Times I got yelled at: 1 Slices I wish I had been able to eat: 40
I used to go to this place on Main Street called Café Ravenna, which served a nice slice and had a surprisingly large set of pasta options. It's now called Ravenna Pizza & Bar and serves a nice slice and has a surprisingly large set of pasta options. But it also has a charming new sandstone exterior and sexy textured wall treatment. Mmmm. Texture. Double also, it now has a full bar, which nobody was using because it's Main Street and the over-salaried power-suiters who work down there apparently don't drink during lunch anymore. (Which leads me to two questions: When did schmoozing clients whilst completely sober at lunch become a good business plan, and what the fuck?)
The menu has been pared down a bit and is now on a giant chalkboard above the counter. I had the $6.50 lunch special, which is any two slices and a drink. Hook me up with two of the 'roni and sausages. Hell yeah, I called this lunch meating. (The pasta special was $8.50 for lobster ravioli in pink sauce. I didn't get this, but lots of other people did, and they did not seem to die. So, buon appetito!)
After you order, you sit down and trust them to get your slice to you once it's been ovened. This is where things get interesting. Communication between Oven Guy, Cashier Girl and Serving Lady is not the best. I saw Serving Lady grabbing my slices from the counter, and I was all "Oh, those are mine," thinking I was being helpful, but then Oven Dude was like "NO! Those aren't you!!" and shamed me into thinking I'd almost Bogarted someone else's slices.
But after a few seconds, he had a change of heart and decided that I could have them after all. He told Serving Lady to give them to me. I was all, "That's right, muthafucka." Except that I didn't say any of that aloud for fear of having my slices re-kidnapped. It's good pizza. Big, foldable slices. Not super greasy. And the crust must be good because I finished it without once thinking, "I need ranch."
What probably could have used some ranch was the side salad I also ordered. Their house dressing suggests that Owner Guy may have called the mother of his red wine vinegar purveyor a skank-ass ho. It tasted like a death rattle.
