Week 3: Fat Lorenzo's

As much as I enjoy my new status as a “real housewife of Golden Valley”, even real housewives leave their suburban zip codes in search of cosmetic surgery, dermal fillers, and copious amounts of wine.  Since I can’t help but notice the absence of a camera crew and paparazzi, it was an easy decision to head to South Minneapolis for a pizza data with my beloved.  Week 3 brought us to Fat Lorenzo's on the shores of Lake Nokomis in South Minneapolis.  For those of you “in the know”, this is also the location of the original Fat Lorenzo’s – they proudly boast a second location known as “Fat Lorezno’s 2” located inside the Everett McClay VFW in Bloomington, MN.   

Since I am a notoriously lousy driver and even worse at parking the car without inflicting damages and raising my insurance rates (although I would like to use this opportunity to give a little shout-out to AmEx Property Casualty Auto Insurance.  If you are looking for a good rate on your auto insurance from a company who doesn’t use reptiles to market to you, give them a call at 1-800-535-2001 for a no-obligation quote.), the hubby decided to drive.  It’s important to know that he believes in something he’s branded “offensive driving”, which means that I typically arrive at our destination a little green around the gills, clutching my chest, and muttering the rosary under my breath.  I secretly believe that the goal of his so-called offensive driving is actually to offend me, but he claims otherwise.

It had been a busy Saturday for us both with mixed results.  Neither of us was feeling on top of the world when we departed for pizza night, but no one was actively campaigning for mayor of Crankytown either. An unscientific pre-pizza poll reported the following:

Pre-pizza mood Ratings:

Princess D: 5

Hubby: 6

Parking Situation: 

Employing offensive driving skills, we arrived at Fat Lorenzo’s in record time and assessed the parking situation.  There is a miniscule parking lot adjacent to the building.  I, a known terrible parker, should never, ever be allowed to enter that parking lot.  It’s rife with opportunity to smash things, including a dumpster.  The lot can fit maybe six cars, and at the time of our visit, it was full, which meant that we were left to navigate the joys of on-street parking in a busy, populated area.  The eagle-eyed offensive driver spotted a prime spot near the door and parallel parked his expensive German automobile with ease, while I rocked back and forth in the passenger seat.  The only way I can return to Fat Lorenzo’s to eat is if someone else drives me or if they employ valet parking.

Exterior Appearance: 

This place is adorable!  Fat Lorenzo’s will definitely catch your eye as you speed up and down scenic Cedar Avenue.  If you’re out getting your cardio on at Lake Nokomis, you’ll spot the restaurant patrons dining al Fresco and you’ll wonder why you’re wearing stupid spandex shorts instead of sitting outside with friends, eating pizza and expanding your waistline.  The sidewalk tables maximize the proximity to the lake and give the joint a decidedly Italian feel.  As a side note, the sidewalk tables also take up most of the available sidewalk real estate, so if you’re innocently trying to navigate the maze of tables, be careful not to step into the street.  Overall, high marks for the exterior appearance.  It’s inviting, whimsical, and fun.

Entrance/Welcome: 

This place does a booming business with both dine-in, take-out, and delivery options.  When you enter Fat Lorenzo’s, you’ll walk right into the restaurant’s hub.  You’ll see pizza ovens in action, you’ll hear orders being taken by phone, and you can scan their impressive gelato offerings.  A sign on the wall tells you to write your name on the chalkboard to get into the queue for a table and it’s all very clear and civilized in spite of the fast pace.  On a Saturday night, we waited just under ten minutes for a table.

Interior Appearance:  

You be the judge.  I thought this place was just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.  We were seated in a very roomy booth.  In fact, this booth was so roomy that I had a hard time reaching the table from my seat – but had I been in my third trimester of pregnancy with triplets, I definitely would have room to spare in this booth.  The tables and booths are modeled after old school Catholic churches, and you know that part of the reason Catholics are moving around so much during mass is because those wooden pews hurt your backside.  My left butt cheek has not been the same since eating at Fat Lorenzo’s. A piece of butcher paper was placed on the top of our table cloth and some crayon stubs were provided on the table, so I decided to mark my territory.

Clientele & Overall Vibe:  

This is a busy place, and the clientele is a great mix of locals, families, and people who are trying it out for the first time.  We had a great time people-watching and inventing creative plot lines and dialogue for our fellow patrons.  While it was busy, Fat Lorenzo’s is true to their Nokomis roots and the place isn’t infested with hipster doofuses, which I appreciated.  This is a place that’s appropriate for a pizza date; a family dinner; or a place for friends to get together and catch up.

