Talisman Pizza — Restaurant in Pagosa Springs

My family and I got into town late after driving 4+ hours from our home in the Colorado Springs area. We are here for a night for my husband's work. Any town we go to, we always try to give money to local business instead of chains. Unfortunately, due to it being 930pm, most restaurants were closed, and the 1 bar in town that serves food late was closed for a private party. My 4yo loves pizza (of course) so I called this establishment to order a takeout pizza. The person who answered (I'm assuming the owner) told me that he was too busy with deliveries to do a takeout pizza. Okay, that's fine. As I was preparing to ask for delivery, he proceeds to tell me that he has 4 people calling right now trying to order "unless it was me and people in my party calling repeatedly," as though my drunk college friends and I suddenly got a craving before we pass out for the night 🙄 Ummm... No, sir, I can assure you my 4 yo and 1 yo in the back seat are not calling you repeatedly to order pizza. At that point, I knew that this was not a person I wanted to give my money to, so I kindly thanked him and hung up. Couldn't tell you about the pizza, but I can say my experience with the customer service was sub par.

In response to your response: there is no mother on earth who has time to "war dial" the local...

In the quiet mountain town of Pagosa Springs, long after most kitchens had closed and the stars hung heavy over the Rockies, I stumbled upon something… otherworldly.

Down on Talisman Drive—yes, the name fits—I found a lone, flickering light glowing from a tiny, near-forgotten pizzeria. Inside, in the shadows of this humble temple of dough and fire, stood a man. Not just any man. No. I had met the Obi-Wan Kenobi of pizza.

The place? Talisman Pizza. The hour? Midnight. The vibe? Mythic.

This culinary wizard worked alone, cloaked in flour and flame, his eyes holding the kind of wisdom that only comes from a lifetime of sauce-stained scrolls and sacred cheese rituals. As he crafted my pizza, he shared tales of his youth—epic, strange, beautiful tales that danced through the air like the scent of garlic and oregano. It felt less like ordering food, and more like being initiated into an ancient, delicious order.

And then—the pizza.

The crust? Crisp like truth. The cheese? A revelation. The sauce? Like liquid poetry sung by Italian angels.

I swear, the pepperoni alone could’ve made a grown man cry. I don’t know who this shaman of the slice truly is, but I left feeling blessed, changed, and desperately craving more.

I will return. Because some legends are crafting away I. The middle...

I was very disappointed with everything about this place. The website makes them sound good so rather than order from somewhere else (I was in town for one night) I waited until 8 p.m. when they opened, to order as I really wanted to try it. First of all, they charge $2.50 per topping. I am not kidding when I say I got maybe three or four very thin slivers of bell pepper, the same of onion and although he insisted he put mushrooms on the pizza, there were no mushrooms but I was charged for them. The Caesar salad was literally a bowl of shredded lettuce, a little cup of not homemade dressing and a package of Kraft parmesan cheese powder...no croutons nor actual shredded parmesan. To top it off, I was overcharged by about $10, and when I called to ask about it, customer service was bad because I was basically just blown off. For a medium pizza, a bowl of lettuce and a soda, I was charged $40.62. Instead of rectifying the situation and refunding me what I was overcharged, I got a text saying in part "there is also prices subject to change without notice." Really? Anyway, I will never order...