The Monthly Column: Frozen Pizza Blues

So, they tell me the theme for this month’s issue of Exotic is "singles"—presumably, in the context of romance—at least, I think so. It could be about tennis, but I choose not to believe that.

The single life, eh? Well, there’s a lot to say about that topic...namely, why people choose to define their personal satisfaction (or, lack thereof) by the person or persons they’re romantically attached to. But, that’s more depressing than fun—go follow some random girl on Tumblr and wait for a haiku about sweaters and loneliness, if that’s your scene. I, meanwhile, will be talking about pizza. Specifically, frozen pizza. It is a well-known fact that single people are the number one consumers of frozen pizza* and, so, it stands to reason that there’s some exploration to do here. I have taken to the task of evaluating some frozen pizza brands, in order to paint a picture of the types of single folks who eat them.

Brand: Screamin’ Sicilian
Variety: "Holy Pepperoni" (classic pepperoni pizza)

The offering from Screamin’ Sicilian is pretty good for a frozen pizza, which I will abbreviate as "fropizz," from now on. It boasts a pedigree for all of its myriad ingredients, such as "whole milk mozzarella" and "Wisconsin parmesan," while the box screams that you should "assault your taste buds." It’s pretty goddamned good, for frozen pizza. It lives up to its own hype. However, the price tag of between $8 and $10 just raises the question, why not get take-and-bake from Papa Murphy’s (or somewhere like that), for a couple bucks more?

The single person buying these is probably someone who watches a lot of cooking shows, but never actually makes anything and thinks that spending ten bucks on a frozen pizza means they’re somehow not eating junk food.

Brand: Urban Pie
Variety: "Mission District" (sausage and pepperoni with bell peppers, mushrooms and onions)

Urban Pie is another one, like Screamin’ Sicilian, that tries to present itself as upscale, high-rent fropizz. It’s packaged in a very hipster-y way, with a faux-chalkboard kind of design and a see-through window in the box, so you can eyeball the goods. However, it still just looks like a frozen pizza. Frozen things, before they’re cooked, simply aren’t very spectacular-looking at all. The weirdest thing about these was the sausage, which they touted as being made of chicken, and sliced as though someone were making it by hacking hunks off a proper log of sausage and putting them on there. After cooking, this sausage tastes rubbery and strange, like it should squeak when you bite into it. I did not like this at all. It is not worth the $7-9 price tag it commanded.

The single person buying this is the person who wishes they could go on one of those dating events where people show up and walk dogs together. They also hope that, if they ever get the chance to do so, the event organizers will let them borrow a dog.

Brand: DiGiorno
Variety: "Chicken Parmesan" (chicken, tomatoes)

It’s not delivery, it’s DiSgusting. Okay, that was harsh. It’s not terrible, for $4-7. But, that crust... that doughy, chewy, thick and nasty slab of gluten—it kills all DiGiorno’s rising-crust pizza flavors. It’s just not any good. I mean, much like the skin is the human body’s largest organ, the crust is the pizza’s largest organ and we accept that, but these things are like if you met a man with twice the normal amount of skin—just dragging a fuckin’ skin cape behind him, everywhere he goes. DiGiorno rising crust (which is their default crust) is like eating that skin cape.

The type of single person who buys these is someone who just buys whatever has the most advertising, regardless of whether or not it’s the best option for the money, and since they’ve never done otherwise, they don’t know the difference.

Brand: Totino’s
Variety: "Combination Party Pizza" (pepperoni and sausage)

Totino’s: filling the coveted box-of-four-for-$3.50 market segment since...forever, I guess? I don’t think inflation applies to Totino’s, as I recall them being the same price back in 1995. For the person who prefers quantity over quality and doesn’t mind the taste of cardboard crust or remarkably unwholesome ingredients that taste like they fell off the back of a truck, only to be scooped onto a pizza a few days later. However, this is the only fropizz on the list which has been known to be used as a makeshift taco shell for an oversized Mexican- Italian-American gastronomical experience, that is comparable, spiritually, to watching porn with your mom. It pairs well with vintage Whitesnake.

The kind of single person who buys these is someone who thinks they’re clever by fixing their heating vents with duct tape—not realizing that this is the reason duct tape was created.

Brand: ??????????? ????? ??? ?????
(vaguely Italian pizza-like foodstuff) Variety: "??????????? ????? ??? ?????" (sausage?)

I found this at a gas station run by some Slavs. It was manufactured in a former Soviet Republic, but doesn’t say which. Ivan, at the counter, gave a knowing nod—he’s been there. It’s the kind of thing that beckons late at night, when you’re drunk, hungry and willing settle. The only thing comforting about it are notes of familiarity. It’s round. It has something resembling cheese on it, as well as something resembling meat. For a dollar and a quarter, she’s yours for the evening and you’re happy to have her—until it’s time to look yourself in the mirror and realize what you’re doing.

The kind of single person who buys this is the kind who calls their ex in the middle of the night, because they’re thirsty and suddenly don’t care about the fact that their ex is mentally ill (in a "serious, might-stab-you-in-the-ear- with-a-chopstick" way, not a "mild, Twitter-posts- about-how-hard-getting-out-of-bed-is" way).

As with dating, frozen pizza requires caution and forethought. You want to enjoy yourself and satisfy your needs, but you do not want to end up with something you bought into and can’t stand, after having just one slice.

May your crust always rise evenly.

*probably.