Review: Mama Cozzi's Gyro Pizza

I have to give a lot of thanks to my roommate, who tips me off to a lot of crazy Aldi food that I normally wouldn't even know about. It's not that we ever talk about what was at the store. She buys it, eats it, and then I, seeing boxes in the recycling, go out and get the exact same foods and take pictures of them at night and dress in her clothes when she's not there.

So when I saw "gyro pizza" in the bin, I went out the next day and got it.

Mama Cozzi's coming through again

Since this is obviously the elephant in the room, let's first talk about the "jye-roe" vs. "year-roe" debate that is currently raging and dividing this country, tragically, and needlessly. I grew up firmly in the "year-roe" pronunciation camp. Like, I swear my mom was proud to pass this wisdom down to me, after a day of sullen shopping for "ONLY BLACK CLOTHES!!", in the Holyoke Mall food court. When I check on Google Maps, it tells me that the mall was only about 35 minutes from my house, but when I was 13 it seemed like (or my mom told me it was) 90 minutes. So, basically, Greece. Thus, I felt a sense of righteousness (as I think most people in the "year-roe" camp do) saying it the "proper" way.

But when I moved to Philly and started in the time-honored tradition of ordering from food carts over the din of traffic, food cart motors, yelling South Philly guys, construction, and pigeons fighting for hot dogs, I realized something. Saying "jye-roe" is just more practical. It's hard for preoccupied foreigners to hear "year-roe" over all that city noise. And so I started to say "jye-roe," or, more in keeping with my personality, just started ordering falafel. Now I do a weird thing where I order a "jye-roe" really quietly and when I am inevitably asked for clarification I say defensively, "Or 'year-roe,' whatever!"

I basically had to get this pizza when I saw this guy's anticipatory pizza face:

What's going on here, exactly? He's sailing back to Ithaca, thinking of the last time he had a gyro pizza? He realized that he left the oven on? He just came back from the dead? He's suddenly realized that democracy means letting ill-informed people elect leaders?

At first, I thought this pizza was just okay. And then I thought it was pretty okay, and then sort of got logarithmic, where every day thereafter it decreased by a factor of 10.

As good as it's going to get

I didn't grow up with thin crust pizza and don't really like it, except for when I make pizza myself. Also, this pizza has olives on it which 1) don't belong on a gyro and 2) are gross. That's right, I find olives gross. I have to be strong about this, because lots of people will try to shame you about not liking olives. It's not like I haven't tried! About once or twice a year I eat an olive thinking, "Maybe this time I'll like olives. Palates change!" But it never works. I'm now 25. I've adjusted to brie (tastes like aromatic glue), beer (tastes like bread soda), rye bread (tastes like strongly-flavored birdseed), etc. I'm never going to like olives.

What else do people get food-shamed about? I tend to shame people about mushrooms. I don't really get how you could not like things that taste like dirt in the air. People also like to shame people about whiskey. But whiskey is gross, I don't care what anyone says. It tastes like someone soaked a dresser in rubbing alcohol. I get shamed about not liking guacamole. The reaction is on the same level as if I casually admitted to killing someone's entire family. "WHAT?!" they explode. "YOU DON'T LIKE GUAC?! SOMEONE SHOULD NOT LIKE GUAC TO YOU IN JAIL!" And if you're a woman who doesn't like beer, good-bye. You might as well say to guys and aggressive females, "Please don't respect me anymore." It's not fair, but that's the way the world is. We all know what it's like to get food-shamed, but we love to do it to other people.

Also, this pizza falls prey to what I associate with people who love sriracha: if it's not that good, make it spicy. The hot peppers are the best thing on this pizza.

Apparently my roommate agreed with me, as she had also bought a Cuban pizza, and she went back and bought at least two more. Not that I know that by going through the recycling bin.

