Round Table Pizza
I suffered through this corporate stain of a pizza parlor so you wouldn't have to. Am I a martyr? Yes, I am.
It was another very rainy afternoon when I found myself seated at a dreadful-beyond-words establishment known as “Round Table Pizza” in the Temescal section of Oakland. I had actually come to this depressing and tasteless strip mall to try Noah’s NY Bagels, a local Bay Area chain that’s been slinging bagels for quite some time. But Noah’s was closed by the time I showed up at 3:30pm. There’s no real excuse for a chain restaurant to close before 5pm, but what do you expect from a California bagelry?
While I generally wouldn’t even bother reviewing a place like Round Table Pizza, they happen to be right next door to Noah’s. And Round Table was open. So naturally, I turned my ire in their direction.
The first problem with this pathetic excuse for a pizza parlor is the name. What the fuck does King Arthur and the Round Table have to do with pizza? This is some peak white people shit that would never fly on the East Coast. Obviously Italians and Italian-Americans are considered white people today, but that wasn’t always the case. Back in the day, when they were referred to derogatorily as Guidos and Guinea Wops, Italians and their American offspring started the best pizzerias in the world. And nearly all of these fine establishments were named after human beings or their families.
Take Tony’s Brothers Pizza for example. Tony’s Brothers was a very good local restaurant based in the other Oakland - Oakland, New Jersey - a small town ten minutes from where I grew up. I say “was” because sadly, they are no longer in business through no fault of their own. Suffice it to say they were a phenomenal pizzeria that holds a special place in my heart, because they were actually my first employer. That’s right folks, my very first job was working as a busboy in an authentic Jersey pizzeria. So anyone who doubts my credentials to review pizza can go fuck themselves.
Point is, Tony’s Brothers was named after famiglia. It was run by Tony’s brothers, obviously. I never met Tony himself, but his brother Lou (my boss) was a giant among men when it came to flipping pies. Lou’s son Peter on the other hand was meaner than a pit viper, with cheeks as red as marinara sauce. One time, I fell deeply ill with the flu and I called in sick. “Bullshit!” — Peter roared through the landline — “you’re fired!” 17-year-old me welled up with tears at the thought of losing my job at such a fine restaurant, so I literally got in my broken down truck and drove the 7 miles to work so I could prove to him in-person that I was truly, snot-drippingly ill. Peter gently put his hand on my shoulder, apologized, and reinstated my position. I still look up to that man.
The dining room at Tony’s Brothers during the holidays, circa 2011. Sometimes I still have work dreams about folding those napkins…
Other pizzeria’s I grew up on were variously called names like “Frank’s” or “Mario’s” or “Joe’s Pizza” (in Greenwich Village, one of the very best). Or perhaps they were named after their place of origin like “Song’ E Napule,” the famous Neopolitan joint in New York. Or “Brooklyn Pizza” (I’m talking about the one in Ridgewood, New Jersey. The real ones know).
What does any of this have to do with Round Table Pizza? My point is, these other places have soul. They are run by real humans and their families who put love and tenderness and joy into every slice that comes out of the oven. Round Table on the other hand is a vacuous soul-sucking corporation, and as I sit here typing on their plastic tables that are screen printed with a faux-wood pattern, I feel a deep sense of shame for patronizing this business at all.
Before we begin, I realize that Round Table is a chain restaurant that even the locals are inclined to avoid. It is headquartered in Atlanta, Georgia and has over 400 locations. So comparing Round Table to any locally owned pizzeria is sort of an apples to oranges comparison. But there’s a reason I’m reviewing this place, and that’s because Round Table has its roots right here in the Bay Area. That’s right, Round Table was founded by San Jose resident William R. Larson in 1959. Their very first restaurant was located in Menlo Park on El Camino Real. For the history buffs, El Camino Real is named after one of the oldest roads in California, a route built in the 1600s by murderous colonizing bastards from Spain to facilitate the enslavement of the local indigenous population. I’m not kidding, look it up.
This location does not seem coincidental. Round Table has colonized pizza just like the Spanish colonized people.
According to Wikipedia, Larson “named the restaurant Round Table Pizza after the round redwood tables he and his father constructed.” That’s a cute story, and may technically have something to do with famiglia. But like I said, ain’t no redwood tables here. This place is all plastic and linoleum.
But someone’s gotta try their pizza so you don’t have to, and that person may as well be me. Thank me later.
I ordered the King Arthur’s Supreme, which comes with sausage, pepperoni, salami, green peppers, onions, mushrooms, and black olives ($12.45). Another reason to dislike this place is they don’t serve pizza by the slice. Their smallest portion is the personal pie. This means it’s impossible for me to spend less than $12 at this place, when I would much rather purchase a single slice, thus limiting my contribution to their shareholder profits.
The personal pie came out in about 5 minutes, which is a huge red flag. How can it be possible to bake an entire pie in 5 minutes? Do they have robot slaves running the kitchen? Or are their chefs paid so little that they just grab handfuls of toppings and scatter them across the dough at top speed like an old man feeding pigeons?
The King Arthur’s Supreme that came out of the oven did technically resemble pizza. But the first thing I noticed upon taking a bite was that half of the toppings were undercooked and the other half were dried out and well done. The green peppers crunched like a salad. The salami was pale and gray. And the poorly sliced olives were practically dripping with saltwater from the can. But the onions on the other hand were so thinly sliced that they came out blackened and burnt on the edges. The mushrooms were dry as beef jerky. The pepperoni was fine, and the sausage actually seemed to taste like real sausage. But one can never be sure with a place as shady as this.
The worst thing about this pizza, though, is the crust. It was burnt on the bottom and totally undercooked in the middle. It has that same chewy, doughy sensation as the first loaf of sourdough your roommate tried to bake during the pandemic. I ate two slices and got a bellyache.
The only redeeming quality about this place is the delightful South Asian man who manages the establishment. The spark of joy in his eyes as he rang me up, and his cheerful smile upon dropping off my order proves that one can find moments of light even while running a mediocre pizza chain. East Coasters could probably learn a thing or two about happiness from a man like that. But even the manager’s infectious optimism was not enough to save me from the sorrows of Round Table.
After wiping the tears of sadness from my eyes, I leaned back in my booth and attempted to calm my nerves with some deep breathing techniques. Bad pizza just gets me so worked up you know? But relax I could not, because three enormous flatscreen TVs were blaring live sports and news channels. I am literally the only person sitting in this restaurant right now, yet I’m surrounded by a cacophony of canned corporate voices.
On a Tuesday afternoon, Round Table Pizza was completely empty - as it should be.
Are you trying to hurt me, Round Table Pizza? Because it literally feels like you're pulling out all the stops to make me cry.
Forget it, I’m done. This review is being cut short. I need to go home and pet my dog.
Final Thoughts
Eat here at your own risk, this place will damage your soul. You have been warned.
*Update* more than one hour later, after several glasses of water and a prolonged cuddle session with my dog June Bug, I still have a bellyache. If I had a lawyer, Round Table would be hearing from them.
West Coast: 3
East Coast: 1