Hotbox Pizza, Excessive Drinking, and the Frankenpie

 I have a special relationship with HotBox Pizza.

In late February of every year, a group of my immediate friends and I celebrate a collective birthday for a few of us by securing a hotel room just outside of downtown Indianapolis' "party district". In that seedy conglomeration of too-loud bars and dark pubs on the south side of Circle Center Monument, we set out for a night of debauchery, dancing, and excessive drinking. You only live once, right? Although I don't remember much of the finer details of those evenings, certain memories tend to pop up through the haze of drunkenness which is usually bookended by uncorking a bottle on one end and a blinding headache on the other. And in that haze is a delectable and greasy slice of Hotbox Pizza. 

Nestled in a row of interconnected suites on a side street in Indy is a dainty Hotbox Pizza, supported on either side by jam-packed bars; one devoted to drunken dancing while a cover band blares "Sweet Caroline" through the speakers, and the other catering to the excessively inebriated who need a dark corner to sober up in. It is perfectly positioned to sell a truckload of pizza to the masses prowling downtown in the middle of the night. Although it has some stiff competition from the hotdog cart across the street ran by the sweetest grandmotherly woman in the Midwest, it still pulls in crowds handily. 

It is in those hazy nights in late winter I learned about Hotbox. After having just ripped the toilet seat out of a stall in The Pub next door–long story–I needed a new place to lay my head and steady the spinning earth under my feet. I was dragged onto a crowded bench in the building next door and fed slice after slice of pepperoni pizza and soda. It helped. I'll admit now, I don't exactly remember who was getting me the pizza, but they did so until I was full and considerably steadier on my feet. That pizza saved my overturned stomach and repaired my night. It was greasy. It was boiling. Above all, it was enough. I can't recall my opinion on the flavor at that time, but I don't imagine I felt too strongly about it one way or the other. Instead, I appreciated Hotbox for rescuing me in my time of need and proceeded to associate it with alcohol and those party days when I could hold my liquor somewhat.

This encounter happened five or six years ago. Fast forward to today. I don't–well, can't–drink that heavily anymore. I've skipped out on the past two years of February parties, partly for Covid and partly for work commitments, and I haven't touched a slice of Hotbox since my last drunken adventure in the heart of Indy's bar scene. Until an employee of mine, knowing very well that I taste pizza for a hobby, suggests I give Hotbox Pizza a try. That nostalgia comes rushing back and the chorus of "Sweet Caroline" invades my memory like an unforgettable jingle in a really bad commercial. 

Kokomo put in its own Hotbox sometime around late 2015, early 2016. I didn't realize until I started prepping for this piece that Hotbox Pizza, originally known as Pizza Express, isn't a national chain. Sitting in that void between local pizza parlor and international fast food pizza giant, Hotbox only operates in Indiana through 22 brick-and-mortar stores scattered around the state. Thankfully that means I wouldn't have to trek into that shady part of Indy just for pizza, but it also puts me in a weird space. I don't particularly like chain pizza companies. They use frozen, pre-prepped dough, bland ingredients, and soulless side items. Hotbox narrowly avoids this accursed title, but I also have no idea how fresh their toppings are. Research through any company's website is not going to tout how they skirt the qualifications for fresh foods, and nothing online really tells their whole story. I'm going in blind, with very little idea of that pizza's history, and with my only exposure prior being tainted with beer and dizziness. 

Oh well, time to eat.

 It was also recommended to me to try Hippie crust over the traditional option. So, my order this time ended up being a bit of an oddball one: hippie crust pizza with a litany of topping choices which do not go together and which I've not tried at Hotbox. My unique creation would hopefully give me insight into how good Hotbox is, but I stacked the odds against them. You can only do so much when the customer tosses 9 ingredients at you and asks you to build their monstrosity.

I opted for a spicy collection of peppers, mushrooms, pepperoni, assorted cheeses; pretty much everything I could profile as greasy goodness went into my pizza. And despite being staged to fail, Hotbox managed to impress me. Somehow it all came together well enough. I enjoyed my food, and managed to contain myself from eating the entire personal pizza in one sitting. It was good. Like, unexpectedly good. Not only did they manage to balance my ridiculous topping requests (not overloading or underpresenting any item in particular) they managed to compose the pie well enough that it wasn't a massive struggle to eat my slices. Sure, weighed down in the middle, each slice did droop some, but it held form and never fully collapsed. Perhaps that multigrain Hippie crust has some muscle. 

Comparing this side by side with my cheese and pepperoni choices from long ago is unfair. I can't really remember the pizza now, but I have glazed-over memories of a lake of grease in the center and the pepperonis having their own pocket of boiling oil. If I had to TRY to objectively give that 2015 pizza a score, it'd be low. It wasn't good, not by a long shot. Its sister franchise located an hour north, however, warranted a better review. It was a well made pie, not to be compared to the booze-soaked pizza from eons ago. While I once had this strange relationship with Hotbox–a decidedly unhealthy one at that–I could learn to appreciate this new association as one that doesn’t require me to lack my basic senses to enjoy it.

Would I go back? For sure. Hotbox has its place and I didn't dislike the pizza. Hippie Crust impressed me, that's for sure. But, there are a lot of options in this town. It didn't win a place in my top 3, but then again, there are still a lot more places to try.

P.S.--

It is worth mentioning that I wrote this piece a while ago. Life gets busy and I wasn't able to polish and post for quite some time. So, to finish it off, I went back to Hotbox for another pizza to snack on during editing. It was another monstrous concoction of ingredients, and it did not disappoint either. Although, this time I drank a few beers, in the name of nostalgia.