Passport to Europe

Do you guys remember that show Passport to Europe with Samantha Brown? What a hottie. I mean, what a great show. As a kid, I used to sit, enthralled, for hours watching back-to-back episodes of that show on the Travel Channel. For those of you who are unfamiliar, this show featured Samantha (her Wikipedia page describes her as "bubbly and upbeat"; personally, I found her to be distantly pleasant, like a girl who politely turns you down when you misinterpret her friendliness) traveling to various European countries and walking around, having lil adventures with sweet locals, brunching, and explaining the decor of hotels. This show was my jam, y'all! It was like a version of House Hunters for countries, and it was impossible to hate-watch. It made me feel like: yeah! If this mild-mannered single woman can travel around by herself/with a camera crew and have just-adventurous-enough adventures, so could I.

Pouring one out for the TC for giving me hope for a future that hasn't quite materialized for me yet.

That kid lives on inside me, so I'm always a little soft when I see European stuff in Aldi.

This Aldi run with B. turned into a veritable tour of Western Europe, one that Samantha Brown could be proud of, if I were like, her daughter, which is definitely something I've never fantasized about or even thought about until just right now.

First up, some "Bavarian bratwurst" fresh outta GER. This was B's idea because I don't typically go for sausages, especially not light-colored ones. I don't know why, they just remind me of corpses or something. 

And the package has them as browning up a little bit but you know they don't do that. So there you are, eating a white sausage with white sauerkraut on a white hot dog bun and probably drinking a glass of old skim milk because if you're eating that meal you probably have an empty fridge except for that milk you know you need to use up before it goes bad. But you're at your dad's house so you just fantasize that you're in Germany and after dinner you're going to go walk some mountains and not just try to follow Jimmy's pregnant cat into the woods to figure out what she does.

We also got some Frank's (haha, get it) sauerkraut despite B's protestations about potassium benzoate, which inevitably reminded me of the Simpsons frogurt episode:

Being that it was a store-bought brand (from Ohio, also, not from the motherland), the sauerkraut was a little too sour, and the sausages also had a slightly sour taste, and it was just too sour. Again, if you must buy sausages from Aldi I recommend some darker ones. 

Evil white meal

But not to worry, because we had some Dooch Kooch strudels for dessert. They had two kinds, apple and "Fruits of the Forest" and we obviously went with the latter. THESE TOO also start off as a pure white and they definitely don't get all toasty and brown like that, but I did take them out too early and began eating them before B found me and suggested in her reasonable way that maybe we should heat them up some more. I don't have any pictures probably because they were so damn tasty, but beware: one strudel is 6 servings, which is a cruel joke. They have to know that people are going to eat a whole strudel and then look at the nutrition facts (which may be putting too much faith in the public, but).

But one of the main reasons we made this trip was because B was thirsty, and so we ended up with some sparkling lemonade from a brand called "Journey to...France." The key word in here is "sparkling," which I don't think B. or I noticed, because if we had, we might not have opened it in the bag-loading counter area in front of a long line of customers (that might be placing too much faith in us, though). Only to have it explode everywhere, while the dead-eyed Aldi cashiers did not react in ANY way. I helped myself to some paper towels and we quickly re-located to drink lemonade in the parking lot. I happened to know that the cashiers keep paper towels by the cash register because of a yogurt-dropping episode I had had a day previously, which elicited the same non-reaction as this lemonade incident. I had to practically beg to wipe up the floor, you guys. I felt weirdly humiliated, not by my clumsiness, but by the cashiers' total indifference to like, 2 pounds of yogurt being all over the floor. These people should work in a trendy consignment shop for the shame they inspired in me. Why was I being such normie basketcase and having a reaction to this?

Which brings me to another point: people's bad opinions of Aldi. When I was searching the internet to see if another blog like this already existed, I found a ton of mommy blogs talking about "Oh, I'm not poor but I shop at Aldi, I know, RIGHT?!" or some version of "I'd never stepped foot into an Aldi because I assumed it was where poor people shop at and even though my wife and kids and I had $80,000 worth of credit card debt, we weren't poor." Before moving to Pittsburgh I was unclear on what Aldi really was, but I have two near me because I'm lucky now. But my friends here had lots to say. My first date with B. is vivid in my mind. I see her clearly, laughing with my friends as they made fun of Aldi. "I mean, it's fine but it all fell off the back of a truck, right? I don't buy meat there."

