Based on a friend’s recommendation, T. Mario and I checked out Tenuta’s Italian Restuarant recently. This Bay View establishment stood out from your standard pizza joint in a lot of ways. For one, they had a full menu of Italian dishes; I would go so far as to say that the pizza isn’t their focus. Another huge difference is the atmosphere. When you first walk in you’ll immediately notice that the lighting is much dimmer than your average restaurant. There are candles lighting every table and the lights were turned down to the point that someone with shitty night vision would be in total hell, crashing into tables and whatnot. While this would be hilarious for me to watch, I can’t imagine the poor bastard who couldn’t see would be enjoying it very much.

Not that there’s anything wrong with dim lighting. There are plenty of times when a more intimate setting would be appropriate. Like if I was having dinner with a nice lady instead of a dude friend. Anyway, T. Mar and I got a table and commenced with the romancing.
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Remember that scene in “Dances with Wolves” where Kevin Costner and a Native American man boohoo over a bunch of skinned buffalo? I saw the movie once when it was in theatres—my middle school class went as a field trip, which proves that I’m old and that field trips were super shitty in my day. But that scene stood out for a couple of reasons: First, because this kid got in trouble for whipping Sprees at the screen during it, and second, because it illustrates man’s willingness to not only kill all living things, but to also be a complete dick about it. And judging by my recent visit to Moosejaw Pizza in Wisconsin Dells, they are completely for killing and dicking animals.

Or maybe it’s the other way around and Moosejaw respects animals so much that they find a use for every piece of their carcasses.

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In Slice of Life, we outsource the za talk to our friends, notable Wisconsin residents, and anyone else we feel has an interesting perspective on the pizza pie.

Our inaugural edition finds us talking to Aaron Vold. Beyond drumming for Decibully — one of the state’s most accomplished and beloved bands — Vold is also a pizza connoisseur. When he wasn’t busy playing in support of his band’s latest record, World Travels Fast (available at pay-what-you want digital download HERE), he was gracious enough to answer a few questions for us.
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Abu’s has been treating Milwaukee to authentic Middle Eastern cuisine for more than 30 years. Since 1977, the microscopic restaurant’s delicious food has earned it countless local dining awards, and at one point mention among the country’s best Middle Eastern restaurants. As far as I can tell, Abu’s in Milwaukee is the third most notable Abu on Earth, behind that monkey from Aladdin and that prison where Americans took those creepy and disgusting pictures with prisoners.

Last summer, Abu’s ownership changed hands, and immediately updated its menu with everybody’s favorite Mid-East delicacy — weird pizza.
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Buffets are meant to increase the national obesity average, lower the overall hygienics of restaurant eating, and because of the powerful gold pole and long window company needed a market for their wares in the 1940s (look it up). And, let’s be adults here: Buffets exist because of fat people. It’s not like a svelte cross-country runner is going to find great happiness at a Golden Corral. No, it takes the kind of person who eats not until their body tells them to stop, but the kind of person who eats until their food starts coming out of their every orifice in petroleum jelly-consistency reams of sweat.

To my (somewhat) dismay, I am the target market for buffets. Tell me there’s a place where I can get bacon, French toast, steak, packets of jam, an omelet, mashed potatoes, more bacon, pizza, and food I can’t readily identify on a single plate, and I’ll be there, early grave be damned. Read more »

Discuss…

One of the benefits of owning this Web site — apart from remaining out of shape, and having the opportunity to write things that up to 30 people will see — is having the extra incentive to try places I’d never been before. Without this domain being in my possession, I’d probably just eat at Lisa’s a shitload… or drunkenly stumble over to Zayna’s to consume a greasy cheese Za I’d immediately forget eating until I noticed my tits jiggle when I walked to my car the following morning.

Fortunately, Doctors of Za allows me (well, all of us) an outlet to document travels to pizzerias in our new metropolitan homes, honor the provincial pies of our native townships, and even make note of some tucked away gems scattered around the state.

