Due to a high debt load and the overall reduced number of people at shopping malls these days, Sbarro pizza has announced that it will declare bankruptcy. (I can't hear that phase now without thinking of Michael Scott bellowing "BANKRUPTCY!") Oh Sbarro, we hardly knew ye.
Although Sbarro started in 1956, it went public in 1985 - which is the year that inaugurated its sudden expansion into malls everywhere. But my first experience with Sbarro wasn't until I moved to the Lower 48 to attend college in 1990. There were no Sbarro outlets in Anchorage, nor are there today. (I just checked.)
My first "real" job was in downtown Seattle, which has more lunch options than you can imagine. Nevertheless, I frequently found myself eating at Sbarro in Westlake Mall. The Westlake Mall food court offered ample free seating, which is a rarity in Seattle. And they don't care if you camp out for your entire lunch hour, as long as you look reasonably kempt (i.e. not a transient).
For a Liberal Arts major suddenly thrust into the bizarre (and exceptionally dull) corporate world of insurance brokerage, the ability to camp out at a table and draw or write for an entire hour was a real draw. Even better, you could get a table by a window and sit in some natural light for a little while.
Of all the places in Westlake, Sbarro was the one with the consistently shortest lines. Even the servers seemed startled that you wanted to eat there. They offered a lunch special which made a slice of pizza - otherwise overpriced - somewhat reasonable. And it was located near my favorite group of tables on the south-facing wall, so I didn't have to carry my tray very far.
Ever since, I have equated the taste of Sbarro with the desolate feeling of failure, airless boredom, and having taken my first steps on a career path to Boring Town. And with a feeble attempt to ward off same.
Sbarro gives you a pretty big slice, although it costs a surprising amount of money. If you order it to go, you get your slice inside a wedge-shaped cardboard box, which seems like it's trying too hard. The calzones tended to be the best deal (as is so often the case). But my go-to option was the double-decker Chicago pizza. Which was basically a calzone that happened to be offered as a lunch special.
There is a Sbarro in the mall nearest my home now (about 30 miles away). This mall also happens to house the only movie theaters in the area, so I occasionally find myself there. The last time I went to see a movie I showed up early, and decided to have something to eat first. (Mall food is expensive, but it's nothing on the cost of movie theater food.)
Out of nostalgia, I ordered a diet soda and a Chicago double-decker slice. I sat down and took a bite, and all my memories of those miserable mid-1990s years came flooding back. I only barely managed to choke down my slice without bursting into tears right then and there.
But it's not Sbarro's fault that it makes me want to cry. For mall food, it's pretty decent. At least it has vegetables in it.
Although Sbarro started in 1956, it went public in 1985 - which is the year that inaugurated its sudden expansion into malls everywhere. But my first experience with Sbarro wasn't until I moved to the Lower 48 to attend college in 1990. There were no Sbarro outlets in Anchorage, nor are there today. (I just checked.)
My first "real" job was in downtown Seattle, which has more lunch options than you can imagine. Nevertheless, I frequently found myself eating at Sbarro in Westlake Mall. The Westlake Mall food court offered ample free seating, which is a rarity in Seattle. And they don't care if you camp out for your entire lunch hour, as long as you look reasonably kempt (i.e. not a transient).
For a Liberal Arts major suddenly thrust into the bizarre (and exceptionally dull) corporate world of insurance brokerage, the ability to camp out at a table and draw or write for an entire hour was a real draw. Even better, you could get a table by a window and sit in some natural light for a little while.
Of all the places in Westlake, Sbarro was the one with the consistently shortest lines. Even the servers seemed startled that you wanted to eat there. They offered a lunch special which made a slice of pizza - otherwise overpriced - somewhat reasonable. And it was located near my favorite group of tables on the south-facing wall, so I didn't have to carry my tray very far.
Ever since, I have equated the taste of Sbarro with the desolate feeling of failure, airless boredom, and having taken my first steps on a career path to Boring Town. And with a feeble attempt to ward off same.
Sbarro gives you a pretty big slice, although it costs a surprising amount of money. If you order it to go, you get your slice inside a wedge-shaped cardboard box, which seems like it's trying too hard. The calzones tended to be the best deal (as is so often the case). But my go-to option was the double-decker Chicago pizza. Which was basically a calzone that happened to be offered as a lunch special.
There is a Sbarro in the mall nearest my home now (about 30 miles away). This mall also happens to house the only movie theaters in the area, so I occasionally find myself there. The last time I went to see a movie I showed up early, and decided to have something to eat first. (Mall food is expensive, but it's nothing on the cost of movie theater food.)
Out of nostalgia, I ordered a diet soda and a Chicago double-decker slice. I sat down and took a bite, and all my memories of those miserable mid-1990s years came flooding back. I only barely managed to choke down my slice without bursting into tears right then and there.
But it's not Sbarro's fault that it makes me want to cry. For mall food, it's pretty decent. At least it has vegetables in it.
Photo credit: Flickr//me