Audio By Carbonatix
Roma Express
1601 Main St.
214-747-1236
It takes a big pair of pepperonis to make “Best Pizza In Dallas” your motto. But after trying the calzone at Roma Express, I plan a return visit to test that claim.
And considering the not very dude friendly stretch of real estate it occupies…I initially planned on a highbrow calzone at the kind of place with cloth napkins and no need for a hand-lettered sign threatening loiterers. But lacking quarters for the parking meter, I first ventured into a museum-like department store with glass-encased merchandise to ask a male employee wearing more makeup than my mother where I could get change. On the way out I spotted Roma Express, a shabby little every-dude respite in an area that’s otherwise more fitting for “dudes” in the GQ city-boy definition of the word.
Roma Express has a second motto, as well: “New York Experience Pizza.” The big, floppy slices certainly look the part. But I stuck with my original plan and ordered the calzone meal, which included a salad and 16-oz. drink. Calzones come with cheese, pepperoni, sausage and sausage/pepperoni–all the same price. Naturally, I opted for the dual-meat version. Roma’s calzones are pre-made and need only a couple minutes in the oven, but I was hungry and started on the salad. Now, before you call me out, the salad had plenty of meat–salami, to be precise–along with cheese, peppers, croutons and enough dressing to leave a pool in the serving tin when I finished. But I wasn’t even close to finished when the calzone arrived.
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Butter glistened like sunlight glancing off the hood of a ’70 Hemi ‘Cuda, parmesan danced on the crust like Warren Sapp. Otherwise, I’m at a loss for words. The Italian sausage has some weight to it and the cheese blend was just right. Perhaps they could add a few more filling options, but that’s just nitpicking. Here’s the key: Roma’s calzone is enormous–about a foot wide, more than anyone with any concern for his health would eat at one sitting.
Yeah, I’m talking about a certain associate. I’ve got the stomach to finish a meal.
Dude Factor: 8, or “Tony Bennett,” on a scale of 1 (“Mario Cantone”) to 10 (“Frank Sinatra”). I’d have been cranking the Frank if it weren’t for the 50-cent drink refill policy and no alcohol, in spite of signs boasting otherwise. –Jesse Hughey