The Pizzaburger

This is not a lazy review. So when I tell you that Joey and I decided, after a long afternoon of ghost strolling the city, that we unanimously (maybe a little divertedly) decided to go to Boston Pizza, it wasn’t without good consideration. Yes, Boston Pizza is famous. So franchisy, it’s an absurd theatric to even bother to give it a review. Blue collars love it; foodies despise it. For cibos, it remains a very guilty pleasure. And I should feel nothing but shame for deciding on it. But Joey is always a good centre for reason and perspective. I’ve reviewed franchises or chains in the past, certainly not nearly as prolific, but what right do I have to deny myself the curiosity of Boston Pizza’s latest pastiche, he says? Besides, Joey and I have been so culinarily curious for the past month we could no longer risk the mutual shame of being those dudes who talk about doing something, but never actually doing it. Losing face is something my Old Master taught me never to do. Ever. That’s why Boston Pizza gets a review. More specifically, why one novel item on Boston Pizza’s menu gets a review. Because one item and a side of fries is all we can really afford. We have debt, we have mortgages, we have condominium investments, and while our assets remain frozen, 14.99 is as much as we’ll feloniously pay. If television hasn’t already told you, or if you’re too cool for television (or the internet), you may not know about the pizzaburger. It’s everything it sounds like. Even though your mind may interpret the name as beef on a pizza, or pizza acting as burger patties, think harder- it’s a kind of panzerotti. Actually, it’s entirely a panzerotti wrapped around a hamburger. Why it wasn’t called a hamburger panzerotti? Joey and I will never know. But don’t worry, we e-mailed corporate. We’ve yet to hear back. Yup, the pizzaburger just might be the obelisk of food novelty. Why else would anyone venture to pay a solid fifteen dollars for something no larger than 6 inches in diameter? Apparently though, when it comes to choice, the pizza burger isn’t novel enough. It only comes in two variations: bacon and pepperoni, or three cheeses. Guess which one we chose? Never mind, I’ll tell you. We ordered bacon and pepperoni. We reckoned there was enough cheese in the mix anyway. Guess what, again? We were wrong. There was also very little sauce, which came as no surprise to the waitress. She said it was the most common complaint; even more common than the pliable premade burger patty clammed inside the chewy wrapping. It sounds less appetizing than it was. Surprisingly, the dough was slight enough that it didn’t overpower the actual burger, nor did it absorb every bit of flavor. There was that slight tang from the usual stock pizza sauce. You know? The kind you taste at every pizza place? With that kind of spectral pepperiness. And what could I say about the cured meats? Pepperoni, bacon: the meatiest combination of dopamine inhibitors in culinary medication. Salty, savoury, smoky. I couldn’t help but lather the entire thing in ketchup. Joey refused to bastardize anything though. To each his own. And when it comes to Boston Pizza’s pizzaburger, I can’t think of a more poignant phrase to use in this situation. 

BOSTON PIZZA 
597 King Street North 
Waterloo, ON, 
N2V 2N3 

(519) 880-1828 

Sundays: 11:00 AM - 12:00 AM 
Mon - Thu: 11:00 AM - 1:00 AM 
Fri - Sat: 11:00 AM - 2:00 AM 

ANY PAYMENT

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Responsible Eating

I knew I’d need a good amount of perspective before writing about a place like Bread Heads. I planned on indifferently stating the obvious- that Bread Heads made bread. That’s it. But the pangs of disappointment that came from its owner regarding people who ate there and wrote about it without really thinking about how personal food is to each and every one of us reminded me that I was still pretty responsible when it came to eating anybody’s food. That is, as much as I like admitting that I review with the notion of entertaining my readers first, I do have to consider that even if I don’t like the way something’s done, it doesn’t mean that it’s done badly. The demarcation of food writing allows a lot of wiggle room for this dynamic, choosing your own palette in favour of what you are given to order.

