I entered Sally O’Neal’s on South Howard week expecting a great slice of pizza.
Their sign claims, after all, that they have served gourmet pizzas since 1985.
The sign read, “Please sit anywhere.”
I parked myself in a booth by the corner where it was warm.
All of the ten or so tables in the room were covered with a festive holly-printed paper underneath a glass table-top.
Except for one other occupied table, I had the place all to myself.
It was around 10:30 on a Friday night.
I waited a few minutes before my server came to the table.
“What do you want to drink?” she asked without a smile.
I ordered a water.
I perused the menu and found they offered many traditional Italian items besides pizza, like calzones and pasta.
I settled on a 12-inch spinach and tomato pizza, one of their signature pies.
I didn’t think it would take too long, being a medium size, the smallest they offered.
The pizza took about fifteen minutes.
The server certainly wasn’t busy, but perhaps the kitchen had deliveries to do.
Much to my distaste, the pie was not steaming.
The first slice I cut was cool enough to bite right into, not piping hot, as one would expect from a pizza fresh from the oven.
The temperature was warm, but didn’t seem as fresh as it should have been had the pizza couldn’t come straight from the oven to my table.
The kitchen was literally less than four feet away.
And for all the hubbub about the restaurant being “gourmet” — the sign and the menu were printed all over with this fact — the taste was rather average.
The sauce was okay, but it didn’t have much flavor.
The crust was doughy in the center and the amount of cheese was overwhelming; it overshadowed the sparse spinach and tomatoes.
Overall, I simply wasn’t impressed.
The table next to mine finished their meal immediately after I received mine.
The server handed them their check and, to my chagrin, placed mine on the table without asking if I wanted anything else.
I ate a few more slices and called the server over to my table.
I decided to find out whether a dessert might be their saving grace.
I had noticed on the menu that they sold homemade brownies.
Because the menus were gone, I asked the server about their sweet selections.
I was offered a choice between chocolate cake or Mississippi mud pie.
In keeping with the theme of the night, I ordered the pie.
My server brought a box, a new check and the chocolate dessert.
It was no homemade brownie, but the pie — a light mousse in between two layers of chocolate cake with a chocolate graham cracker crust — was delightful, nonetheless.
It did not, however, completely redeem the lack of customer service shown by the server.
When I asked the server to split the checks, she said it was too late.
I asked to speak to the manager.
The server, looking irritated, disappeared into an office a few feet away.
I heard low, angry voices and, thought the issue was resolved, the manager never appeared.
The server did, however, and I quickly signed the receipt and exited the dark dining room.
The lights had been shut off as I was finishing my mud pie.
I gave the sign outside a final glance, wondering how Sally O’Neal’s has managed to stay open since 1985.
Moriah Parrish can be reached at mparrish@spartans.ut.edu.