A Pizza Room of One's Own (Martino's Italian Villa, Take Two)

Let me start by simply saying that if you haven't made it out to Martino's Pizza Room on the north end, you should make it a point to go before winter gives way to spring and all anybody wants to do is drink margaritas in a parking lot. Even if you've had their takeaway pizza and thought "meh," a visit to the Pizza Room promises new dimensions in pizza dining. It's warm and cozy, the pizza itself is none-too-shabby, and the tap beers, though severely limited in selection, are cold and fresh.  

For you Southerners and others who don't live in one of the nine states that claim some tenuous connection to Abe Lincoln, the whole "Pizza Room" idea may require some explanation, not unlike the Midwestern penchant for drive-thrus and pudgy white guys on defensive end. 

And no, I don't mean the kind of drive-thru where you get a Happy Meal. 

A Pizza Room is, essentially, as much a concept as it is a concrete reality. The basic idea is that in addition to the restaurant's main dining room, which is where you would more likely go for pasta and wine and something a little more upscale, the Pizza Room is sort of like a designated holding pen for kids, drunks, geeks, and other undesirables. (Pretty much anybody whose idea of a swell Friday night is a pitcher of Newcastle and a greasy Galaga joystick.) 

And in that regard, at the heart of the Pizza Room concept is a social contract of sorts: the restaurant agrees to look the way other way to stuff like boorish behavior and BO, so long as you keep it in the Pizza Room, far away from the blue hairs and nervous fourteen year olds on first dates.  

It's a simple analogy. In the Heartland, the Pizza Room is to pizza places what the family-style Mexican restaurant has become for the foodservice industry writ large: a place where--let's face it--people feel perfectly at ease bringing their massive broods of toddlers and obnoxious in-laws. (Really, how do you even have that many kids under the age of five?)

But with the Pizza Room, all (or most) is forgiven. It's a beautiful arrangement, one that is all the more egalitarian for its exclusivity.  

"Phone home" married E.T. in a crewneck sweater! (Note the sweet vinyl-covered bucket seats.)

Everybody loves to eat pizza, yes, but not everyone loves to eat pizza with everybody else. Leave it to the permanent habitués of the American Midwest to come up with such an utterly common sense compromise. 

Remember: Uncle Ethan says, "Light tomatoes on the veggie, please."

Quick hits: Somehow the pizza never seems to be piping hot, whether you get it to-go or in the PR. This remains my biggest critique of Martino's, but it strikes me as something that could easily be remedied. My only other critique is that the service is just okay, but we all had a great time trying to get our waitress to warm up to us. 

But this isn't just a Martino's thing; if I'm being perfectly frank, it's sort of a Kokomo restaurant thing. If you're not immediately recognized as a regular regular, you might spend most of your meal convincing the server that you're there under legitimate circumstances (like, you know, to dine). 

"In my own country I am in a far-off land/

I am strong but have no force or power/

I win all yet remain a loser/

At break of day I say goodnight/

When I lie down I have a great fear/

of falling."

-Franҫois Villon

We're working on it.