HOT-N-CRISP PIZZA & WINGS – 6652 No. 3 Rd Richmond, BC (604) 278-6555

PRICE: $2-$10

Lunch time.  I take off my apron, record the time I leave, and put on my jacket.  I make my way through the steady stream of people killing time at the mall I work in.  Richmond Center Mall.  I work as a barista at this food court, and I’m constantly surrounded by food.  I suppose this would be an ideal breeding ground for any would-be foodie.  A food-service job in a food court.

Ironically, I’m surrounded by food, but it’s food that I would never give a second thought to critiquing.  I mean…Tim Horton’s, Orange Julius, Flaming Wok, and Thai Express?  These are hardly food joints that I find inspiring, much less material to write on.  But then I realized something.  In my quest to become the foodie that explores only the newest and most exotic flavours I can get my hands on, I’ve realized what I’ve become.  A frickin snob.  I mean, what percentage of the population can really enjoy all the strange, wonderful, and beautiful varieties of food that I post about on a daily basis?  I doubt that it’s a very high percentage.

So I’ve decided to give myself a reality check in this episode of DashToDine, and indulge myself in the food of the commoner.  The stuff that I used to appreciate back in the day when all I cared about was making sure my stomach wasn’t empty, as opposed to how much of a dance party I could get out of my taste-buds.  But on one condition: just not mall food.  At least not today.  I’m sick of this stuff.

So in a very un-climactic fashion, I simply crossed the road and entered the first Pizza joint that caught my eye: Hot-N-Crisp Pizza & Wings.  What a classy name.  Ugh, sorry, I’m being a snob again.  Err, it’s down-to-earth?  Well, whatever, don’t judge a book by its cover.  I enter and find myself facing the cashier, who is clearly bored out of his mind.  The shop is empty, and the sounds of the day-time talk/freak show Maury are coming from above my head, where the TV is situated.  Hey, day-time programming sometimes has a few hidden gems.

I survey the area.  Green walls.  Simple plastic tables and chairs.  A display case for the pizza.  A sign telling me of all the hot deals they’ve got.  Hey, they even have Shawarma.  But that’ll be for a later trip.  I want Pizza right now.

The cashier breaks eye contact with Maury and leans over to me like he’s about to tell me an incredibly intimate and personal detail of his life.  A Lebanese accent (dunno for sure though, not much of an ‘accent guy’) rings through the air.

“Hey, man, I got a special deal.  3 slices an’ a drink fer five dollars.”

Hey.  It’s a special deal.  What kind of sucker wouldn’t want that?  I’m all in.  Upon seeing the total tally up on the register screen, I’m pleased to find that this total also includes tax.  Win.

“And who doesn’t like Dr. Pepper?  A Jerk. That’s who.”

I go over to the display case and examine the varieties of Pizza tanning on the heat lamps.  Hmmm.

“One Vegetarian, a Hawaiian, and a Meatlover’s.  For here.”

I grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge.  I like Dr. Pepper.  The server deposits my three slices at the end of the counter.  I choose a table at the far left of the place.  I’m alone.  Save for the mirror that reflects my image on the left wall, and the lie detecting Maury (Did you really cheat on your girlfriend?  Take the test to prove it!) on my right.  I prefer the company of Maury.  The TV begins to hypnotize me.

The Dr. Pepper tingles sweet and peppery (haha) on my palette.  A bite of Hawaiian Pizza follows.  This pizza was probably made early in the morning.  Pineapples, Ham and Cheese play ping-pong on my tongue.

Hey, it’s Pizza, and Pizza is good.  THIS IS GOOD!

Such is the thought process I used to critique food in the second grade.  The Meat Lover’s comes next.

Hey it’s Meat and Pizza.  Both are good.  Therefore this is a good dish.

A spectacular process of deduction, is it not?  It worked in second grade, and it still works.  I’m beginning to realize how much I’ve needlessly complicated my reasoning process since then, and how much unnecessary grief and agony I’ve caused for myself in the process.  Maybe I should be taking notes from my seven-year-old self.

“My friend, how is your Pizza?”

A different man, older and jollier has appeared behind the counter.  Undoubtedly the owner.

I give a thumbs up.

“My friend, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried them with the Ranch Sauce!  Go on!”

I don’t really want Ranch Sauce, but he keeps gesticulating at me to try it.  He’s determined that I have the remaining slice I’ve got on my plate with this Sauce.

I concede.  The White Ranch Sauce zig-zags its way through my Vegetarian Slice.

It’s pretty good.  Another thumbs up.  The older gentleman walks away with a sense of satisfaction.  Mission accomplished.

I deposit my empty paper plate and Pop can into the garbage, walk away, and say thanks.

Hot-N-Crisp Pizza & Wings serves Pizza. Cheap Pizza.  I like cheap Pizza.  Therefore, IT’S GOOOOD!

My seven-year-old self would be proud.

But seriously, it’s pretty good bang for the buck.  And who doesn’t like Dr. Pepper?  A Jerk. That’s who.