Waitstaff:  

Since I eat so much pizza, I also spend more time than I’d like at a cut-rate fitness facility whose unofficial motto is, “You bring your own towel and maybe we’ll fix this broken equipment some day.”  This means that I have the dubious privilege of seeing a lot of people’s fitness fashion choices, which I in turn, judge silently while either mocking them or fantasizing about pinning them to the ground and forcing a stick of butter down their throats.  This is relevant only because our server, whose name I never quite caught, clearly started her shift directly after completing her cardio-kickboxing class. She was still dressed in yoga pants and running shoes and jogged by us – probably still doing her cool-down, I assume – periodically.  In my experience, this is the kind of place where you might need to wrestle someone to the ground to get your water glass refilled.

Menu Selection: 

Fat Lorenzo’s is not branded as a mere pizzeria.  It is, rather, “Italian in a big way” and their menu boasts pizza, pasta, hoagies, and gelato and a nice selection of appetizers and salads.  While I am always in the mood for a good hoagie, I had to remind myself that I was eating for research for my pizza-themed blog and kept my eyes focused on the pizza section of the menu.  Fat Lorezno’s sells pizza by the slice or whole pies in 10, 14, 16, and 18 inch sizes.  We opted for a 14 inch “Fat’s”, which features Italian sausage, pepperoni, onions, green peppers, and olives of the green and black variety.  And of course, you’re welcome to make your own.

Fat Lorenzo’s also serves a full range of popular and craft beer by the bottle and wine by the glass.  For those who prefer non-alcoholic drinks, the only bottomless glass available here is water.  Soda is sold by the can, which was unpopular with my dining companion.  He drank two cans of soda while I opted for Minneapolis’ finest tap water for my beverage of choice.

Food Wait Time:  

Total time elapsed between placing our order and our server jogging by with a hot pizza?  20 minutes – and the pizza was H-O-T.  It was so hot, in fact, that steam was rising from the toppings, and those of us who were unable to patiently wait for our food to cool to an edible temperature may have scalded the roof of our mouths.  Hypothetically, of course. 

Drumroll, please . . . the pizza itself:  

Clearly, eating my dinner in a church pew brought out my inner Catholic, so I need to confess something before I give you my review.  This was not my first trip to Fat Lorenzo’s.  I used to live in the ‘hood and I had fond memories of the ghosts of pizzas past.  When you mention Fat Lorenzo’s to pretty much anyone in the Twin Cities, you’ll bear witness to a walk down memory lane and the nostalgia of enjoying pizza at an adorable local joint.  Maybe it’s the nostalgia factor or maybe it’s the sugar high from gelato consumption, but I can’t lie to you.  This place was so much better in my memories than it was in my reality, and I’m sorry if that means we’re in a fight because this is your favorite place of all time.  I wanted to love Fat Lorenzo’s.  I really did. 

Now, don’t get me wrong – this was certainly superior to a Domino’s delivery.  Our pizza looked amazing – a deeper dish, piping hot, fresh ingredients, and a thick handle of crust.  It looked amazing, and we were able to control ourselves long enough to snap a photo before we attacked our dinner like savages.

Unfortunately, it didn’t taste as amazing as it looked.  While we appreciated the noticeable lack of grease (side note: I have never seen such a non-greasy pizza.  It was something of an anomaly) and generous toppings, I was disappointed in the sauce distribution.  Some bites were virtually sauce less while other bites were saucier, as if the sauce wasn’t spread evenly in preparation.  Me, I like some sauce on my pizza so I found the sauce situation wanting.  The crust had a unique buttery flavor and was crisp at the ends but limp and damp in the middle, as if the weight of the toppings caused it to simply give up and cave in.   

I ate two pieces and immediately felt compelled to unbutton my jeans because this is the kind of pizza that fills a gal up.  You aren’t going to leave here hungry.  The hubby managed to eat three and we still had leftovers to box up and take home.  We agreed that the pizza itself was strangely salty and thirst-causing; a fact that irritated the hubby because his soda can ran dry.  I also caught him picking olives off the pizza because he felt the olive to other topping ratio was out of whack.

Many of you fondly recommended Fat Lorenzo’s, and I can feel your indignant rage seeping through my computer screen.  It’s not personal.  I wanted to love it.  I wanted to be younger and thinner and relive pizzas of my misspent youth.  It just didn’t happen last Saturday night.  Maybe a few adult beverages would have improved my experience.  Maybe I should have topped off the meal with gelato.  Or maybe – just maybe – Fat Lorenzo’s is so amazing not because of the food but because of the experience. 

