Let’s get this over with.
The Little Caesar’s Extra Most Bestest Thin Crust Pepperoni Pizza makes the Shameless Consumer want to wash his hands, his skin, the inside of his stomach, and the lining of his colon. It’s the kind of food that after you eat it, you feel obligated to send your digestive system an apology card as if you dumped a horn full of mead all over its bedroom floor. The kind of food where you’re worried that you’re going to need some adult diapers over the next couple of days.
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not too happy about this review.
Longtime fans of Shameless Consumer, aka none of you, are likely well aware that ol’ Sha’Meless Consuman was able to negotiate a permanent moratorium on Little Caesars pizza in his contract following the heart-plaguing moment that was the Pretzel Crust Pizza review, which you may recall I referred to as the kind of product that will eventually be sold in the first commercially available suicide booth. I won’t go into too much detail about how I negotiated my contract, mostly because it’s a boring story involving kicking out the cane of an 81 year old man, a thirty grand bribe to a surgeon at the JFK hospital in Edison New Jersey, and two strains of rabies contained within a remote-activated sack that I’ve come to lovingly refer to as a CinnaBomb. I’m not willing to divulge much information until I’m sure that the statute of limitations has passed on what are assuredly high crimes.
Anywho, I’ve maintained a mostly untouchable status here at Shameless Consumer Industries for the past decade because I’m essentially blackmail proof. The Shameless Consumer doesn’t have any family to threaten, I think this job is proof enough that I put no value into my health, and most of my financial assets are invested in bulk quantities of that purple Heinz ketchup.
In fact the closest the Shameless Consumer has to a true love is Utz Cheese Balls and I know what you’re thinking: how can SCI threaten Utz Cheese Balls in a way that would force me to waive my contract and talk about Little Caesars pizza one more time? Just trust me, they’ve figured out a way. Help me.
Little Caesar’s Extra Most Bestest Pepperoni Pizza is so bad that my editor noted I have been unconsciously replacing mention of Little Caesars with Pizza Hut in the text of this review. I’m not entirely sure how bad a pizza has to be in order to be pining for the higher quality of Pizza Hut, but apparently this is it. If you happen to come across any references to Pizza Hut that I missed, please accept this as my non-apology. Reading this review was your choice, writing it wasn’t mine.
I hate skulking into Little Caesars because they’re generally decorated like a YMCA locker room and there’s an atmosphere of visible shame that you see cast over everyone who enters as if we’re shuffling into those curtained off areas of Family Video where they stocked the copies of Agent Cody Spanks and Frisky Business, but without the chance to retain some shred of dignity and claim you’re only renting the video to laugh at the bad acting. It’s customary at Little Caesars for patrons to enter and exit one at a time, most are intentionally built so you can’t fit more than maybe two people inside, making minimal eye contact because as much as you don’t want to be recognized, the mind knows that it’s really best for your sanity if you don’t find out that any longtime friends are sneaking in there during their lunch hour for a $5 hot and ready.
I’m against hyperbole as much as the next guy, but I did once see a grown man try to explain to an old college friend that he was only in that plaza for its convenient UPS dropbox and, oh, the guy holding his wife and child hostage back at his house told him not to return without some of that Little Caesars. Which is why he was carrying out the pizza. His buddy, for his part, said he was only there because he had a literal baseball lodged in his lower intestine that wouldn’t pass and his doctor prescribed Little Caesars as the only known laxative capable of pushing it out. Nobody likes taking their medicine.
This is normally the part where I’d make a comment about the employees but frankly I’m not that cruel. In the three times that I’ve been to Little Caesars for the sake of Shameless Consumer, the entire line of teenage male employees had the perpetual demeanor of someone who had just attended the funeral for online pornography. I’ve worked plenty of jobs where the only way to keep your sanity is to shut your brain off and hope your six hour shift with one ten minute break and no lunch goes by quickly, even if that means getting judged as a moron buy some 40 year old Starbucks barista who has to make a $5 pizza last a week.
I ordered the thin crust pepperoni pizza and the kid behind the counter tells me it’s going to take 10 minutes because they don’t keep those pizzas hot and ready until 4pm, but he explains this to me with the apprehension of a cashier getting ready to try and explain to an armed robber that the key just broke off in the safe and there’s only $30 in the register, $15 of it being loose quarters. I’d like to try and not imagine the horrors that this kid has seen that the thought of telling me I’d have to wait instills such fear in him. Immediately a woman walks in behind me and also orders the thin crust only to be told that it would be a wait. Then I understood the cashier’s fear.
She responds with the “I demand a parlay with your supervisor” temperament where I can only assume that had she been armed that weapon would be discharged at a moments notice over the lack of immediately available thin crust pizza. Given her glazed over eyes, I rest assured that, had she been armed, the most damage she could do was to accidentally eject the clip and then forget to breath.
Little Caesars thin crust pizza is like someone smeared Digiorno on a pita. No, actually it’s like someone smeared generic knockoff Digiorno on an even less leavened Matzo cracker. Little Caesars would be a model example of “you get what you pay for,” seeing as how this pizza was $6 and has enough substance to feed one person while having enough sustenance to satisfy nobody. They love using the phrase “extra most bestest,” and in this context they mean extra indigestion with the most stomach cramps and the bestest marathon sprint you’ll ever make to the toilet. To poop it out.
As far as taste goes, Little Caesars is difficult to offend and doesn’t really taste like anything. If you want bland, flavorless, coagulated, cheese-like substance that’s covered in grease and eventually solidifies into a dairy stone, you’ve come to the right place. Throw that on top a fresh dough made with the most nutritionally devoid processed flour and you’ve got a meal fit for a king, one who intends to die on the porcelain throne.
Little Caesars also takes home the record on the worst shelf life of any chain pizzeria that the Shameless Consumer has eaten at in the last five years. Papa John’s is generally fine the following two days and Pizza Hut is good the next morning if you order it with extra sauce. I can’t comment on Dominos as I haven’t eaten there since before the recipe change. As for Little Caesars, that pizza has roughly an hour from the time it comes out of the oven before the clock strikes twelve and it reverts back into a solid slab of plastic on top of a saltine coated with aspartame-sweetened faux ketchup.
One thing this pizza has going for it is that Little Caesars does make good on its claim of having more pepperoni per square inch than any other pizza. This achievement is far less impressive when you consider that Little Caesars has about twice as much pepperoni that are sliced so thin they’re about 1/3rd the weight you’d get on a normal pizza.
Ultimately the Shameless Consumer recognizes that I am not the target audience for Little Caesars pizza given that I’m not drunk or stoned, I’ve never been to a Kid Rock concert, I’ve never cracked open a Busch beer with the boys, nor have I ever unironically worn a King Dingdong shirt. It’s a pizza chain that doesn’t care what it’s selling to people who don’t care what they’re eating and frankly I’m fine with that.
Verdict – 0/5: You know, in nine years I don’t think I ever established rules for scoring. That being said, if you have any standards at all in your food, avoid this like the plague of diarrhea that it is.