My friend F., who made a visit to Florida recently and described her inaugural Aldi visit as "depressing." "I hadn't remembered/realized that everything is in packing boxes on the shelf. It seems like a deliberately aggressive way of making you realize you must be saving money. 'LOOK, WE DIDN'T EVEN UNPACK." Even I will agree that Aldi can be a stressful experience, though in the world of city grocery stores, Aldi can be blissfully deserted, leaving you to at least wander, infuriated at being unable to find anything, in relative peace. (My first visit to a Wegman's in Ithaca, NY recently has left me with residual panic attacks.)

Besides, other people have somewhat more forgiving opinions of Aldi. My friend in Philly wants to know "How they got all that nice cheese for so cheap?" My other friend G. is of the mind that "Aldi is the indie label of grocery stores." As if they're saying,  "Go find a normal grocery store to shop at, lame-o. One where they still care about things like wet floors and lawsuits."

Review: Mama Cozzi's Take & Bake Supreme Pizza

B. is in graduate school for physical therapy, which mostly means (to me) our entire relationship consists reading things in bed, reading things on the floor, reading things at coffee shops, and sleeping with the lights on. But occasionally a special PT thing will drive us out into the weird heterosexual purgatory that is Pittsburgh's downtown.

I was ending my workweek that day with my regular 12-hour shift, which meant I was already almost drunk. If you like being intoxicated but don't have that much money, I can't overstate how much 12 hours of unrelenting, punishing physical labor will do for you. Combine that with the constant stress of being an emotional outlet for complete strangers and I guarantee that by the third day you will be on your way to shitfaced. You don't have to be in nursing--you could be a new single parent of twins, or landscape while hanging out with the person your ex left you for.

This being a physical therapy program, you'd expect to find lots of high-energy, athletic, graceful young people, but you'd be dead wrong. Folks, I could barely see straight but managed to keep it together despite a tight pencil skirt, 4-inch heels, and 3 glasses of wine. I have never in my life seen more people drop full glasses of alcohol. TWO people ended up on the floor. Maybe this program is like psychology, in that people with psychological problems seem more likely to "want to help others"? (Based on my own reasons for getting a degree in psychology, obviously.) Like, these PT people, being some of the clumsiest, most injury-prone people on the planet, want the opportunity to heal others? I don't know.

Our Uber driver on the way home was actually a pretty interesting guy, telling us about Ye Olde Pittsburgh Bar Scene and how he once got his foot flushed in the bar spittoon and it was embarrassing unto death, etc. I can only imagine that he rolled his eyes at The Youth when I drunkenly interrupted him to announce to B. I was going to order a pizza.

When we got in she lit some candles and dimmed the lights. "Setting the mood for some pizza," I thought to myself, happily. I asked to borrow her laptop but she just turned on some music. "Okay, getting ready for a pizza party!" I said, a little more confused. Then she loosened her tie and started kissing me. Suddenly it dawned on me: she had forgotten about the pizza. She wanted to express her deep love for me, and I was trying to decide what toppings to get on the pizza, a pizza I was never going to eat.

I'm not very good at expressing my feelings or desires and I also like to imagine I can read minds (I mean, I do have a bachelor's in psychology, duh), and figured, "Wow, she doesn't want me to have the pizza. Is she trying to save me from myself? I should have worn an A-line skirt instead of a pencil skirt. Or maybe I'm too bossy? Maybe she doesn't feel like pizza? Should I break up with her now?" So in the end neither of us got what we wanted: I didn't tell her I still wanted the pizza, and we fell asleep with our clothes on.

The next morning, still feeling pain over The Pizza That Could Have Been, I asked B. why she didn't want the pizza the night before. "Oh my god, the pizza! I forgot you wanted it." Here I was just thinking she was punishing me! So she proposed we go to Aldi and get a ready-made pizza, which is how I know things are going to work out for us long-term.

