First, Happy Link Time!
1) walkinradio.com is the blog which features my stuff every Tuesday. That is good enough reason to support them. Outside of that, it’s quite simple to enter. All you have to do is…wait, are those the bad joke sirens? OK, moving on.
2) syracusechiefs.mlblogs.com will be my second home from April to September, as I’m returning to the Syracuse Chiefs for some Triple-A baseball broadcasting. In fact, that’s where I got the idea for today’s review, as part of our “Chiefs Culture Challenge” between fellow broadcaster Jason Benetti and me. Head over there for more wittiness.
I’d estimate I’ve been to Subway at least 200 times in my life. That’s probably selling it short, to be honest – and I’ve probably used somewhere in the neighborhood of 65 Subway gift cards. One might characterize my love of Subway as an obsession. One would be correct. Hypothetically.
But never had I eaten the Subway personal pizza. Nor had I ever considered the Subway personal pizza. Nor had I realized every Subway had a personal pizza. Nor had I ever uttered the words “Subway”, “personal”, and “pizza” in the same sentence. But today, I took the plunge off the deep end – a deep end likely to be about three feet deep – and ordered a personal pizza from Subway. Bad idea – or worst idea? (Well, I’ve already chronicled a Pitbull song and a Snapple from the Mesozoic Era, so let’s stick with “bad idea.”)
First things first – I had to make sure my local Subway even had pizza. On subway.com, the menu showed no sign of pizza – a real shot of confidence in the arm. “Oh, look, I’m about to eat something that the website doesn’t even acknowledge!” That’s an approximation of the thoughts that were inside my head earlier today. I mean, seriously…can you imagine the Yankees just refusing to list the 25th man on their roster on yankees.com? Or Barnes & Noble hiding all evidence of the Twilight series? (You know, what that one actually makes sense. You know what else, teenage girl readership just declined on this blog by 37%. Which I think is the combined Rotten Tomatoes score of all the Twilight movies.)
Anyway, back to the pizza, before I’m decapitated by a flying Taylor Lautner cardboard cutout…I walked into Subway and, to my slight surprise, saw a sign of $5.00 personal pizza! It existed! I then asked the woman behind the counter, in my most awkward I-really-wish-I-wasn’t-doing-this-and-I-don’t-know-you-but-please-don’t-judge-me voice, “do you…happen to have…pizza?” Without responding, she departed into the back, where she stayed before emerging approximately two to 17 minutes later. During this time, I imagine she was doing one of three things:
1) Trying to conceal her hysterical laughter.
2) Going into the secret pizza room in the dungeon.
3) Crouching under a dresser drawer to dust off the most recent pizza shipment from two years ago.
I was starting to feel really bad about my choice at this point. But thankfully, the woman emerged, pizza in hand! Saran-wrapped and all. (Is it a good thing when the pizza is saran-wrapped? No? Right.) Then came the most hilarious moment of the entire ordeal – the clearly flummoxed woman turned the regular oven on, only to then place the pizza in the microwave oven. This women clearly had no clue what to do with the pizza. She was more confused than Tim Tebow at a Grateful Dead concert. (Word.)
Out of the saran wrap and into the microwave went the pizza, as two women walked up behind me. I had never seen these women before, I do not know who they are, and I likely will never see them again, yet I still felt downright ashamed at that moment. I quickly attempted to rectify the situation by ordering a six-inch Chipotle Chicken and Cheese sandwich, which I also felt would be a good alternative to the likely tasteless pizza.
The pizza was in the microwave for 90 seconds, which is the exact same way that pizza is cooked at any other reputable pizza place in the world. At this point, Domino’s was looking like a good alternative, and I wouldn’t even use Domino’s to save world hunger if given the chance. The woman behind the counter was so flummoxed at this point, she put Chipotle sauce on my sandwich before toasting it – and then asked if I wanted more post-toast. I felt like Will Ferrell in Wedding Crashers – I had no idea what she was doing back there.
Finally, mercifully, I put in the cash for my purchase and headed back to work to chow down on the magical, mystical, cheesy concoction. I decided to go pizza first and sandwich second, guaranteeing I would exit the meal on top. The pizza was similar in shape and size to a Celeste pizza for one – a homemade frozen food I happen to love – but it looked about 16 times less crispy.
And it tasted that way. The pizza was certainly closer to the soggy kind than the crispy one – but truth be told, it wasn’t that bad. The taste was mediocre, the crust was mediocre…the whole thing was mediocre! An unbridled success, if you ask me, especially since I might be the third person to eat pizza since that Subway opened. (The drunk guy from the bar at 4:00 PM that one day was the first, and the dude who’s allergic to all kinds of Subway bread but not pizza dough was the second. We’re connected on LinkedIn.) This was probably the most pleasant surprise I’ve had since…well, Chronicle on Monday, which was only three days ago. (Man, that example wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. I should really stop taking stuff literally.)
Anyway, don’t get the Subway pizza, but at least you won’t die if you do!*
*Pending my death
One final side note from yesterday’s review: my sister, who turned 17 today, came home with a stuffed red Angry Bird. It has a “Squeeze Me!” tag. However, when you squeeze it, it does not make any noise. How cute!
Man, I hate that game.