Papa's Pizza — Restaurant in Windham

There are evenings when one ventures into a dining establishment not merely to be fed, but to be nourished—spiritually, culturally, and, dare I say, sonically. Sadly, my recent visit to this pizzeria provided only the first of these, and left the rest to wither like an unwatered basil plant on an uninspired margherita.

Let us begin, however, with the food.

The pizza itself was, in all fairness, commendable. The dough had been treated with due reverence, allowed to rise and blister like a well-rehearsed soufflé’s crust. The sauce, while not transcendent, gestured politely toward rustic authenticity, and the cheese was melted with mechanical precision. One could do worse.

But one could also expect more.

Because, you see, while the flavors danced on my palate, something greater—a spectacle, a moment of rare cultural theater—was brewing at the threshold of the restaurant. And it was not welcomed.

At precisely 6:47 PM, the doors were thrown open—not rudely, mind you, but with theatrical flair—and in stepped a man clad in the unmistakable costume of a human-sized pickle. Vinyl. Dimpled. Bold. His arms, protruding confidently from the sides of his briny ensemble, cradled not a violin, not a mandolin—but a full, gleaming set of bagpipes.

He did not order food. He did not speak. He merely began to play.

And oh, what music it was. A drone that filled the space like an ancient fog rolling over the moors. A melody that pierced through marinara and mozzarella, calling forth the ghosts of the Highlands and, dare I suggest, elevating the pepperoni-laden air into something vaguely transcendent. I was rapt. The room was spellbound.

But then came the reckoning.

A server—shaken, visibly unsure of their place in history—scurried toward the piper. Behind them, a manager, tight-lipped and radiating bureaucratic dismay, approached with all the subtlety of a damp napkin. Her voice, devoid of curiosity or compassion, issued a decree that will ring in the empty halls of my memory for years to come:

“This is a Not a Pipe Zone.”

I nearly dropped my imported San Pellegrino.

What kind of establishment serves Neapolitan pizza—a culinary export from a region steeped in music, storytelling, and street performance—yet bans the very spirit of impromptu artistry at its door? Has our hunger for uniform dining experiences extinguished the flame of spontaneous wonder?

The pickle-piper, ever the professional, ceased his performance. He offered no protest. Only the dignified nod of an artist too often misunderstood, and with a subtle squeak of costume-on-laminate, he exited into the night. Not a hero we deserved—but unquestionably one we needed.

The restaurant resumed its operations. Breadsticks were dipped. Laughter resumed. But something in the room had changed. We had tasted transcendence. And it was denied.

So, yes. The pizza is respectable. The crust—commendable. But the soul of the place? Rigid. Inflexible. And unforgivably pipe-intolerant.

If you seek flavor, you may eat here. If you seek meaning, go where the pipes are welcome.

This is a Not a Pipe Zone—and that is not...

If you're looking for delicious, freshly made pizza with exceptional service, Papa's Pizza is the place to go! From the moment I walked in, I was greeted with a friendly smile and a warm atmosphere. The menu offers a wide variety of toppings and crust options, so you can easily customize your perfect pie.

The crust was perfectly crisp, and the sauce was rich and flavorful. I opted for the pepperoni and mushroom pizza, and it was absolutely perfect – generous with the toppings and baked to perfection. The flavors were spot-on, and you could tell they use high-quality ingredients.

The staff was attentive, and the service was quick, making it the perfect place for a quick bite or a casual meal with friends and family. I can't wait to come back and try more of their menu. Highly recommend Papa's Pizza to anyone who loves great pizza and...

Decent place, decent food, BUT.... cash only in 2018?!? And... ordered take-out the other day. On the phone i ordered half bacon & chicken, half hamburger. I said it twice, real slow & clear & she read it back to me. Someone else picked up the pizza. I open it.. half bacon & hamburger, half chicken. I called them up & to her credit she offered to do it over. But I mean who wants to do all that, unless theres some allergy issue? (There isnt.) What bugged me is that along with the nice offer, she kinda laughed it off, saying something like, "He always does that." (Referring to cook.) Well, umm.. if he always does that, maybe you need more surefire methods to prevent it......