Pizza Chic
We ordered a pepperoni mushroom pizza the other night, from Domino's. They make good pizza and, best of all, Domino's delivers. I was peeling the cheese off of Levi's slice--the order mistakenly included the cheese that should have been left off of Levi's portion to accommodate his milk allergy. Suddenly, inexplicably, I was transported back to my college days. All of a sudden, I could see and smell that unforgettable Pizza Chic pepperoni mushroom pizza, its soft, foldable crust slathered with gooey, dripping cheese.
Pizza Chic delivered, any time of day or night; it was the only reason they stayed in business. Pizza Chic existed just to serve the lowliest college students at Concordia College in Seward--those of us without cars. The pizza was passable; in fact, to those of us who were stuck with the college meal plan, it seemed downright delicious. It wasn't unusual for someone in my dorm to make the rounds late in the evening, looking for other starving students who were willing to chip in a dollar or two to order a pizza. During finals week, the Pizza Chic delivery man must have spent his entire shift driving back and forth, back and forth, from the downtown restaurant to the college campus a mile or so away.
Pizza Chic served up some pretty good sub sandwiches, too, if I remember correctly. They probably served chicken, as well, as indicated by their moniker, although I don't remember ever ordering it.
Improbably, the proprietors hailed from somewhere in Asia. I don't know how they came to operate a pseudo-Italian restaurant in a small Nebraska town. It could be argued that they should have stuck with the cuisine they knew best, but hundreds of college students were grateful that they chose to serve pizza instead.
I made the mistake of eating at the actual restaurant at least twice. It was an experience that should not have been repeated. Pizza Chic was located in a decrepit storefront on the west side of the courthouse square. The decor was nonexistent. The unadorned walls hadn't been painted in decades. It appeared as if the floor hadn't been swept, let alone scrubbed, in months. The only lighting consisted of bare light bulbs suspended from a dingy ceiling. I don't know why the health inspector hadn't closed the place down.
At one time, though, the mere thought of Pizza Chic was enough to make my mouth water in anticipation. It has been years, even decades, since I've given any thought to Pizza Chic. Something that once provided a welcome respite from predictable cafeteria fare has faded into the past, a fuzzy memory that apparently can be resurrected only by the aroma of warm pepperoni mushroom pizza, served straight from the box.
.
Pizza Chic delivered, any time of day or night; it was the only reason they stayed in business. Pizza Chic existed just to serve the lowliest college students at Concordia College in Seward--those of us without cars. The pizza was passable; in fact, to those of us who were stuck with the college meal plan, it seemed downright delicious. It wasn't unusual for someone in my dorm to make the rounds late in the evening, looking for other starving students who were willing to chip in a dollar or two to order a pizza. During finals week, the Pizza Chic delivery man must have spent his entire shift driving back and forth, back and forth, from the downtown restaurant to the college campus a mile or so away.
Pizza Chic served up some pretty good sub sandwiches, too, if I remember correctly. They probably served chicken, as well, as indicated by their moniker, although I don't remember ever ordering it.
Improbably, the proprietors hailed from somewhere in Asia. I don't know how they came to operate a pseudo-Italian restaurant in a small Nebraska town. It could be argued that they should have stuck with the cuisine they knew best, but hundreds of college students were grateful that they chose to serve pizza instead.
I made the mistake of eating at the actual restaurant at least twice. It was an experience that should not have been repeated. Pizza Chic was located in a decrepit storefront on the west side of the courthouse square. The decor was nonexistent. The unadorned walls hadn't been painted in decades. It appeared as if the floor hadn't been swept, let alone scrubbed, in months. The only lighting consisted of bare light bulbs suspended from a dingy ceiling. I don't know why the health inspector hadn't closed the place down.
At one time, though, the mere thought of Pizza Chic was enough to make my mouth water in anticipation. It has been years, even decades, since I've given any thought to Pizza Chic. Something that once provided a welcome respite from predictable cafeteria fare has faded into the past, a fuzzy memory that apparently can be resurrected only by the aroma of warm pepperoni mushroom pizza, served straight from the box.
.
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