The boys at the office wanted to try Dough’s (I am now officially shortening the name) pizza so, ever eager to please Zac and Tim, I headed over. I arrived a little before noon. No lines. The restaurant was about 80 percent occuPIED. There were five people at the host stand, one of which I believe was co-founder Lori Horn. (The Dallas location is owned and operated by Keith Hall and Brad Liles.)
Anywhoo, I asked if they did take-out. The gal I believe to be Lori Horn (GBTBLH) winced. “We really wish you would have a seat and eat your pizza here,” said GBTBLH. “By the time you transport it anywhere you will not get the whole experience. It only takes 90 seconds to make and it just doesn’t taste the same outside of the restaurant.” I persisted. “My office workers will be very disappointed,” I said. Then GBTBLH said I should call them and have them come over. I really didn’t want to have to explain what Tim Rogers would say to that phone call so I insisted one more time.
With a heavy heart, GBTBLH made me the second person to order take-out at Dough in Dallas.
Jump.
I counted at least 30 people working and that doesn’t include the people in the kitchen. I sat at the bar (yes, they have a full bar). I have never seen so many happy people working in one room. They have to be taking something. As the REM’s “Shiny Happy People” played in my head, the two nice guys behind the bar chatted me up. They were very chatty. One of the hostesses came over and she was also very chatty. It has to be in the water. I ordered a glass of water.
Poof! All of a sudden a small Margarita STC pie was delivered to me. “You have to eat this while it’s hot,” one of the chatty people said. By now I was dizzy from the chattiness. I gulped the water hoping to get up to their speed. The pie was hot and covered with bubbling and buttery mozzarella Bufala and Parm/Regg on a light layer of sweet tomato sauce. “Our basil is hydroponic,” the nice chatty man at the bar said. “It’s alive right now in the kitchen.”
The lobster scene from Annie Hall crossed through my mind and I imagined the squeals coming from the basil as they hand plucked it from the mother cord and shoved it in the pizza crematorium. Just then, my two pies were boxed up and ready to go. They took packaged the fresh arugula and prosciutto in a separate container so it wouldn’t faint in my car. Flash, $40 later, I was out the door.
Back in the office, the boys were happy with the pizza. There must have been about a C-cup mound of prosciutto on that one 11-inch pie. Perhaps that fact alone justifies the $22 price tag. I don’t know if this is a good or bad result of authentic Neapolitan Pizza, but when I checked my teeth in the mirror after eating, my gums were lined with cracker-like dough. Too much information? Sorry.
