" ... actually, you could probably stand to wash your hair."
lakeview coffee emporium, 4 p.m.
little caesars pizza was the tastetrack to every slumber party molly koshatka ever hosted. i surveyed six pies splayed across the kitchen table and thought the koshatka's must be very wealthy to be able to feed a half-dozen pre-pubescent squealing partiers hopped up on orange crush. rich, at least, in pizza.
we'd pig out until our second-grade tummies were bloated, then do what all second-graders do:
put on football helmets, get on our knees and play a game called "retarded basketball" flinging things into a 3-foot-high nurf hoop in her playroom. her name was always "jimmy"; i was "corky bobber." the term "politically correct" had not yet infiltrated rochester, minnesota.
one of the first opinions i ever developed was this: i do not like little caesar's pizza. it was the closest thing to drinking pizza that i could imagine, this soupy mess of ingredients. in those days there was a small little caesar's sattelite at barclay square, next door to the movie theater. first, when i realized that i could afford to buy three pizzas for five dollars with my $2/every two weeks allowance, it occured to me that i was practically an adult. later i realized that "cheap" and "in bulk" does not always mean "good" and in fact probably means the opposite.
were we sitting in a bar right now, i'd tell you what i really think little caesar's crust tastes like. but for the sake of maintaining a relatively pristine web site, i'll modify it to this [which is close enough]: little caesar's crust tastes like what i imagine it would taste like to jam your tongue into a stranger's swampy belly button.
a bunch of little caesar's branches just popped up in duluth.
the other day chuck and i met for dinner at subway. he walked into the shop and said: i just passed three teenagers sitting on a curb eating little caesar's pizza. i recoiled in horror. they're feeding seagulls, too. my stomach lurched.
when it comes to pizza, i like something heavy on cheese, light on sauce, with a crust that doesn't taste like human flesh. when in rochester, i would opt for something from mr. pizza or billotti's; here in duluth my first choice is pizza man [if only for the cheese bread] or bulldog pizza. i like pizza luce for when i'm in the mood to eat something similar to pizza [ie round, and cut into triangles] but slathered in something like garlic mashed potatos and bacon bits. i will eat VIP and not complain. and at the risk of negating my bid for duluth homecoming queen, i'll admit this: i do not like sammy's pizza.
i'm also opposed to dominos and pizza hut.
yesterday i overheard my landlord celebrating the new little caesar's. for him "cheap" and "in bulk" are a rally cry. the time he bought 300 dollars worth of mountain dew, filling the bed of his brother's pickup with green cases and later turning the loot into a makeshift coffee table. most recently he brushed me off with a hurried "i have to go buy some lawnmowers."
some lawnmowers? i don't know why i was surprised.
he had a cheese pizza spread across his table.
"[scrubs] bought it," he said, referring to his girlfriend. "it's cheese, but it's decent."
here he held up a coupon sheet and pointed to a photo of a 16-inch pizza. "i mean, look at THAT!" he said. "it's like five bucks!"
he offered me a piece. and truthfully, i was starved. i'd only eaten an egg sandwich from lakeview coffee emporium six hours earlier. still ... how hungry do you have to be to lick a stranger's swampy belly button?