Price & Value:

For under $25, two people can enjoy pizza tonight and have enough to enjoy it for lunch (or a midnight snack) tomorrow.  Fat Lorenzo’s is a great next-day pizza.  It reheats really well and I actually enjoyed it more for lunch the next day than when it was fresh.  The formerly limp and damp crust parts firmed up or something and it was a perfect Sunday lunch.

Waiting for the Check: 

There’s no waiting around here.  Our Energizer Bunny / Cardio-Kickboxing server sprinted by, threw a box down for us, and deposited the check with lightening speed.  In fact, it took me longer to sign the bill than for the entire transaction to complete. 

Post-Pizza Mood:  

Have I mentioned that we were stuffed to the gills?  We were definitely not hungry and we had a good time at Fat Lorenzo’s.  Our post-pizza moods came in at a solid 7.5 for each of us. 

Bottom Line: 

I don’t know that I’ll make a special trip to Nokomis just to taste this pizza again.  It wasn’t the worst pizza I’ve ever had by a long shot, but it also wasn’t the best.  I would, however, make the trip to meet good friends, enjoy the sidewalk seating and watch the world go by.  And next time, I’m going to have the damn gelato.  

Week 2: Latuff's Pizzeria

Prior to departing on our second consecutive Saturday evening pizza date, the hubby and I spent some quality time outlining our official pizza rating criteria.  Developing a consistent rubric for pizza grading is imperative if we want to be able to conduct a true "apples to apples" (or in this case, slice to slice) comparison.

We didn't venture far from home and instead, found ourselves at Latuff's Pizzeria which is located a mere 3.9 miles from our front door - a fact which begs the question, "Why, then, was this our first visit?"  I suspect my own reticence to dine there previously was largely due to my inability to pronounce the name combined with the generally poor aesthetic appeal of the building's exterior.  After an actual visit to Latuff's (whose name I am still unclear on how to pronounce), I must admit that it's actually not the building itself that's ugly.  It's just the sign.  And that is one damn ugly sign. 

The actual building itself isn't quite so ugly and appears to have a nice outdoor patio, although it was both hot, muggy, and about to thunderstorm the day we visited, so I admired the patio while hustling into the drier, less humid, air. 

It's important that you understand that I was actively campaigning for the title of Mayor of Crankytown on pizza day.  I was exhausted, I had a migraine, and I was not in the mood to be around people, places or things.  My better half, however, was jovial and in good spirits, so we were quite a force to be reckoned with.  It was this obvious difference in our dispositions that introduced the first rating criteria; pre-pizza mood.  We used a ten point rating scale, with one being "Mayor of Crankytown" and ten being "beyond awesome".  It is entirely possible that the pre-pizza mood may impact our ability to impartially rate the actual pizza experience, so in the spirit of transparency, here's how we were feeling as we pulled into Latuff's parking lot.

Pre-pizza mood Ratings:

Princess D: 3

Hubby: 8

Speaking of parking lots, we also agreed that we needed to evaluate the parking situation.  As I may have shared previously, I am a terrible driver and an even worse parker, if that's possible.  Every accident I've ever been in involves my car and an inanimate object, such as a fence; garage; snow bank; pillar; or expensive Jaguar at the Calhoun Beach Club parking ramp.  Parking ramps make me break out into hives, which presents a unique challenge Monday through Friday when I have to park in a ramp in order to go to work.  I am so parking phobic that there are establishments I will not frequent because the parking situation is not to my liking.  (Trader Joe's in St. Louis Park . . . I'm talking to you.)  But I digress.  To rate the parking situation, I asked myself, "Self," I asked, "Would I, a known terrible driver, be able to handle this parking situation on my own?"  And the answer for Latuff's is a resounding yes.

Parking Situation: 

Excellent.  Paved lot, wide parking spots, minimal hazards that I might smash into and a short walk from lot to pizza.  

Exterior Appearance:

I don't care what my mother (or yours) told you . . . . books do get judged by their covers.  And pizza places get judged by their exterior appearances.  Latuff's . . . eh.   At the risk of repeating myself, there's a reason I live less than four miles away and I never stopped here.  We know it's not the parking lot.  This place doesn't look like much on the outside.

