If you’re ever in the desert…

You can find us abusing the 900 block west of Belvidere most of the time. Between Grace and Franklin St., we have spent many a night and wallet supporting the saloons. While it is very routine to come home late and order pizza or pull a frozen pie from the icebox, it has never crossed my mind to dine in at 2am. Over the last few months friends of mine have been getting obliterated and oddly enough their final destination was a pizza one in the last place on earth I would ever expect, Sahara.

I will have my presence there be known under the strict circumstances that I am an investigative journalist in many respects. I don’t get the college appeal of smoking hookas and listening to club music in a place that used to be a Burger King / Mr. Submarine. Even in my first year at school, hearing the rumors about crazy ragers at Mr. Submarine, I was never once tempted to head over and sweat out my immature boner in a kitchen remodeled with strobe lights. I will give them credit for covering much of the appearance up. If you dressed the place down a little bit and had a drink menu, you could maybe make some serious competition for Xscape, formerly Hyperlink Shoot-out Headquarters of America.

The pizza? Not the worst thing I have ever had. In fact, for 10 bucks it was more than I expected. I managed to stomach 2 slices of cheese. This stuff had plenty of cheese, greasy, gooey, and piping hot. Held together by a crust that bordered on thin. The portions were fair and there was nothing terribly good or bad about it. Surely a late night drunk pie in its own right. The sauce likes to sit in your chest for a good 8 or 10 hours. If you are heartburn prone, I would take caution.