World's Okay-est Make-Up Pizza

The great thing about this pizza is that it's not frozen, so it only takes about 20 minutes to bake it, which is important if you have a hangover from finishing drinks that people left on tables at a school event. The toppings are pretty solid and I even saw 1-2 mushrooms, in addition to pepperoni, sausage, onions, and stop-light peppers. That's right, y'all! This pizza probably beats out your local place with regards to Bell Pepper Diversity. B., being the non-nonsense New Englander she claims not to be, views crust as a purely practical means of holding pizza, and prefers not to waste calories actually eating it. And so she had a pretty approving comment: "It's good enough for people who like crust but not overwhelming for people who want to just get it over with."

Which I would argue applies to the entire pizza. Have you accidentally or on-purpose fallen asleep while your loving and adoring partner tries to convey their desire for you? Have you unwittingly or maybe vengefully withheld pizza from your partner and now feel a little bad? Say, "I'm kinda sorry but it was actually your fault for not speaking up" with this Supreme Take & Bake Pizza from Aldi.

Review: Deutsche Küche frozen Bienenstich

There are only two things I really care about: impressing people and death sugar. Baking involves both of those things and I derive a lot of--what's the approximation of joy for a person who obsessively competes with others? Whatever that is, that's the thing I get from it.

But I'm also really impatient, not exactly a character trait compatible with baking. I don't wait for the oven to pre-heat. I don't wait for cakes to cool before I frost them. I don't even really have the patience for meringue to whip up properly. But damn if I'll let that stop me from getting ambitious when it comes to people's birthdays.

In (yet another) attempt to impress someone I was dating, I came across a recipe for a cool-looking German dessert: Bienenstich, or bee sting cake. It's a more like a pastry, really--two bready layers with custard in between and a honeyed almond-encrusted exterior. I heard it was a little tricky, especially as you need to put a bunch of bees inside of it, but that just made me even more determined.

awwww heck yeah

I was working night shift at the time and frequently getting 2 or 3 hours of sleep on my days off (there was a lot of crying in the grocery store during this time) but it didn't matter: I needed to make this cake or I was going to be exposed for the mediocre poseur I was. 

When it came to the custard I thought I would just wing it because being awake for 38 hours straight will make you think things like that are a good idea. And...well:

WHO COULD EVER LOVE ME?!?

My then-boo thought it was tasty but I knew I was an embarrassment to my family. I banished the cake to the back of the fridge, shamefully consuming it only when I was alone. 

In a departure from what I think is most people's routine at Aldi--quickly shoving a bunch of cereal and almond milk into a bag they got free from the library and pretending they actually know the store layout, then going home and taking an Ativan--I decided to check out the frozen section and was excited to see a proper Bienenstich from the Deutsche Küche (that's German for Douche Cooker, don't ask me why) brand. It was my 25th birthday that weekend and what better way to celebrate than by reminding myself of my past failures?

Plus, it had this packaging:

Indulgent cakes? Oh hell yes. As opposed to some non-indulgent cakes I could name.

I celebrated a quarter of a century on Earth the way most people do--by lying in my bed, despairing, until about 9pm when I remembered--I had cake in the freezer! I hustled my butt into the kitchen and opened the box to find 4 perfect rectangles of German pastry. Sadly, while unwrapping them, the clingy plastic took off some of the almonds. 

Then I turned the box over and read "defrost for 3-4 hours." I'm an impatient person (see above) but that seemed unreasonable and cruel. I wasn't sad enough to eat frozen Aldi cake at 1 in the morning, depressing birthday notwithstanding. So I did what any person in my position would do and put the cake back for another day turned the oven on to 200. And waited barely long enough for the custard to defrost. Okay, to be TOTALLY honest I just let the edges defrost and then put it back in for another 10 minutes to let the middle defrost and continued eating it. Yes, I have a problem. Or problems.

not completely unfrozen, but not completely bad, either

I have to say, except for the custard consistency, maybe I didn't fail as badly as I thought I did with my own Bienenstich attempt. Maybe this dessert is just pretty average. I don't think the freezer birthplace had anything to do with it, really, except the almonds were a bit soggy. This was partly made up for by the fact that the bready edges got kind of toasted in the oven--so I'm not sure if the textures would be too similar if you have the patience of a saint/regular person and waited for this jawn (yo, Philly) to defrost sans oven. 

