots; and devil horns. (Or at least, that’s what they look like to
me). When these lights go on in my
trusty Honda Civic Hybrid (100,000 miles and going strong!), my blood pressure
rises, I start to sweat, and if I happen to be driving at the time, I veer to
the side of the road, whip the glove compartment open, and promptly seek guidance
from my owners’ manual.
Why is this relevant, you ask? I’m getting there. As you may know, in addition to my own
challenges behind the wheel, my beloved hubby cannot stand being a passenger in
my car. Something about the way I drive
being compared to how elderly people . . . . do something x-rated. Let us not discuss it. Thus, when we leave the house as a couple, my
hubby drives most of the time. He won’t
drive my car due to its lack of “get up and go” and also because I insist on
using a
furry pink steering wheel cover, which is a tad bit emasculating, I’ve been
informed. (Does it have to be pink? No. But I do need a steering wheel cover
because I don’t want to burn or freeze my delicate princess hands.) So, when we left the house and headed 15.1
miles mostly north to Coon Rapids, MN, we took the hubby’s expensive German
automobile. And as soon as we exited the
driveway, I became extremely agitated because I observed illuminated idiot lights on the dash.
While I wanted to turn the car around, head home, and take
the Honda, my hubby took it in stride and told me everything would be
fine. He does not subscribe to the “whip
out the manual immediately to determine if the car is going to blow up” school
of thought, as it turns out. And off we
went.
Although my hubby was determined to act like everything was
hunky dory, I caught him listening to the car noises and when we finally
arrived in Coon Rapids half an hour later, he popped the hood, swore under his
breath, phoned a friend, and realized he was going to need to take the car to a
professional.
Hence, pre-pizza moods were impacted.
Princess: 5
Hubby: 3.5
Week 12
brought us to Sammy Perella’s Pizza and Restaurant in Coon Rapids, MN. A few things to note about week 12. Although Sammy’s was recommended by a friend
whose pizza palate has never done me wrong in the past, he specifically did not recommend the Coon Rapids location
and instead, insisted that we head to Duluth to try this life-changing
pizza. Because I can’t follow
directions, Mark, we went to Coon Rapids instead. And I’m sorry. The other thing you should know is that the
name Coon Rapids makes me giggle. I’ve
visited this fine suburb several times and I have not once observed a raccoon,
so I’m not real sure about the “coon” part of their name, but the “rapids”
refers to both the Mississippi River and possibly, the pace at which pizza is
delivered to your table at Sammy’s, which was near record-breaking. Rapid?
Indeed.
Parking Situation: We again found ourselves in an Aurelio’s
style strip mall. The parking lot
wasn’t as nice but the quality of the other strip mall tenants was slightly
better. We found a great spot near the
door and after a few minutes of obsessing about the problems with the expensive
German automobile, we headed inside.
Exterior Appearance: Have you been to a strip mall
restaurant? Because that’s exactly what
this looks like. Enough said.
Entrance/Welcome: Walking in to Sammy’s
is like getting into a DeLorean time
machine and heading back in time. I’m
not exactly sure what era the décor is from or what type of vibe they’re going
for, but there is definitely a cheesy (not to be confused with pizza) factor to
the décor. An old-fashioned hostess
stand completes the look but we were greeted and seated promptly, so I’m
observing, not complaining.
Clientele/Overall Vibe: Apparently – and according to my hubby who ‘fessed
up that he actually ate at Sammy’s at one point in his sordid past – Sammy’s
has a fairly decent lunch buffet. We
were there for dinner so I cannot confirm or deny this rumor. Other diners included a large number of blue
hairs; some families; and other local types.
This is not a place for a date night; it’s not a place to see and be
seen; it’s a place to get some grub. On
the plus side, we probably didn’t need to dress up to go there.
Wait Staff: Our server was very
pleasant and helpful. We consulted her
for advice on what to order and she shared her personal preferences as well as
what is popular with the locals. She was
efficient and friendly.
Menu Selection: The menu is large and you can order
anything from broasted chicken to Stromboli to burgers to pizza. They do a little bit of everything. They have specialty pizzas as well as
make-your-own and you can peruse the whole menu here. We went with a large Sammy’s Special, which
featured Italian sausage, green pepper, and onion. We also added black olives.
Food Wait Time: Not only did we
remember to set the timer this time, but we nearly dropped dead when our pizza
arrived a mere 12 minutes after placing our order. That’s what I call rapid!
Drumroll, Please . . . the Pizza Itself: Perhaps our enjoyment was impacted by the
pre-pizza idiot lights, but neither one of us had our socks knocked off by
Sammy’s. The pizza is . . . forgettable. It was a step above a Domino’s delivery but
frankly, Sammy’s ranks low on my list of pizza eateries. The thin crust pizza was cut in squares, but the
crust reminded me of communion wafers. I
almost expected my priest to show up with a challis and a blessing. There’s a reason they only give you a tiny
wafer at mass. They don’t want you to
fill up on the body of Christ, sure – but they also know that communion wafers
are not delicious. Either was this pizza
crust. ‘Nuff said. The rest of the pizza wasn’t much
better. Aside from being overwhelmingly
salty, there wasn’t much flavor anywhere.
There were some toppings, they were bland. There was some sauce, it was salty. We ate it, we got full, but we certainly didn’t
pick up a souvenir t-shirt on our way out.
And if I can be honest, I was a little angry because I ingested a whole
lot of salt, fat, and grease that I would be forced to sweat out at barre fitness
and with Trainer Aaron and I didn’t even enjoy it!
Price & Value: I can’t even
comment. I think the prices were fine
but since I did not enjoy the pizza, I am hardly going to give this place
thumbs up for value. I mean, seriously,
all I could think about was communion wafers.
I almost tithed before
I left.
Post-Pizza Mood: After eating
forgettable pizza, we returned to the expensive German automobile, where we
basked in the glow of idiot lights all the way home. No, our moods were not improved. In fact, they were worse than when we
arrived. We both left Sammy’s at a mood
of about 2.
Bottom Line: I need to listen to my
friends. When they say, “go to Duluth”,
I should not interpret this as, “go somewhere to the north of where you live,
it will probably be the same.” So, Mark –
I’m sorry. And as your friend, let me advise you to stay the heck out of Coon
Rapids if you want to continue your love affair with Sammy’s. And for the rest of you . . . if you’ve had a
different experience with Sammy’s of Coon Rapids, I’m all ears.
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