We all make mistakes. Whether it be hitting your 5-year-old brother in the face with a pitch or smashing your side-view mirror into your friend’s mailbox, sometimes, we just mess up. (Don’t ask me where I came up with those examples.)
The same is true in the world of food. Chefs are people, too, and they’ll inevitably have a bad day in the kitchen every once in a while. Unfortunately, for someone who makes a living (lol) by sharing my gut reactions, the first impression of a restaurant — whether the staff have had an ‘off day’ or not — is the one that stays with me.
My memory of a recent disappointing culinary first impression was triggered when my friends alerted me that Sally’s Apizza, a New Haven institution, had recently opened its doors in Dorchester and Woburn. I visited Sally’s original location over the summer on a drive back to New Jersey from Tufts. My expectations for that initial visit were immense, compounded by the hour-long pickup wait and line out the door of the establishment.
Unfortunately, Sally’s was unable to back up its iconic reputation. The pie was soggy and lacked flavor. Each bite was devoid of crunch, and, despite picking up the order as soon as my name was shouted, the pizza was cold.
With the new locations opening nearby, my housemates were eager to try the famous Sally’s. When I relayed my negative experience to them, they dismissed it. (Apparently, not everyone listens to my food recommendations. Just you, reading this.) Instead of fighting their insistences, and being the benevolent individual that I am, I figured that I’d give Sally’s a second chance. After all, one bad day should not define a person, a pizza or a restaurant. Maybe I’d just disliked Sally’s the first time because I was in the endless purgatory that is Connecticut.
So, this past Saturday, I found myself stuck in traffic on I-93 up to Woburn, olive branch in hand, ready to give Sally’s an attempt at redemption. I ordered two pies, one classic Mozzarella and Tomato Sauce and one Basil Burrata.
I will preface my review by acknowledging that I did get takeout, meaning that despite my reheating it in the oven, the pizza was not fresh when I ate it. Still, as pizza is the ultimate takeout food, I think it’s fair that I judged Sally’s after bringing it home.
My first reaction was that Sally’s trademark coal-fired, thin crust style had survived the migration from Connecticut to Massachusetts. The pies were sliced into an uneven number of thin slices. The underbelly was still soft and, even after a trip to the oven, the slices were floppy, lacking the “oven-kissed char” they promote. The end-crust, though, was crispy, a welcome development.
The mozzarella and tomato sauce was, in a drastic improvement from last time, fine. The cheese was plentiful, and the sauce was fairly flavorful, though overall spice was lacking. Though I could not get over how soft the slices were, there would be no dejected recollections of my second Sally’s encounter.
The Basil Burrata was a solid second choice. The burrata was creamy and plentiful, and the fresh pesto offered a tangy kick. The tomato sauce, like in the plain pie, was homemade and savory. In terms of secondary pie options, specifically vegetarian ones, it was a worthy entrant.
As always, my lucrative gut reactions:
Mozzarella and Tomato Sauce Pie: It was fine. Rejoice, Sally’s fanatics.
Basil Burrata: It was there. Neither desiring nor regretting it.
As my rapprochement with Sally’s shows, with one more opportunity to right the wrongs of a first impression, anyone can grow from bleh to meh (yes, those are two very different adjectives). So don’t be afraid to take your second bite of the apple or another kick at the can. The worst that can happen is that you end up with some mediocre pizza.
