Eating Oberlin City IV: Uptown Pizza’s Great Expectations
by Sebastian Cruz, Hand-Tossed & Wood-Fired
Illustration by Bert, Cheese Wiz
There’s a problem scourging our beloved city: you can’t get a good piece of food after dark. A formerly Dry Town, the promotion and proliferation of alcohol and its subsequent shenang’z has been long fought-for and justly integrated into the scene. However, this recent history still clings to the character of Oberlin’s downtown, i.e., good luck finding anything open after sundown when the Feve has knocked you over and over again. As much as it may help us forget about it all, a late-nite booze-crooze is not a universal coping mechanism.
The conceit is obvious as it is genius: a late-night caPital P Pizza Place. Some City shit in this Shit city, goddamn you all. The mere fact that this hasn’t been capitalized on in the most brain-dead simple sense is beyond even the most ardent of campus food lovers. Now that Fourth Meal has sold out to Big Stevenson, the niche, by natural law, must be filled.
Enter Uptown Pizza with a small fanfare. Airdropped into the southern downtown area while (me and) everyone (else) was (were) out of state forgetting about it all in exotic national locales, the eatery opened its doors to full operation this past Monday. If it were to have the marquee it deserves, the pulsating red block letters would spell out to the stars: OPEN 7PM-3AM. What a preposterous claim. Not to even be open for lunch? It’s ludicrous. It’s perfect. It’s the concession to the young and insomniac masses that this town needed.
I’ve been precisely three times in various states of inebriation. But my first will forever stick with me.
On a quiet Tuesday night, I entered and delighted in the raw and open-air feel that the interior architecture provided. Coterminal with the open-concept kitchen is, of course, that 700 degree inferno which makes its presence quite known. Except that I knew what I signed up for: one pepperoni, one Weekly Special, per favore. I’ll cross the rubicon and state outright that a single slice of cheese pizza came out to $3.50 and there was no better feeling than looking at the receipt and not getting the urge to vomit from guilt.
The pizza is another thing, though.
As an American, I find that good pizza is difficult to qualify. We are spoiled for choice regarding toppings, styles, bread thickness, garlic glaze up and down the back with a kick in the ass. But for a moment, for a second, a moment, upon first bite, I felt as if my life had genuinely been changed. Balancing all of this context, the lack of late night options, the restaurant’s tantalizing hours, it’s very easy to lose sight of one’s judgement.
And for an instant, I knew it was all worth it. Because, controversially, the slice was quite delicious. The sauce wasn’t sugary, it made for a good base. A crust with some fine crisp to it, a crisp that made its way to the cheese, giving it a textural edge. The Special was very satisfying, because it was ridiculous enough to be indeed Special, but normal enough to actually serve. A Lemon Pepper Chicken slice that, once you get over the cross-wires of flavor profiles, actually comes down to a slightly sweeter if much heftier journey from tip to crust. Oh, and it was the hottest piece of pizza I may have ever put in my mouth. Magmic.