And sometimes I get to write about fledgling, out of the way semi-chains that specialize in BBQ, but still feature pizzas both tasty and fattening enough to kill customers 10 times over via explosions of both the ass and heart. Places like the department store-adjacent Charcoal Grill & Rotisserie in Grafton, WI — one of nine Badger State locations to offer reluctant patrons “your official backyard barbecue” in a log cabin meets sports bar meets Bennington’s abortion gone awry-type setting.
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Love. For many of us, the prospect of love is the reason we wake up in the morning. It’s something we strive for all our lives, and an ideal worth repeatedly running our fragile hearts through the gauntlet of pain and disappointment time and time again in hopes of finding. It’s why we bother trimming our pubes.

But once we’ve been fortunate enough to experience the special sentiments of both feeling love for, and being loved by another, how should it be shown? In all, there’s no single answer to that question. Be it: The occasional sweet note a passionate, work-bound young Turk leaves by the coffee pot as his lover sleeps; the way in which you each align your breaths to make the brisk autumn air billow before you while strolling on a romantic lakeside path; knowing full-well you’d volunteer your life to save hers without a second thought on the matter; simply telling the other “I love you” even half the time the thought comes to mind.

Contingent on the life to which you’ve willingly attached yours, there are infinite methods to display one’s affection for another. However, an easily-sold and wildly uncreative contemporary American society has essentially ritualized the practice of showing love. “Thoughtful” displays of candy, flowers, jewelry, upscale dining and pre-written cards have streamlined this once beautiful and vital process, transforming modern “love” into a largely calloused and deeply impersonal industry.

Yet there is one present practice that conveys all the emotion of a Keats sonnet, all the glimmer of a rare opal, all the scarcity of a prized truffle, and the speciality of spice tirelessly transported direct from The Orient. The motherfucking heart-shaped pizza.
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Sometimes when I’m sitting around, once again bored in the lonely existence that my life’s decisions have brought about, I simply type the word “pizza” into a YouTube search and see what comes up. Now and again — amid the Coldplay fan covers, “epic fails” and clips of that “Snooki” girl getting laid out by some assclown that comprise about 94 percent of YouTube videos — I’ll stumble on to something kind of pizza-related that I feel is worth writing about. It’s one of my more attractive characteristics, I assure you.

In the past, I’ve deconstructed a Jonas Brothers video, and posted a list of decent pizza clips during times when the site’s activity was down … or when I didn’t foresee eating at a new pizza place in the near future. Today is no different. I happened upon this Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tribute clip that uses the song “Pizza Power” as background music.
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1215 North Chicago Avenue
South Milwaukee, WI 53172
(414) 571-7171‎

DeRango’s Pizzeria is located in South Milwaukee. You would think you’re going to the south side of Milwaukee but you’re actually several towns away from Milwaukee. That’s how this town has tricked people into visiting it’s Detroit like existence for decades. Have you ever been to South Milwaukee? Can you name anything that’s in South Milwaukee besides DeRango’s Pizzeria? Probably not. As luck would kick me in the balls, I work in beautiful South Milwaukee. Since I am stuck there taking pictures of expensive baseball bats pretty much every day I decided to do some pizza research. Turns out this little town is full of pizza joints.

Since he’s native, I asked TJ, the “manager” of the 4-5 man operation I work at, where the best pizza in town is. He didn’t say DeRango’s but I decided to give it a go anyway. I checked their menu online. Oh wait. No I didn’t. They don’t have a website or even a menu online. I called them up, ordered a large pepperoni, and waited the 25 minutes to go pick it up.

 

Upon walking into the little room that calls itself a pizzeria, I was greeted (actually, not greeted or even looked at) by 4 surly looking gentlemen arguing about programming the menu into their register. Where was the polite, sheepish, girl I spoke to on the phone? Was it one of these guys who were starting to freak me out a little? After about what felt like 20 minutes the girl opened a door with the pizza, I paid her, and got the crap out of there.
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