PizzaExpress — Restaurant in London

Overture: “BRACE, BRACE, BRACE” I yell confronting the abrasive icy winds that strike bullets across the porcelain of our alabaster skin. We hike, each step feeling the compounding weight of nature’s harsh retribution repelling us. I turn, my brothers eyes wet from rain, or tears; I stammer the words just squeezing through a shiver“my convictions are wavering against the unceasing trials of this pilgrimage”. I hear no response. I speak again, this time emboldened by his silence “brother, we may not make it, maybe god has forsaken us”. Once again my concerns are greeted with silence. In sudden haste he stops, creaking his right arm and unclenching his finger in the direction of a blue gleam. I head his demands and crank my head to neck to follow the line of his frozen appendage.

I stagger, sighing the words “by George we did it Ben”, placing my hand on his breast. A wave of relief became me while I struggled to contain my eyes from flooding. Ben had no such will, his eyes gushed releasing the pain of our arduous journey. He fell to his knees, and gazed up at me “pizza time is here, god has delivered”.

Part 1: crusts are the rim of life

We force ourselves further, Ben picking himself from the brown sludge spread across the streets of Hampstead Heath. Further and further we go, until the threshold is within my grasp. Finally, I clasp the frosted bar of steel, heeding the words displayed above, I pull, thrusting myself backward praying I am not stolen back into the black abyss. Alas the door gape and I stumbled in, feeling the warm caress of the pizza ovens and the comforting embrace of their award winning ambiance.

Greated by the joyous smile of the hostess and guided towards a table. The question “just two?” had never sounded so heavenly. So we sat, legs outstretched, facing the ovens that roared and blasted. My brother turned and asked “can you feel Him, His warmth”, and I replied “praise, I can, but do not demean the lord with masculine pronouns”. He nodded and I kissed his with my perched lips.

I unfolded the menu, gazing at it like a blessed almanac. Scanning the delicious and aromatic lists, wetting my lips with the desire for a feast. I clutch my brothers hand and yell “HARK! They have a funghi de Bosco and a garlic prawn”. He asked, “are you thing what I’m thinking?”. Then in unison “the lord shares his soul and I will share bread with you my brother”. We make eye contact for 4 seconds until we break, concerned now with the plight of starters.

30 seconds passed, we glance up at each-other in intervals both denying the reality we know to be true. Ben look at me straight, he says “maybe it is the length of our travels or the ache for comfort, but I am solely focused on these dough balls”. I was relieved, once again our thoughts matched. A new trouble arose, the menu was so bountiful with ball options, I asked my brother in earnest “but how could we choose?”. My brother snatched my menu, he closed it and put it beside him, he smiled wryly and uttered is soothing tones “I only recognise one kind of dough ball”. I sighed with relief.

Finally we contemplated the opportunity that dips provide. In bold gold letters it states, “ANY DIPS, 3 for £2”. I once again turned to my brother, who was already celebrating a successful order, chuckling to himself; I choked “would you mind if we had some dips maybe”. Trepidation about his reply, I preempted “or maybe not, it’s no worries”. He shot me a glance, “of course let’s get two garlic butters and a chilli and basil”. I was so relieved to see that grin, we waited so long and I didn’t want to step out of line. We both sat in contentment, smiling and waiting for a waiter to arrive, but truly I didn’t want that moment to end.

For the rest look...

Pizza Express - the customer is always wrong

Hadn't been here - or any Pizza Express branch - for some 20 years. I had bad memories in the past, but thought I'd give it another go.

Remembering things like asking for extra olives on my pizza and being told a firm 'no.' would've made me mad had it not been so pathetically funny. There are people like this that exist, that actually get upset with customers who dare step out of bounds and ask for something not on the menu. Whatever next, people asking for a slice of lemon in their drinks? The nerve...

What keeps me laughing at Pizza Express is thinking how Italians would react at the attitude of PE staff, across the board, not just at this branch. It's clearly a philosophy of the business model.

Sadly, on my return here the other month, nothing had changed. No variations to menu items allowed. I said I don't mind paying extra and the waitress went to ask, but they came back with a no, no to all my requests. It's as though they don't have cooks, they just warm up pre-prepared food in a microwave (to save costs), which is why they can't vary their bland menus; they don't know how.

You get the feeling sitting in a Pizza Express that you're just another unit, an inconvenient part of the calculation some accountant has worked out to generate money from this thing called a restaurant. You also get the feeling the staff would really rather be somewhere else, and so will you.

Given the mediocre food, it just amazes me Pizza Express has survived as long as it has. But then again, Pizza Express isn't built on customer satisfaction, it's built on work formulas and penny pinching.

With so many Italian food options available nowadays, including more than two others on Haverstock Hill around the tube station, I will never...

Gutted. I went there with my friend after a stroll in Hampstead Heath in the afternoon, but we were poorly treated by the tall, bald waiter.

My friend ordered the Duo Romana, but she overlooked the description stating that she had to choose two flavours for the pizza. It was also her first time ordering at Pizza Express, so she simply asked for the Duo Romana without specifying any flavours. The waiter then asked us, “Didn’t you read it (the menu)?” We asked if we were supposed to choose two flavours from that section, but instead of answering, he said sarcastically, “Duo means two,” as if mocking us for not knowing English. (We’re Asian, and I felt offended by his tone. Ironically, he appeared to be a Slavic speaker himself, yet was mocking other English learners.)

Since we were confused and felt pressured by the waiter’s impatience, we ended up ordering another pizza.

Later, when we were checking the bill, I tried to use a student discount code. The waiter entered it into the machine, then suddenly showed me the screen without saying anything. I read the message and it seemed my code couldn’t be used. Yet, since he didn’t say a word, I had to ask him again to confirm. Only then did he finally respond, saying my code had already been redeemed.

The waiter’s attitude was absolutely unacceptable. If he can’t be bothered to communicate properly with customers, then waiting tables is not the job for him. There were only a few customers in the restaurant at the time, so he wasn’t busy at all and had more than enough time to explain things to us—rather than leaving us guessing or mocking us.

We felt discriminated against and will never return to Pizza...