Crisp Pizza — Restaurant in London

I typically avoid leaving bad reviews but unfortunately this was some of the most patronising and dishonest service I’ve had in years. We ordered our pizzas from the Storekit on Monday for 8:30-45pm on Saturday. We also chose to come early and grab a pint at 8pm, while letting the staff know to bring the pizzas to our table when our slot came up. The manager in the black and white plaid shirt said it’d be 45mins.

We did not get our pizzas till 9:15.

For the rest of this review, I’m going to pre-empt some of the points that management may reply with:

I’d like to think a VERY basic expectation behind pre-ordering a pizza is that you receive it within the time slot. Unfortunately these views are not shared by management. They’ll go as far as to say ‘we told you it’d be 45mins from your time-slot’ & there were ‘forty other pizzas ahead of you’.

I’m dead certain you didn’t say this & regardless that’s still not an excuse given you offered us a timeslot for when we’d be served. You also shouldn’t be taking walk-in orders when you can barely handle your pre-order customers.

They also tried to claim it was a ‘check in’ timeslot rather than when you would pick up / be served. From the screenshot below, that’s clearly not the case. I’ve also checked this in the T&Cs of the storekit and this is not clear. It was clear the manager only cared to serve us a pack of lies.

We also asked the table next to us how long it took for them to get their food from their pre-booked time-slot. It took an extra hour for them too.

The rest of the staff were pleasant & I liked my pints. But, the manager in the black and white plaid shirt, you are easily the most dishonourable and pathetic person I’ve been served food by. It’s one thing to take ages from a pre-ordered timeslot, but to act arrogantly, lie to our face, & to practically tell us off at our table for complaining when the food is late?...

I really wanted to love CRISP W6. I mean, the hype is real and the pizza is good. But sadly, the overall experience left me frustrated and pretty reluctant to ever return.

Let’s start with the booking system… or lack of one. Trying to make a reservation is a complete mystery. Their Instagram and website offer no clarity, you’re left to guess whether you should WhatsApp, call, or just show up and hope for the best. When I did call on a whim one day, I was told they were accepting walk-ins at 3pm, and to arrive by 2:30. So we did exactly that.

What followed was a two-hour wait. No one greeted us, no one came to take names or give an idea of how long the wait would be , we were just left standing there, unsure of what was going on. When I tried asking, I got a vague, unhelpful response. As a mum trying to enjoy a rare afternoon off without my toddler, standing around in limbo for two hours was not it.

The staff seemed completely overstretched and honestly, quite cold. It felt chaotic and disorganised and in 2025, there are better systems. A digital queue, estimated wait times, maybe even just a human being who comes out and communicates would go a long way. At the very least, a way to take orders and guarantee seating. Because yep, even after placing your order, you’re left scrambling to find a seat yourself.

Now, the pizza. I had the Vecna, which was tasty, and paired it with the hot honey and garlic & herb dips. The garlic & herb was lovely, but the hot honey? Not remotely hot. My husband got the tie-dye, also good. But after two hours of standing, being hangry, tired, and irritated… I couldn’t enjoy any of it. And that’s the real shame.

Would I go back? Honestly, no. Not because the pizza isn’t great — it is — but because the whole experience was so unnecessarily stressful and joyless. A few small changes in systems and hospitality could make a world...

If you’ve ever wanted to feel like a peasant begging for scraps at a medieval banquet, boy, do I have the place for you. Crisp Pizza isn’t just a pizzeria – it’s a full-blown cult, complete with ritualistic dough worship and a social media initiation test. There’s no booking form, no phone number on Google, and definitely no sense of hospitality. Instead, you have to follow them on Instagram, where they graciously reveal a secret number you can call to plead for a table. And don’t forget to “reserve your dough,” because, apparently, these balls of flour are rarer than truffles in an alpine forest.

When we arrived, they told us we couldn’t order without a reservation – not even for takeaway – but we were welcome to hang around the bar and drink in the corner like thirsty pilgrims hoping for a miracle. So, we did what any self-respecting cult inductees would do – we polished off a bottle of wine while desperately making eye contact with every passing server, praying for a sign of salvation. Eventually, they took pity and let us order two takeaways. Probably just to free up bar space for the next round of gullible dough disciples. The pizza? Crispy, yes – if you inhale it within 30 seconds. After that, it turns into a chewable frisbee. Oh, and when we tried to order a Nutella calzone for a bit of dessert redemption, they hit us with, “Sorry, not enough dough.” I’m sorry, the whole point of this place is dough, and you ran out? Did you not check the cult roster this morning?

Three stars because they technically delivered what they promised – crispy pizza – but the whole experience felt like paying for the privilege of joining a dough cult. Next time, I’ll just hit up Dominos, drink my wine in peace, and avoid the...