With all that in mind, I took the long way home after spending the better part of my evening sitting against a communally mounted table that shared its space with only six chairs, the most unambitious wood fired oven I’ve seen in the city, and a bread cart displaying the leftovers of what the bakery could turn out for the entire day. Yes, I walked through a graveyard, drank some tea, and thought long and hard about how I could give Bread Heads the good honest review it deserved.

What I respect the most about Bread Heads is the thought that goes into what it offers, even if a miniscule amount compared to the bakeries in town. But that is only in Bread Heads’ static bakery, because aside from that, it has its own mobile cart bringing bread to the people of our fair city. In its bakery, it is a more delimited story. The space is small and cozy, heated throughout by the oven that is fed wood throughout the day. It offers a choice amount of baked bread, but not without having thought about what is best suited to the day. Organic whole wheat loaves are the choice. One type of loaf supports the place, reinforced by offerings of particular baked goods that suit the hot environment: muffins, scones, squares, nothing too baroque. Entrees come in the form of sandwiches and melts, using the buns baked for sale, as well as a smattering of thin crust pizzas which I found to be the most indulging. All these things are apt to change, so although choices seem small day by day, there is always something new the next. 

I chose the day’s pizza special: the harvest. A pizza topped with local vegetables, sheep’s cheese made in Stratford, and a balsamic vinegar reduction. I appreciated the spot’s attempt, no matter how bootless, to seek out the business of the community, and give the food an identity from home. More importantly however, was that it was done with finesse and in good taste. 

It was the fastest pizza ever made for me too. It was not more than 5 minutes before a 9 inch pie was placed in front of me. A sparse, but harmonized amount of cubed roasted vegetables decorated the thing, signaling my mental bellyaching about why there looked to be so little, but soon absolved when I realized that there was no need for so much with such a thin, light crust, speckled with spots of char from the hot oven. Its roasted qualities didn’t interfere with the balmy butter quality that mimicked the comforting character of an English muffin. There was no raw dough here, only light leavened crust, sweetened by the mild nature of the cheese and the reduced balsamic vinegar that was drizzled all over it. I’d otherwise dread telling you the price, but the quality ingredients perfectly justified the payment, and maybe coming back for a muffin and a cup of coffee. 

Bread Heads
16 Duke Street East 
Kitchener, ON 
N2H 2G8 

Hours? I dunno. 

Any payment

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Pizza Pedantic

I’ve much personal angst when it comes to the gourmet pizza joint. Maybe it’s because of the cruel tutelage of an uncle who dedicated the second half of his life to making some of the city’s best pizza, and who constantly fixed mine; maybe it’s because of the painful memories of lifting a paddle up into an oven that was taller than myself- burning my knuckles, bruising my ego. Or maybe it was the standards of almost all places, which made me forge health inspector letters in desperate attempts to fix the complacent sanitation problems that my employers refused to acknowledge. Whatever the case, my experiences with the pizza place, even the most cosmopolitan one, serve as some of my first disjointed experiences with the food industry, and make me feel, even today, a little leery of every spot. However, today I felt I owed it to my readership to face the Neapolitan demons that keep my own gastronomic identity in constant flux.

Mon Ami: Pizza and Restaurant is another culinary symptom of charmed cosmopolitanism. Declaring itself to be the best, a motto appropriated by an ironically large number of pizza places in this city, Mon Ami situates itself in the urbane tech location of Kitchener’s Tannery Building, visited by the most technologically intelligent and gastronomically inclined (presumably).