Entrance/Welcome:

Last week, when we dined at Parkway Pizza, it was not abundantly clear what I was supposed to do upon entering the restaurant.  Should I sit?  Wait to be seated?  Go away?  Prior to my dining at Parkway, it never occurred to me to rate a restaurant's entrance/welcome, but after my own confusion and observing other equally befuddled Parkway patrons last weekend, it became clear that this is an important part of the pizza experience.   

When you walk into Latuff's, you'll see both a host/hostess station where someone will greet you and seat you as well as an area where guests can pick up pizzas for takeout.  Hence, there is a lot of activity in the lobby of Latuff's but minimal confusion.  We were seated within seconds of walking through the door, so I give them high marks for the welcome. 

Interior Appearance:

I'm not going to lie to you.  Latuff's is not winning any awards for interior decorating, unless there is an award for best Cracker Barrel impersonation.  There is a strong rooster motif, combined with very dim lighting.  If you're really into fowl, you'll feel right at home.  While the decor didn't do much to enhance my own pizza experience, the dining room is clean and tidy, so I won't deduct points for their obvious rooster love.

Clientele and Overall Vibe:

The clientele was a good mix of people who obviously eat a lot of pizza and probably enjoy some all-you-can-eat buffets as well and young families.  It was clearly a local crowd, and the place was hopping at 6:30 PM on a Saturday night. There were a few empty tables when we arrived but the place started to fill up by the time we left, and there was a steady stream of takeaway customers.  If you're a swinging single, I highly doubt that you'll meet your future life partner at Latuff's, but if you have small children or want to have a nice pizza dinner with your parents, I think you'll fit in just fine.

Waitstaff:

Our server, Heather, was great.  (Side note: under normal circumstances, I never like girls named Heather.  I have a long-standing tradition of making girls named Heather my arch-enemy.  Way to be the exception to prove the rule, Heather from Latuff's!)  She was extremely attentive, she made a personal connection with us, but she wasn't overbearing nor did she force me to talk to her through a mouthful of food.  The hubby's iced tea glass remained full, and she was quick to offer to get me a second Blue Moon.

Menu Selection:

Although branded as a pizzeria, Latuff's boasts a wide and diverse array of menu selections that include pizza, pasta, burgers, sandwiches, soups, and salads.  I can't comment on their non-pizza menu items although I have it on fairly good authority (my friend Susan) that the lasagna is excellent and my dad fondly remembers the sausage and peppers meal he had at Latuff's not long ago.  And if this was a blog about sausage or lasagna, that would be relevant and interesting.  Moving on.  

There is a good selection of specialty pizzas available and of course, you can make your own.  In the spirit of, "when in Rome", we figured, when at Latuff''s . . . .   We ordered a 14" Latuff's special, a thin crust pizza topped with sausage, pepperoni, green olives, black olives, onions, mushrooms, and green peppers.  We may or may not have enjoyed a greasy plate of onion rings prior to the pizza.

Food Wait Time:

We are not patient people.  In fact, we are so impatient that we are borderline hostile - and there is nothing we hate waiting for more than a meal.  Because we are also fat and hungry.  All the time.  It took 24 minutes from the time we ordered our pizza until it arrived, piping hot and ready to enjoy.

Drumroll, please . . . the pizza itself:

Latuff's, I owe you an apology.  You are the pizza I never knew I could find within a 4 mile radius of my own front door.  Your thin crust is delectable and crispy.  Your sauce is tart and has just the right amount of tomato and bite.  Your toppings are fresh and plentiful and I, for one, appreciate that you did not over-cheese the pizza.  While I love cheese, I do not love excessive amounts of melted cheese that has the potential to coagulate into something designed to strangle me in my throat.  Your pizza is not dripping with grease, it's cut into fun to eat squares, and it goes great with a glass of Blue Moon, as pictured below.

Price & Value:

Latuff's wasn't a cheap date.  Our large specialty pizza - which was more than enough to feed two fatties with big appetites - was $23.95.  We ate 2/3 of it there and brought the rest home.  I'd love to tell you how the leftovers tasted, but the hubby ate the remaining pizza as a 3 AM snack while I slumbered.  I didn't hear any complaints, though.

Waiting for the Check:

I've explained how we're impatient.  We also loathe waiting around for the bill.  Our bill arrived promptly - we didn't feel like we were being kicked out but we also didn't have to beg for it - and we were able to make a speedy exit.  I needed to get home to change into elastic-waist pants after all that food.