The most notable thing about this cake is the intense yeasty flavor--which is not particular to the Deutsche Küche version, but just a characteristic of this pastry. It's basically bread with a fluffy kind of vanilla cream, which is actually a bit gross if you can imagine it. 

So, I'm going to advise you lovely readers to go ahead and skip this one and maybe just get some fancy French toast for brunch instead. Unless you're 25 and your only passport to the world is through a box you found in the Aldi frozen section. Here's to another year!

Review: Little Salad Bar Chicken Salads

Chicken salad is a romantic food. Or at least, it's good for picnics. When I was in my last year of being a teen, I asked out this much older man for a bike ride and a picnic and then panicked. What the hell was I going to make that would impress him (but not require extravagant culinary skills or time away from like, smoking weed and watching boring-ass Criterion Collection films on my desktop computer)? I needed something that would transport well, be tasty, and pair easily with other picnic foods. And then I remembered this delicious chicken salad my mom made with red grapes, walnuts, and celery. (Sorry I used your recipe to seduce an inappropriately-aged dude, Ma.)

Fast forward to 6 years later and I am still using that chicken salad recipe to impress people I'm trying to get with ('sup, Jen!). When my girlfriend B. bought the cranberry-almond chicken salad a few months ago, I was pleasantly surprised and then mostly forgot about it. Until about week ago when I was at Aldi wondering if 239 out of 240 days is too many to eat some variation of a peanut butter sandwich for lunch (no) and found myself in front of the chicken salad. 

I rarely stray from my standard lunch of a peanut butter sandwich, carrots with hummus, yogurt, and a piece of fruit. My work involves a lot of physical labor and that's the amount of food I need to get me comfortably through a long shift; any change in that menu might cause me to be hungry at a weird time (and will definitely cause me to be hypervigilant in monitoring myself for hunger: "Oh my god, did my stomach just growl? God DAMN it, I knew I should have just brought a sandwich. Why did I think change was positive? Change is bad and scary. What am I going to do now, go to the vending machine and eat pretzels like some kind of animal with poor executive function?")

But I figured I could bring the chicken salad instead of an apple and eat that when it got to my end-of-shift break (not officially sanctioned by my workplace but a good idea if I don't want to lose my shit during my 12th straight hour of care-taking). 

Pictured: cranberry-almond chicken salad with precisely-measured lunch items

Plus, this chicken salad makes a good dinner with crackers if you haven't bothered to cook anything. It's got a little kick of sweetness, some nice big chunks of chicken, a creamy texture, and some crunch to it. The only real issue I had with it is that it has a little too much mayonnaise--you're going to want something fresh and green to go along with it. Still, it's good enough to bring on a picnic and lie and say you made it yourself and probably that person will think, "Wow, this person seems really competent and sexy and if she can make chicken salad like this without breaking a sweat, just imagine what other stuff she can do. I wonder what our kids will be named?" 

A few days later I found myself intrigued by the chipotle chicken salad. This was much less good. You'd think the creaminess combined with a little spicy chipotle flavor would pair nicely, but, confusingly, you'd be wrong. Something about this one just didn't taste right. Maybe the weirdness of the onion, or the black beans/corn kernels that were just numerous enough to be noticeable, but not frequent enough to impart any real flavor into the mixture, and giving it a distressingly creepy appearance.

That's how many corn kernels are in there for real

Plus, as B. pointed out, these chicken salads are full of preservatives. It was a little similar to that man I dated all those years ago--after a few days I started to worry that maybe this stuff was going to make me throw up. That's not to say it isn't delicious--it's just not for the long-term. 

Verdict: Pretty good, under the right circumstances. Go get some, find someone your own age (or not, I guess, I'm not your dad), and settle down to watch some 1960s French guy get his face eaten by dogs on your 2001 desktop PC.