Bobby Langston Blasts...Pizza Hut

By Bobby Langston 



Last Saturday night, after devouring Karl Rove's genius literary accomplishment "Courage and Consequence," I headed to the local Pizza Hut to devour a light dinner of salad, a personal pan cheese and pepperoni pizza and bread sticks. I have been to nearly all of the eateries in Hialeah and I have never had food this repulsive. I have a good mind to write Mr. Rove himself about this questionable establishment.

First of all, the bread sticks were sub par. When I eat a bread stick, I do not expect them to be covered in a substance resembling saw dust. Why do they need to cut wood around the food in the kitchen? Maybe they were remodeling, but you would really think they would do that on off hours, and not while they are serving paying customers. I do not go to a restaurant to spend my hard-earned money plus the outrageous and unjust tax on food covered in debris. If I wanted my food covered in sawdust, I would go have lunch during a high school shop class. That might sound ludicrous to you, but I sometimes enjoy the testosterone rush I get from that dining experience.

I felt like I needed some vegetables after eating the crummy bread sticks (did I mention how awful the marinara sauce was? It was like eating a toxic shock syndrome menses), so I headed to the salad bar. There I was, gazing down at the lettuce and toppings through the sneeze guard which is meant to illicit a feeling of security--the security that nobody has sneezed upon your food. I find that sense of security to be nothing but false. I spent the better part of three minutes making myself a truly monstrous salad, only to sit down at my booth and, wouldn't you know it, there was a dead fly laying upon a leaf of lettuce. Now, I would not mind if I had put the fly there myself, to which. I simply +do not want stray flies lying upon my leafy greens. I was nearly at the point of bellowing, "Check please!" when my pizza came.

The pizza was a glorious achievement in culinary blunder. The pepperoni were like something extraterrestrial, burnt up upon atmospheric entry. Now, I do not believe in aliens--especially illegal ones--but I do believe in terrible food. Pizza Hut gave me faith and is the temple of atrocious dietary offerings. The grease on the pizza is ample and could probably be sopped off and used to fry a dozen eggs, though I am not willing to test that theory. That is not my ideal breakfast. I would much rather indulge in eggs Benedict like a normal person, though I do not appreciate the traitorous implications of the meal.

The crust was deplorable. I would rather eat cheese and tomato sauce off of the Earth's crust. I am not sure if they make it fresh in the kitchen or get it shipped there on the back of a semi truck. I would lean toward the latter, since very little debris covered it (unless you count the flecks of burnt matter). I am not sure, but I think I bit into a pebble. It is hard to tell, because very little of the material seemed edible in the first place. I cannot tell if it was specifically found in the crust, regardless, I will lump it in this category.

Pizza Hut is the Health Care Reform bill of restaurants. They make promises that they cannot feasibly keep, we are all worse off for having it around and we end up paying dearly. I nearly lost a tooth! Thankfully, I headed home for a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and cracked open the hilarious Laura Ingram book, "The Obama Diaries." After that torturous meal, I sincerely needed some levity.

On a scale of Reagan to Obama, I give Pizza Hut a "Bill Clinton."