Tarantino's Pizza
Authentic Italian in Downtown Pasadena
It’s been almost four weeks since I relocated to Los Angeles, and among the many cultural differences between here and Oakland is that here in LA there is an expectation to look at least semi-decent upon leaving the house.
LA is a very judgey place, and as I sorted through my wardrobe of stained overalls and ripped t-shirts looking for something to wear to the club the other night, I realized with some embarrassment that I’ve been dressing like a schlub for the past year and a half.
To remedy this problem I embarked on a highly fruitful thrifting journey culminating in a strong desire for a fresh haircut to complement my new threads. Luckily, I have a friend in haircutting school over in Pasadena. Getting your hair cut by someone studying the trade is a total life hack - you can receive an excellent cut at a fraction of the price. In my case, a measly $16. What you sacrifice is time. The students work slowly, and by the time I was out of there, I’d worked up quite an appetite.
Walking back to my car feeling fresh, I noticed an old school pizza joint that looked absolutely out of place here in fancy pants Pasadena. It was called Tarantino’s, and judging by the shabbiness of their sign, it’s shocking they haven’t been driven out of town by the local small business association.
I walked in and was immediately transported back to New Jersey. Everything from the red checkered tablecloths to the walls covered in family photographs to the grumpy-looking bald man in the corner feels delightfully authentic.
Noticing the cash only sign, I lamented to the cashier that I only had $5 in my pocket. “Don’t worry,” he said, “take a seat, I’ll bring you a slice of pizza.”
Don’t mind if I do.
Leaning back in the chair, I felt a warm sense of relaxation sweep over me as I took in the surroundings. Shakers of basil and red pepper flakes on the table. Brick walls with red and green trim. A giant glass of ice water placed on my table in one of those hard red Coca-Cola cups. Every little detail about this place feels like home.
It probably is home to a good number of customers. Tarantino’s has been in business for almost 40 years, and judging by the news clippings on the wall you can tell it’s well loved.
Soon enough, a humble slice of cheese pizza appears, along with a big bowl of fresh parmesan spooned liberally by my server from a big plastic bowl half covered in saran wrap. This wonderful touch is usually reserved for pasta dishes at dinnertime. The fact that they provided it to a guy with only $5 in his pocket reveals a generous and caring attitude towards service that will surely not go unnoticed.
The slice itself was on the smaller side, and lacked a fully formed crust. It more closely resembled a frozen grocery store pie than a fresh slice. But looks can be deceiving. Before letting my judgmental instincts run wild, I took a bite, and was pleasantly surprised.
It’s thicker than an east coast slice to be sure, but it certainly isn’t the doughy pile of mush that I feared. On the contrary, the bottom was actually quite crispy. The cheese tasted fresh and salty. But the best element of all was undoubtedly the sauce.
This marinara tasted fresh and bright with complex notes of citrus and herbs. It was delicious, and they put enough on that you could enjoy it with every bite.
As I continued to relish this slice, my attention was drawn again back to the crust.
Do you see how it cracks on the bottom, revealing a soft moist interior? I love a good textural element in my pizza crust, and Tarantino’s ability to marry east coast crisp with west coast softness was seamless.
Sadly enough, in just a couple of minutes the experience was over
And I’m not gonna lie, I felt kind of sad to leave! In just a short time, Tarantino’s had me feeling like I was back in Jersey at my favorite slice joint. The warm service, impeccable atmosphere, and very solid tasting slice cements Tarantino’s in my mind as a truly authentic little Italian spot.
Walking up to the counter, I apologized profusely for not having anything extra to leave for a tip.
“Don’t worry about it,” the counterman replied nonchalantly, “you’ll be back.”
He is absolutely correct.
I walked out the door of Tarantino’s feeling truly satisfied. In a neighborhood dominated by fancy office buildings and expensive gift shops, a gem like this becomes even more culturally important. We must cherish and protect it for many more years.
Not to mention the fact that I got a haircut and a slice for $21. Are you kiddin me? Fuggedaboutit. Now that’s what I call a good day.
East Coast: 8
West Coast: 9
