I'd been looking forward to trying Slice for about a year, but for some reason hadn't made it to points west. (Here is where I would normally list the address of the establishment. I won't. You'll see why in the coming paragraphs.)
When a friend had tickets to a theater nearby, we decided this was the perfect dinner: frugal, convenient, and catering to both our palates—gluten and gluten-free.
At first glimpse, the pizza looked appetizing. You can't really go wrong with melted cheese (as I always say) and the ingredients claimed to be organic. The toppings were fine, albeit subtly applied, but I'm not here to talk about toppings. There is truly no way to screw up the top of a pizza.
Even the logo is slightly demonic.
The problem here, as you can see, is the crust. Please note the steak knife here, used for scale. Please note the geometric proportions of the dough. "Thin crust" is a style, implying other qualities apparent: texture, flavor, consistency.
I'd make a better pizza on a brown paper bag. Astronauts enjoy better pizza in outer-space. Dogs enjoy a more uniform quality in their bagged kibble.
What a racket. My friend, who had two unexceptional slices of "regular" pizza, ran up a bill of $7.00. My personal pan (the only option for gluten-free) was $15. I am generally accustomed to spending upwards of $15 on a dinner, especially when paying the extra fee for something gluten-free. I don't care. That is not the issue. The issue is that BLOCKS away are Risotteria and Keste Pizza, with chewy, mouth-watering, yeasty, salty, greasy, delicious pies, waiting to be chewed with a normal set of teeth.
Ugh, you guys! I thought we were past this. I thought it was no longer acceptable to hawk sandcakes. I take a stand! A stand against gritty textures the world over!
Many supermarkets have made great progress in removing salt from their pizzas
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