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| - I admit it. I'm a pizza snob. I grew up in New Jersey and know the difference between good pizza and bad pizza. Good pizza is "anything you could serve in Lodi, N.J. and not have your body found in the dumpster behind the store the next morning." Bad pizza constitutes about 99.999% of the rest of the pizza in the world.
Having voluntarily moved out of N.J. at age 18 to attend college (I didn't feel the need to major in herpes, Camaro repair, or ab workouts, so my options were severely limited there), I was taken aback at the culinary wasteland that exists west of the Passaic river. I found this abomination called "frozen pizza" in grocery stores under names like Red Baron and the very appropriately named "Tombstone." I found racks of pizza-like-substances in truck stops, obviously part of a nefarious plan to punish the bathroom attendants working there. And worst of all, there were restaurants called "Pizza Hut," which emanated a neon red siren-call to me as I drove down the highway. In what I attribute mostly to road-hypnosis (staring at the white dotted line for hours at a time), the talking koala bear in my passenger seat finally convinced me to stop at one of these places. After being slapped back into reality by ingesting over a half-gallon of pure grease, and utterly disgusted with my furry friend's trickery, I snuck out when he went to the little-koala-bear's-room and peeled out of the parking lot, sticking him with the bill. I hope washing those dishes ruined his fur.
From that point on, rather than return to New Jersey (as if that were a viable option), I decided to scour the vast majority of this great nation in search of edible pizza. I spent many of those years living with soul-crushing disappointment.
Lucky for me, I finally found Lucky's. The owners have cleverly tucked this gem away in a strip mall 20+ miles out of the burgeoning metropolis that is Phoenix, Arizona, where damn near no one who lives in the entire valley will ever find it. Hell, most people who live in Phoenix couldn't find Surprise without a GPS, so the chances of someone from Mesa or Chandler wandering in are roughly the same as being given the winning Powerball ticket by a lonely koala covered in pizza grease and dishwashing detergent.
After one taste, I was hooked. After living less than a mile away from the place for the past decade, I'm pretty sure I've financed at least one of the cars parked outside of it. Mercifully, they don't deliver, otherwise I'm not sure I could fit through my front door at this point.
From reading other yelp reviews, it appears that Lucky's has other items on the menu. I never noticed.
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