Disappointment washes over me when I see the bland, pseudo-Mediterranean façade. I shouldn't be surprised; this is Brandon after all, the home turf of suburban strip mall sprawl, and this location is just a hop, skip and mini-van ride from the consumer mecca of Town Center. Still, I hoped for a little more visual pizzazz from Mellow Mushroom.
I admit to some bias when it comes to Mellow Mushroom's pizza. While in college at Emory University in Atlanta (and mom said a philosophy degree wouldn't come in handy) I frequently made the short pilgrimage to the original MM for some of their stellar pies. It was an occasional extravagance that served to remind me just how bad a daily Domino's delivery addiction really is.
Over the past 10 years, the two Georgia Tech hippies who started MM in the '70s have managed to transform their pizza passion into a thriving empire of over 60 franchised locations across the Southeast, with two new additions in the Tampa area this past year. Much of the local charm has gotten lost in the lowest-common-denominator demographics of chain dining, but Mellow Mushroom's core values — good pizza and good beer — seem to have survived.
You'd never know if from first glance, though. As soon as I step into the Brandon storefront, I am hit with a wave of existential alienation caused by the sanitized Disneyfication of my hazy college memories. There are framed Dead posters screwed to the wall, tie-dyed logo T-shirts stacked for sale, and a pudgy, multicolored plastic mushroom wearing only Chuck Taylors and a beret. Instead of pleasant recollections of drunken voyages off campus for "the good pizza," I find myself unable to escape the blandly uniform and eminently recognizable psychic imprint of hundreds of similarly gimmicky chain dining experiences. Curse you, corporate designers!
I immediately resort to my favorite college coping mechanism and steer past family-filled booths for the comfort of the bar, groping for some sudsy psychic salve. At this point I'm willing to chug anything to dull the here and now, but I'm stopped in my tracks by … wait, how can this be? How can this pizza chain have one of the best beer selections in town?
There are more than 20 taps lined up behind the bar, loaded not with the pissy dreck common to chain dining, but with fine microbrews from around the country and across the world. From a dozen feet away I can pick out the distinctive elephant logo of Delirium Tremens and the scarlet fruit of Lindeman's framboise, as well as a half-dozen I don't even recognize. They even have sampler flights — four 3-ounce drafts for a mere $5. When happy hour comes around between 4 and 7 p.m., instead of 2-for-1 pitchers of whatever Miller or Bud wants to push that week, MM lowers the sampler and draft prices by $2. Oh joy!
With a profusion of tiny glasses arrayed in front of me — Orange Blossom Pilsner, Dogfish 90 Minute Ale, Hazed and Infused and 8 Ball Oatmeal Lager — I am starting to relax, letting the Dylan and Dead pumped through the speakers chill the disillusionment I had felt when I first saw my cherished experiences dumbed down by corporate repackaging. The meager bit of disappointment left after the first round of beer immediately dissipates when the pizzas arrive.
Mellow Mushroom makes fantastic pizza. It's not the equal of the best in the Bay, those handmade pies constructed by individuals and families who have the special touch with dough and heat, but it is as good as chain pizza is likely to get. As usual, it all comes down to the crust.
The bottom is golden brown and crispy enough that a subtle crunch more felt than heard accompanies each bite. Crunch. Each mouthful takes time, partly because the pizza is worth careful consideration and partly because the meat of the crust is surprisingly chewy. Crunch. It is creamy and elastic in a way that belies the crackling bottom layer, the same combination of textures found in good rustic bread. Crunch.
With such excellent crust the toppings are almost inconsequential, but rest assured that MM's are fine. The tomato sauce can be a little heavy with paste, but the pesto is surprisingly creamy and works well as a base. Try it in the Magical Mystery Tour, along with spinach, 'shrooms and jalapenos. I never would have paired the peppers with pesto, but that spicy blast repeatedly shocks our palates out of the heavy luxury of the sauce.
Our House Special is a lesson in why it's bad to load good crust with too many toppings. With pepperoni, sausage, beef, onions, olives, tomatoes, ham and extra extra cheese weighing it down, the center of the pie is soggy and flaccid, dumping toppings onto the pan whenever we pick up a slice. Same with the Mega-Veggie — too much junk. Stick with the simpler pies, or pick your own from the two dozen toppings available.
Mellow Mushroom's pizza takes more time to hit the table than you might like, so order some pizza dough pretzels covered in butter and parmesan to tide you over, easily as good as the crust you have coming. Somehow, calzones made with the same stuff end up doughy and unimpressive, their mediocrity helped along by the lack of ricotta.
Hoagies are a better non-pizza choice, each loaded with alfalfa sprouts and laced with Hellmann's mayo. We take occasional bites of a fine mushroom club — piled with ham, turkey, bacon and 'shrooms —and a fine Italian, but only when we get tired of chewing the pizza crust.
Walking out, stuffed with beer and pretzels and pizza like some stereotypical sitcom husband, I realize I'm feeling a teeny bit more lenient toward the new, "improved" version of my Mellow Mushroom. It's not the same as the pizza joint of my dreams, not by a long shot, but I can be practical. I find that I'm more than willing to trade the happy memories of my youth for the opportunity to eat strip mall chain food that is actually exciting. I guess I'm a sell-out, too.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. He can be reached at brian.ries@weeklyplanet.com. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in May 17-23, 2006.