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.
Read more »

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.
Read more »

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.
Read more »

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.
Read more »

As Ronnie, a DoZ reader named Brad and I came to know, the tucked away throwback that is MaMa DeMarinis’ is the kind of place you go when you initially  attempted to go to a different pizza place because it had a funny TV ad a few years back, you witness a drug deal outside of that (now closed) restaurant, and you drive around aimlessly until someone eventually remember it exists. That’s a story for another day… but that’s how we finally happened upon the elder most of the Bay View restaurants bearing the DeMarinis’ name last week.

Nearly dying on 27th Street after witnessing a felony aside, I’m glad for the night’s events, if only because they led us to one of the better and more unique pizzerias the Milwaukee area has to offer. Read on as I tell you why this run down neighborhood restaurant isn’t nearly as getting-AIDS-worthy as our own Sto Cazzo insists it is.
Read more »

It seems like it was just three months ago that we young and enthusiastic priests of the pizza pie finally logged off Tube8, got our shit together and launched Doctors of Za — forever changing the world (world = average of 23 unique visitors per day). Fittingly, it has been exactly three months since the world’s greatest curse-word-heavy, primarily Wisconsin-based pizza review Web site (at least the greatest that we know of) began.

Already, at only like 1.8 dog years of age, we’ve posted 50 reviews that span six different states; MLB Network’s Trenni Kusnierek Tweeted her love for the DoZ; I unnecessarily picked on talented and seemingly cool Milwaukee rapper JC Poppe; and I’m pretty sure one of us typed the word “cunt” at least once in a review.

But few know how far this site’s history truly spans… until now. Initial planning for Doctors of Za started when I worked for a daily newspaper in the Fox Cities. In a detailed 3-page submission destined for the Editor in Chief and our publisher, I pitched DoZ as a light-hearted blog devoted to one man’s appreciation for local pizza. It made it to a Content Manager (half a rung up the ladder), who stopped reading after a page, giving it the immediate thumbs down. Mind you, this newspaper has reader submitted pictures of dogs as the front page centerpiece three of seven days each week… so whatever.

Undaunted, I approached Ronnie and told him my idea… which he loved. I asked him to design a site any way he’d like, and he knocked it out of the park. Just look at this thing! From there, I recruited some friends, who happen to be some of the best and funniest writers in the state, to contribute to a blog where there would be no compensation, and possibly no readers. Everyone I asked accepted my invitation and has produced incredible stuff. Seriously, my dad likes Benji Mane’s reviews more than mine. 

Anyway, above this (slightly too long) letter will soon rest our 50th review: A collaborative effort between myself — the visionary and the original Doctor of Za — and Ronnie — the man who put my idea into action, and who has done a great deal of our reviews to date — to rate MaMa DeMarinis’ Pizza in Bay View. But 50 reviews merely marks the beginning. Thank you to the other writers, and mostly, to our readers. I assure you that as long as there’s pizza to eat and dick jokes to make, we’ll be there. I’m willing to even bet someone threatens to sue us before this is all over. That’d be kind of awesome.

Love,
T. Mario

One of the last places you would look for a good pizza place is in the strip mall attached to a gas station. But that’s exactly where Times Square Bistro & Pizzeria is located. Snuggled between a Mobil and a liquor store (a few blocks from the Allen-Bradley Clock Tower), Time Square’s main goal is the quick by-the-slice type service. But don’t write them off as a strictly slice place; there are a few other surprises in this strip mall pizzeria.
Read more »

I don’t really have a lot of reasons to go to West Bend; pretty much only the only time I’m ever there is to visit two friends that happen to live there. Recently said friends recommended the Doctors of Za try some of West Bend’s finest pizza: Tomaso’s. It doesn’t really look like much from the outside; and the inside feels a bit more like a northwoods sports bar than a pizza parlor. But in all honesty, as long as there’s good pizza, I’d go to pretty much any shithole.
Read more »