DE Pizza Review: Mr. P's Wood Fired Pizzeria

Rating:

Final Composite Score: 4 out of 8 slices (rounded down from 4.1 average)

[Her: 4 out of 8 slices]

[Him: 4 out of 8 slices]

[Older Son: 4.4 out of 8 slices]

[Younger Son: 4 out of 8 slices]

Read the full "dialogue review" below these real-time pictures of your reviewers' pizzas,

Picture by the author of two of the three pizzas actually consumed by your correspondents: cheese pizza on the left and Quasi Veggie on the right

Him:

This is our review of Mr. P's Wood-Fired Pizzeria in Lewes. And for this pizza adventure we were joined by both of our sons, which is especially appropriate because we are together for Father's Day weekend.

So for one evening, both of the people I fathered joined us in the important work of eating pizza and then critiquing it. Younger Son has appeared before to contribute to our review of Henlopen Pizza Kitchen. Older Son is making his debut tonight.

Older Son:

No pressure.

Him:

We only expect perfection.

We ordered three pizzas: a plain cheese, because we always order a plain cheese; a Quasi Veggie, which came with peppers, onions, mushrooms, and pepperoni; and a Buffalo Chicken pizza with grilled chicken instead of fried chicken. Why? Because we are dieting?

So let's start with the debutante. Older Son, what did you think?

Older Son:

Overall, it wasn't bad, but it also wasn't good.

The best comparison I can make is Subway. You walk in knowing exactly what you're going to get. You'll leave full. You'll be satisfied in the most technical sense of the word. But you're not walking out saying, "Wow, that was really good."

Him:

Let's talk about the individual pizzas. Was there one you liked? One you hated?

Older Son:

The Quasi Veggie was actually the most disappointing. Normally, I love that kind of pizza—lots of vegetables, some meat, lots of flavors going on.

But almost every vegetable, except maybe the mushrooms, were uncooked. The onions especially. As someone who actually likes raw onions, I am still tasting those onions.

The plain cheese was the most "Subway sandwich" experience of the bunch. It was exactly what I expected. Not offensive. Not exciting. It tasted like birthday-party pizza from when you were a kid.

Younger Son:

The kind you would order because it was easy.

Older Son:

Exactly.

The Buffalo Chicken was the most interesting because it, at least, had some garlic in the base. And I'll give them credit for using real chicken instead of frozen chicken-strip material.

Him:

You appreciated that.

Older Son:

Definitely. It looked like actual chicken. It wasn't breaded. It wasn't processed and pressed. It wasn't shaped by a machine.

And the mozzarella was good. Real mozzarella.

Him:

That has become a recurring theme in this project. The bar has gotten low enough that when we find real mozzarella, we feel obligated to celebrate. It had actual pull to it.

Older Son:

Then let's celebrate.

And while we're celebrating, I'll also give them credit for the beer selection. Very good beer list.

Him:

Including a healthy representation of Dogfish Head, which is practically a local holy water.

Younger Son, what did you think?

Younger Son:

Honestly, I agree with almost everything Older Son said. [Gasps from the crowd signaling general amazement.]

The Buffalo Chicken was disappointing, especially because Her makes an excellent Buffalo Chicken pizza at home.

Older Son:

For the record, I completely agree with that.

Her:

I wasn't going to say anything. But you are right.

Him:

It's Father's Day weekend. Let's try to stay focused.

Her:

I think it's worth noting. Don't hold back from saying it again.

Younger Son:

The biggest problem with the Buffalo Chicken pizza was that it didn't really look like Buffalo Chicken pizza.

It looked like a cheese pizza with chunks of chicken on top and little pools of orange liquid. At first I assumed those pools were Buffalo sauce.

Him:

I thought they were grease.

Her:

They may have been both.

Younger Son:

Whatever they were, there wasn't enough Buffalo flavor. The sauce wasn't distributed across the pizza. It sat in little puddles.

And if you're going to have that much crust, the crust needs to add some taste. This crust didn't. It was big, doughy, and mostly flavorless. If a crust takes up that much real estate, it needs to be good. Otherwise, it should politely move aside and let the toppings do the work.

The Quasi Veggie would have been much better if the vegetables had been cooked. It would have been nice if the crust were crunchy and the vegetables were soft instead of the other way around.

