STEPH DEROSA: MY OWN G-DAMN MADE-UP SALAD >>>

Puget Sound Pizza
The Hipster Salad
Price: $5.75 plus a few dollars for added toppings
Rating: Two and a half out of four croutons

I may or may not have a couple of enemies after this one. Either Jim Higgins, Puget Sound Pizza’s owner, or his faithful kitchen staff might have my head for making things a tad bit more complicated in their salad making future. I made this week’s salad up. I wanted “The Hipster” pizza, but needed to eat a salad instead, thus influencing a self-made creation I shall call “The Hipster Salad.” Genius salad name, huh?
 
Screw the LID project, screw construction, and screw those stupid orange traffic cones. My ass was parking up in front of PSP for lunch, and those city bastards were going to have to deal with it. A teensy ticket was well worth the smell of one of this city’s best indie-owned restaurants.

Description: Much like “The Hipster” pizza, my salad included chicken breast, sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, and feta. All this plus an added bonus of black olives nestled at the heights of a crunchy romaine lettuce bed. From the dressing choices of 1000 Island, bleu cheese, ranch, Caesar, or olive oil with balsamic vinegar, I chose the latter â€" olive oil with balsamic vinegar. And since it was created by me and no one else, I opted for NO croutons. Perfect-o.

Taste: Everything tasted as it should. The romaine was green, tasty, and freshly cut. The feta and chicken sat in perfect chunks making fork-stabbing an easy task. The rich flavor of sun-dried tomatoes and black olives added the perfect period to the end of my salad sentence. Although the olive oil with balsamic vinegar dressing was creamy and delicious, I only needed to use trace amounts in every other bite. The salad seemed to hold its own when it came to standout flavors.

Conclusion: All the delicious benefits of “The Hipster” pizza without the calories. I’m not gonna lie, I’d have much rather been devouring the warm greasewheel I’ve come to know and love from Puget Sound Pizza, but how the hell am I going to slide on a pair of shorts this summer (assuming it ever gets here) and feel confident my ass isn’t going to be double parked? Le sigh. Salad it should be from now on, so salad it was.

Dressing on the side
Just when I thought people couldn’t get any lazier, I meet “Tracy.” We’ll call her “Tracy” just to be polite. I’d love to say her real name, but just for today, I’ll be nice and use a fake name.

As if e-mail weren’t enough of a convenience in communication, Tracy seems to be lacking in the department of something I like to call “forwarding discretion.” “Forwarding discretion” happens when you receive an e-mail, maybe a joke, maybe some porn, and you pick who you think would find it most beneficial to receive a copy of said joke/porn e-mail. (If I could have it my way, I’d have my name taken off any and all e-mail forwarding lists, along with receiving all Facebook “gifts,” but that’s a whole other rant.) Do you forward this joke/porn e-mail to everyone? No, no you don’t. Not everyone wants to see a picture of a naked lady holding a political sign, so use your “forwarding discretion” when sending off this e-mail in mass quantities. Not for Tracy.

Tracy, although she’s not forwarding jokes or porn, is forwarding work e-mails to EVERYONE on her e-mail list. It’s shit that has NOTHING to do with me at all, yet I get them. Granted, Tracy and I are in somewhat of a work-relationship, it is not necessary for me to get the six e-mails a day that are meant for a whole other group, and do not pertain to me at all.

When I e-mailed Tracy asking her to forward me e-mails only having to do with my department, she replied back (get this), “I don’t have time to go through my e-mails. You’re going to have to just open the e-mail and disregard if it has nothing to do with you.” So now I just ignore all her e-mails.

Ever heard of e-mail groups, Tracy?  What a lazy fucking bitch.

[Puget Sound Pizza, 317 S. Seventh St., Tacoma, 253.383.4777]