Its space may be as tactful as its rhetorically pandering menu. Bamboo place-mats rest atop thick wooden tables, and even heavier wooden chairs with faux log appendages wait patiently for customers who look to leisurely fill them in and make the malapropos chateau that is the restaurant’s dining room. I can only recall spaces like these in popular history in the coldest forests of Eastern Europe, or, more surprisingly, in the isolated teashops of kung fu movies- the Chinese invented pizza anyway, right? Add to that plastic stone veneers and a stone oven, and you stand to come a little more nostalgically close to the assumed pizzerias of the culinary world’s authentic past. Then again, design choices like wall lamps and paintings of England’s flag turn the dining space into something riddled with so much unfocussed romantic cathartic that it’s hard to take any gormandism seriously. And unfortunately, the menu does the same to bolster this pedantic gastronomic dynamic, which is an obvious tactic for charging customers a little extra. That’s right dear diners, at Mon Ami Pizza, an inappropriately French name for a fare that is obviously Italian, you are allowed the choice of gourmet toppings (for a little more money), or classic toppings- a pizza pie paradox if I do say so myself. And if a pizza from 9.99 to 24.99 isn’t, for whatever reason, what you want in a pizza shop, don’t fret, because there are the unavoidable menu options that seem more obligatory than essential, like chicken wings, lasagna, salads, and sandwiches. Now, it’d be unfair to judge these things, because I tried nary a one, but with the many premade pizza options, I wondered, why bother?

A small 9” pizza was what I limited myself to for lunch. That, and a quick espresso. It always intrigues me why coffee exists in pizza shops like these, and also makes me a little hopeful; hopeful that these pizza connoisseurs will go the extra mile and care for coffee as much as they supposedly do for pizza. Alas, that wasn’t the case today. It was a dull and stoney brew, watered down, and a little bitter, with grit at the bottom. Absolute sacrilege.

The prosciutto pizza was my choice meal. Something I’m familiar with, and one of the pizzas I’ve learned to prepare with fearful and artisanal accuracy. Topped with ricotta cheese, spinach, mushrooms, herbs, and of course, that cured temperamental meat: prosciutto, I was willing to risk any future relationship with Mon Ami.

I was quick to respond to the thicker than usual pieces of prosciutto topped with cheese that were yellowed and dried out in the oven. I dug around for mushrooms, cooked unevenly, and was disappointed by the flavor drowning mozzarella. On top of that, there was the usual sprinkling of oregano I see on too many gourmet pizzas.

The prosciutto itself had an overpowering salty quality more reminiscent of fried bacon than that cured, almost fermented flavor of a fresh slice of the meat. In my pizza heyday, prosciutto was put on at the very end when the pie came out of the oven so as to avoid any saltiness. This time, that wasn’t the case. The potential for any unevenly baked mushrooms was also avoided by making sure the things were the last toppings put on the pie. Instead, here they were mixed throughout without a chance to lose all water. With an unwelcomed amount of cheese, they were either moist or still raw- but at least fresh enough that they weren’t too off putting. Surprisingly, and against all of my own prejudice, the spinach –which I thought would do absolutely nothing for the dish- contributed a beautiful grassy flavor that calmed any unbearable saltiness. And the other saving grace? When the crust wasn’t saturated and wet from sauce, it had a nice light texture, almost like cake. Unfortunately, this was few and far between. It was more flaccid and wet when I picked it up by hand, the ingredients sliding off in clumps.

By the end, I found myself forcibly adding fuel to the fire that was in my belly. I can’t say the pizza was absolutely bad, but I can say I expected better. Maybe it was the space, it seemed too new, too professional, albeit culturally mismatched. I’ll be bold and say this much: Mon Ami makes expensive pizza, and if you pay for it, you’ll get a slice of pie that isn’t half-assed like the boilerplate pizzeria pizza slices we happily pay low prices for when we’re just plain hungry. So you won’t get half-assed pizza. That’s all. Pizza that’s not half-assed. NOT half-assed. That’s all, Mon Amis.

	I'd like to blame the picture on the pizza itself.

Mon Ami Pizza & Restaurant
519-570-9992
151 Charles St. W.
Kitchener

Mon-Wed: 11:00am - 9:00pm
Thu-Sat: 11:00am - 9:30pm
Sun: 12:00pm - 8:30pm

Any payment

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