The cheese pizza was exactly what everyone has said already: birthday-party pizza.

Not terrible. Not memorable.

Him:

You also had some thoughts about the service.

Younger Son:

The wait for the pizza was long. Very long.

We were pushing forty-five minutes from ordering to pizza delivery.

And one thing that drives me crazy is when a server walks by and asks, "Everything okay?" while continuing to walk away before you can answer. That happened repeatedly.

Him:

We were seated right next to the kitchen door.

Younger Son:

So every server would appear, ask if everything was fine, and then disappear through the door before we could respond.

At least wait for an answer to your the question.

Her:

I actually liked the Quasi Veggie best. Partly because it had some contrast.

The other two pizzas were mostly dough and stretchy cheese. The vegetables added texture, even if they weren't cooked the way everyone else wanted.

The cheese pizza was, as the boys said, birthday-party pizza. Better than Domino's.

Him:

Youch. Talk about damning a pizza with faint praise.

Her:

But it's true.

The crust was strange. It tasted almost like a combination of unseasoned french toast and fried matzoh [for our uninitiated readers, that's matzoh - the Passover cracker - prepared like french toast soaked in egg dredge and skillet-fried].

I know that doesn't make any sense, because both of those things have eggs and there shouldn't be eggs in pizza dough, but that's what it reminded me of.

It lacked that yeasty pizza flavor. It was too puffy. Too fluffy.

The sauce wasn't memorable. The mozzarella was the strongest ingredient by far, and honestly, the mozzarella is what saved the pizza.

The Buffalo Chicken was especially disappointing. Buffalo Chicken pizza should not be bland. That's almost an achievement. It might have been better if we had the fried chicken.

Him:

One thing I want to push back on is the idea that maybe we should have ordered differently.

Might fried chicken might have been better than grilled chicken? Maybe. But I don't think it's the customer's job to figure out what items on the menu will taste good.

If I order Buffalo Chicken pizza with grilled chicken, I should still get a flavorful, well-cooked pizza. I shouldn't need an advanced strategy guide to navigate the menu.

Older Son:

At the risk of being accused of living in the spin zone, I want to offer a small defense of Mr. P's.

The place was absolutely packed. Every table was full. Every bar stool was occupied. There was a birthday party happening.

They have a beautiful wood-fired oven.

I can imagine a scenario where you come in on a quieter night, ask for a crispier crust, and get something closer to what we were hoping for.

The atmosphere was good. The beer selection was good. Everybody working there was genuinely nice.

Younger Son:

Everybody was very friendly.

Older Son:

Exactly. It wasn't a bad experience. It just wasn't a particularly successful pizza experience.

Him:

And my response remains the same: I don't think it's our job to tell a pizzeria how to make a crust crispy or add salt to the dough. That's their job.

My job is to order pizza, eat it, and celebrate.

On a more fundamental note before we score, our readers should know that Mr. P's is cash only. That's perfectly fine. It's their business.

But if you're dining with four people, three of whom are drinking beer, make sure you bring a wad of cash.

Older Son:

To be fair, they do have an ATM.

Him:

And I'm guessing that ATM charges fees that would make you wish you could do business with the local loan shark. Of course, I don't know. I've never used it. Fortunately, I have cash-rich children.

Older Son:

Ummmm.

Him:

All right. Time for scores.

Remember: one slice means "please stop making pizza and, perhaps, consider selling plumbing supplies."

Eight slices means transcendence. Pizza nirvana.

Younger Son?

Younger Son:

This is the Platonic ideal of four slices.

Him:

Strong statement of mediocrity.

Older Son:

I'm at about a 4.4.

Him:

We don't usually do decimals, but we will make it work.

Her:

I'm a four as well.

Him:

And I'm also a four.

I walked out disappointed. The company was outstanding. The Father's Day weekend aspect was wonderful. The beer was good. The staff was friendly.

But we've said many times throughout this project that pizza should be a celebration. This wasn't a celebration.

So Mr. P's Wood-Fired Pizzeria lands in the vicinity of four out of eight slices.

A place with real mozzarella, good beer, friendly people, and a beautiful oven—but also a place where the pizza doesn't quite live up to the promise.

And that is our review of Mr. P's in Lewes.