Post-Pizza Mood

Although my mood was altered by beer (positively), both the hubby and I agreed that we felt like perfect 10's after dining here.  We also felt ten pounds heavier but we didn't let that bring us down.

Bottom Line:

The next time I'm hankering for a thin crust pizza, I'll consider making the trip to Latuff's, although I will probably opt for takeout.  Easy to find, easy to park, tasty pizza.  If you live or work within 5 miles of Latuff's, there is no excuse not to eat pizza here.  For the rest of you . . . would I make a special trip?  Probably not.  But if you are visiting beautiful Plymouth, MN with $30 burning a hole in your pocket and craving some pizza, you could do a whole lot worse than Latuff's.  Trust me.  

The Plan . . . for Pizza

The idea of eating pizza every week occurred to my prince and me last night as we ventured a little further from our home base in pursuit of a pizza I fondly remembered from my days as a single gal living in Powderhorn Park.  (For the record, I lived near the park, not in the park.  I wasn't homeless, for God's sakes.  If I was, how could I have enjoyed all this pizza?!?)  I recently sold my beloved South Minneapolis home and was waxing nostalgic about all the advantages of living "in the city" which, naturally, included pizza delivery to your front door from places other than Papa John's (or Domino's or Pizza Hut.  I know you're picking up what I'm putting down here.)   

Now, I'm not criticizing big papa here, so before some Papa John's loving stockholder decides to take umbrage to my previous statement, I want the chance to explain myself.  After a long day, toiling in the salt mines - or in my case, sitting on my behind with a phone jammed in my ear in a cubicle that is eerily similar to the pens they keep future veal in - sometimes, you just want to come on home, rip off your stupid big girl pantsuit, rock some cookie monster jammies, and not worry about dinner.  Of course, if you're me, that's typically the same day you realize that your refrigerator contains some yogurt that is well on its way to transforming from pro to anti-biotic; a bottle of beer; and a hunk of cheese.  The freezer doesn't look much better and your dinner choices are dry cereal, beer, and/or cheese.  You don't want to get dressed, you just want to plop down on the couch, watch some Real Housewives, and decompress.  So - you decide to order pizza.  This is the kind of day you are grateful for big papa.  Papa John's doesn't force you to call them on the phone.  You can order right online without having to make nice to anyone.  And eventually, some pizza will arrive at your house.  The delivery driver will refuse to make eye contact with you so it won't matter than you are in your jammies with Clearasil on your face and mismatched socks.  As long as you answer the door, don't let your dog maul the driver, and leave a tip, there's no judgment.  

On those other days - the days when you are wearing pants and fit for human company - you might be up for some adventure.  You might want to recapture some moment from your past, or you might just want some really delicious pizza.  In my case, that day was yesterday, when I was simultaneously pining away for the pizza delivery of my past and looking for ideas for my prince for a Saturday date night.  Fast forward and we found ourselves enjoying a 12-inch supreme pizza at Parkway Pizza in Minneapolis' Longfellow neighborhood.

As we attacked this pizza like a pair of starving wildebeests, I mentioned that I am in need of a new project. Now that I've found my prince and we're happily married, my previous blog about my misadventures in dating is extinct, but my itch to write isn't.  Through mouthfuls of pizza, this idea was born.

Our Parkway Pizza date night was our first of 52 weeks of pizza - and it was a bit of an experiment.  Since the idea for the blog was born mid-meal, I failed to do things like take good notes, take photos, or chew with my mouth closed.  So - if you want a real review of Parkway Pizza, I'm going to refer you to Urban Spoon or Yelp.  Instead, I'll give you my half-assed review which goes like this:

The pizza hit the spot.  Thank God they also serve wine and beer, because the joyful noises (aka din) of the unsupervised youths running to and fro was getting on my last nerve.  There is street parking.  When you walk into the restaurant, prepare to be confused.  No one will greet you or say hello and it's not clear whether you should seat yourself or find a staff member.  At first, I thought it was just me but during the course of my dinner, I saw 5-6 patrons walk in, look confused, and eventually approach the staff who are huddled around a counter/cash register in the back to see what the deal was.  The food? It's a thin crust pizza, cut into squares, and the sauce was described by my prince as both "different" (which is how Minnesotans describe things they don't like, although in this case, I actually think he meant nothing adverse by the statement) and "sweet".  It's a neighborhood joint that apparently just opened up in their new location, they advertise a happy hour, and I noticed a lot of Yelpers commenting on gluten free options.  Me, I love some gluten so I can't comment on that.  For a 12 inch pizza, an order of wings, a strawberry soda for my main squeeze, and a very generous pour of Canyon Road Chardonnay for me, bill came to about $35 with tip.  

