| rev:text
| - It was a dark and gloomy Sunday night in downtown Phoenix. It was 6:30 Pm. On any other day in this city the streets would be lit up with restaurants eagerly proclaiming "we're open! we're open! come on in! give us your money!"
But not on Sundays. On Sundays everyone closes their doors and goes home. As invisible as magic, unicorns, and Mariah Carey's acting talent.
It was Nathan's birthday, and Amanda B and I took it upon ourselves to devise a place suitable for a birthday dinner. You might as well have asked us to perform brain surgery with a screwdriver and a plunger.
"Two Hippies?"
"Closed."
"That BBQ place you like?"
"Closed."
"Um...there's a Pizza Hut---"
"Uh, no."
"Sorry."
Yeah. Guess which one I was in that exchange.
Finally we came upon Mamma Mia's, and collectively griped at how we had forgotten our "freebie" chips from the Birthday pARTy. Thankfully, they were open, though you wouldn't have known it by the way the girl ushered us through the kitchen to the dining room.
There are two types of people who order pizza. There are those who, when asked their preference, list all the toppings they like. And there are those who respond by listing all the things they don't like on pizza. With the latter option, everyone gathers around the menu and lists off what available toppings they wouldn't eat. Through the process of elimination, you pick from the available toppings and come with a democratically agreed upon pie.
And that's how we decided on basil and fresh tomato slices. With a side order of meatballs.
"How many meatballs come in a side?" asked Nathan.
"Five."
"That's perfect."
At first I was skeptical. How is five perfect for a party of three people? Who taught you to do math, birthday boy? Big Brother?
Thankfully I kept those thoughts to myself...I know, even I was impressed with myself.
And I'm glad I did, because the meatballs were big, saucy and spoonable, since our party of three only managed to get two sets of plastic silverware. I guess it's not just Nathan who's math is a little fubar'd.
The pizza was rather superb. So superb that, even armed with only basil and tomatoes, it was enough to satiate a palette accustomed to deep dish pepperoni sausage with buffalo sauce and buffet breadsticks.
This was like re-education for my taste buds, but without the hard labor and Chinese man screaming in my face about how awesome communism is.
The question about whether my hair was real or not aside, the staff were accommodating and friendly.
If I ever find myself lost in the dark and lonely place that is downtown Phoenix on a Sunday after 6pm, I will definitely keep Mamma Mia's in mind. And I will remember my "freebie" chips.
Dear Phoenix,
This isn't Salt Lake City. Cut this Sunday nonsense out.
Love,
Me
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