PART 1 OF 2
Charlie's, located on the corner of a busy intersection, has a well-lit and spacious layout. It's open until 3 am and is in prime location for drunken crowds after the bars close. It sits there, a beacon of hope promising to satisfy your intoxicated late-night cravings with greasy and savory delights that surpass even your wildest fever dream.
The space is clearly visible from my apartment balcony, where I longingly gaze upon it into the wee hours of the night. The longing is not grounded in my lust for their pizza and myriad other cuisine: I long for Charlie's to disappear. To evaporate. Scorched Earth. Because I believe Charlie's Pizza to be the worst food establishment in all of Boston.
I will no longer silence myself. This ceaseless reign of terror on my sacred senses, this abject assault on the tastebuds of my comrades, of thy neighbors, must be eliminated forever.
Whenever I have people over to my apartment for the first time, they end up gravitating toward the balcony, and inevitably see the businesses located nearby. I've had the following conversation more times than I care to remember:
"Wow, a balcony!" they always say. I tell them I love it.
"Wow, a convenience store and a laundromat!" It's great, I say, really comes in handy.
"Wow, Charlie's Pizza, huh? It looks pretty good! How is it?? They always ask.
I've never quite figured out how to answer this question. Do I begin by saying that Charlie's crafts the worst pizza I've ever had, and that one would be better off getting a slice from the cafeteria at the charter school over on Comm Ave? Do I tell them that the two guys who work there are inept, slow and rude (but love to overtly flirt while a line builds)? Do I begin with the fact that the cashier - the same one who's always there - has tried to overcharge me on multiple occasions, especially with online orders? Maybe I start with their preposterous $7 card minimum, which of course is just above the price of two slices? Yes, that means if you only want pizza and don't have cash, you'll have to walk out with at least 3 slices of their inedible slop masquerading as pizza. Oh, the humanity.
These ghastly warnings to my friends usually fall on deaf ears. But I understand them; I too once succumbed to the siren calls of Charlie's Pizza, beckoning me to its craggy shores.
The first few times I ventured to Charlie's, the pizza was mediocre-to-terrible. Whatever, I say, I'm drunk and I don't care. Surely some of the other items on their comically large menu will satisfy my carbohydrate-laden desires? Sigh. The following is a true sequence of events. Pregnant women and children should proceed with caution; viewer discretion IS advised:
1. I try the breakfast sub. I wait 45 minutes after ordering. The sandwich is cold, sporting undercooked potatoes and crusty shaved steak instead of sausage (???). I declare to myself that I could have made a better breakfast sub when I was 11. I throw most of it out.
2. I order a specialty pizza instead of the classic cheese. "Maybe gourmet pizzas are more their thing?", is what I naively ponder to myself with child-like wonderment. I go with the buffalo chicken. Even to my numb, beer-soaked taste buds, the product is a blasphemous affront to the Pizza Gods, bless their souls. I do not sleep peacefully that night.
3. A coworker tells me the calzone's at Charlie's are "bomb." I take a deep breathe and order a pepperoni calzone online. The total comes to $15.99 plus tax. I somehow end up getting charged $22 when I pick it up. Whatever. I take one bite: the crust is Play-Doh, the cheese Silly Putty, the pepperoni Lincoln Logs.
4. I openly weep.
But after, once my tears have dried, I harden my heart and vow never to return to Charlie's Pizza. I also vow to disregard all of that coworker's future opinions. Both are going great.
You might ask yourself, how did this happen? How did a seemingly promising establishment descend to Dante's 8th circle of Hell?
We should begin with the fact that Charlie's has 130+ items on their enormous multi-cultural menu (I once counted while waiting 25 minutes for that aforementioned buffalo chicken pie - back when, you know, I actually wasted my money at this imposter of an eatery). Anyway, these endless items range vastly, from calzone's and bagels to gyros and hummus, from baked ziti to babaganoush and jalapeño poppers, from tiramisu to chicken stir-fry and schwarma, and on and on and on. One might ask, how is it possible for an establishment as small as Charlie's to properly house and prepare the ingredients to make all of these dishes? The answer is simple: they don't. It's all frozen, pre-packaged garbage, running like a toxic gluten river inside your unfortunate bones.
Charlie's head chef is a microwave, and if preparing such malformed food is an art, then that 80 watt abomination is Michelangelo.
To hear about the time I got Hepatitus from Charlie's, please refer to Part 2. read more