While we ate a pizza and contributed our share as good Americans to this $36 billion industry, an idea was born.  And now, we shall begin our bravest adventure yet - pizza.  Every. Single. Week.

I'll be updating this map of places we've eaten (or plan to eat) pizza so you can follow our culinary adventure, and your suggestions and recommendations are always welcome!  I'll be at the gym all week working off the sins of Saturday night at Parkway Pizza, in preparation for our week 2 adventure at Latuff's Pizzeria.  

© 2013 Princess D

The Princess and the PIZZA!

I am nothing if not an exercise in contradiction.  On the one hand, I am terrified of fulfilling the prophecy that says that married women gain 20+ pounds in the first year of wedded bliss - so terrified, in fact, that I'm logging every morsel that crosses my lips on My Fitness Pal and spending a gross amount of my disposable income on personal training sessions and gym memberships.  (Side note: for the monthly amount I'm spending on personal trainers, I'm confident I could lease a luxury automobile.  Or, at the very least, a pimped out Honda.)  On the other hand, I love to eat.  There is nothing that brings me greater joy than food. Repeat: there is no greater source of joy in my sad little existence than food.  Pretty much any and all food, with a few notable exceptions:

1. Eggs.  I will not eat them, Sam I Am.  Even if they aren't green or served with a side of ham.  I won't eat them in a box, I won't eat them with a fox.  I won't eat eggs here or there - I won't eat them anywhere.  I loathe eggs.  Boiled, basted, poached, scrambled, fried . . . no.  You may call it the "incredible, edible egg" but I call it yucky.  I am so anti-egg, I have been known to spit out partially masticated pancake because (drumroll, please), I could taste the egg.  
2. Sushi.  I remember the good old days, when sushi was something exotic and weird that originated in Japan and hadn't yet been imported to the US of A.  When I had my back turned, sushi then became the food of hipster doofuses and now, it's as mainstream as Starbucks.  Let me tell you something about sushi.  I don't like it.  Before it was hip and trendy, sushi was practical.  It was a means of preserving fish. You may find it to be a culinary treat, and I applaud your choice.  But keep it to yourself.  
3. Salmon.  I'm disappointed to find that I don't like salmon, since I am a big, big fan of the color pink.  A pink fish should be right up my alley.  Not so much.  I'm not sure if it's the flavor I object to or if it reminds me too much of my childhood pet cat, Grey, who lived to the ripe old age of 20+.  Since cats are not known for their excellent oral hygiene, it's not a surprise that Grey's golden years were spent virtually toothless, forcing her to gum her Friskies canned cat chow.  Her favorite?  Salmon.  And this cat got up early in the morning.  There are few things worse than smelling canned salmon cat chow at zero dark thirty in the morning, folks. 

My palate my not be all that sophisticated - after all, I do believe that tater tot hotdish is a delicacy that should be prominently featured on all five-star menus -  (Side note: our very own senator Amy Klobuchar is a fan and her "Taconite Tater Tot Hotdish" won some kind of congressional cook-off.  Who else is with me on this?) but I love most food, including pizza.

Pizza, as it turns out, is a $36 billion business in the US, according to a dubious internet source from New Jersey.  It is also cited as the world's most popular food.  Upon learning this, I had to ask myself, "Am I doing my part as a US and world citizen to support this multi-billion dollar food industry?"  The answer, sadly, is no.  I am failing as a pizza consumer, and I must seek forgiveness from pizza and from the world for my shortcomings.

In order to carry my weight (pun intended) as a pizza consumer and earthling, I am committed to eating pizza every single week for the next year.  Every week, my hubby and I will venture to a new pizza joint, where we will sample the local fare.  If I really get my act together, I'll share periodic updates with you here, in this new blog, aptly titled "52 weeks of pizza".  

If you care about pizza - frankly, if you care about America - you'll help me out.  Let me know your favorite Minneapolis/St. Paul area pizza joint and sometime in the next 52 weeks, we'll dine there.  I may even invite you to join me as my date!  

And, in an effort to maintain my girlish figure (ha!), I'll continue to sweat to the oldies, be abused by ex-Marines who are now employed as personal trainers, and attempt to watch my diet the other six days of the week so I can bring you pizza every week and still fit into my pants.

© 2013 Princess D