Pizza Hut’s Cheesy Bites Pizza-The Review

“You realize that’s just a Stuffed-Crust Pizza divided into segments, right?”
-William Papageorgiou, 12/2/2010, speaking the most ignorant, hateful words since George Wallace’s “Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever” speech.


Yesterday was the big day. The day I finally got to devour Pizza Hut’s Cheesy Bites Pizza. (I love how that makes it sound like it’s been a lifelong goal, as if I hadn’t simply seen an ad for it the night before and thought “Tomorrow, I’m gonna eat me the shit outta one of those things.”) I’d even set out my eating uniform – reserved for my most gluttonous days – a spacious Greek basketball jersey and soft, yielding grey shorts. It was on.

And then, right before I exited the house to pick up my cheese-filled partner in crime, disaster. One of my bank clients in Washington, DC required emergency assistance. (My big boy job is running a locksmith business, which means if I see a customer flash the Bat Signal, I have to drop everything and get on the road immediately.) As if the hour-long drive in traffic to DC weren’t bad enough, the job required me breaking into a safe, which is grueling work that can take hours upon hours. Like Martin Luther King, Jr., I, too, had a dream. A dream of eating so many cabs that I’d probably end up chopping off my own feet just to be safe. And it was fading fast.

Thankfully, the Gods of Gluttony smiled upon me, and I was in the safe faster than panties on prom night. I’ve never left a customer and sped down the highway in such hate before. I was like Dexter Morgan in a race to hide a body before the cops found it. The GPS was set up to sniff out every Pizza Hut in proximity so I could call the one closest to my path home, swoop in to pick up my doughy bride and then Andretti my way to my front door in record time. And my plan worked flawlessly. In no time at all I was careening down the highway, a Cheesy Bites Pizza riding shotgun. That my excitement hadn’t ripped a hole through the crotch of my pants is testament to the strength of denim.


I kicked in the door while stripping away my work clothes, not bothering to put on my eating uniform on, content to gorge in just boxers and socks. And the verdict? After all this effort, did she live up to the hype? In a word, yes. For once, Pizza Hut finally delivered (pardon the horrible pun). Each cheesy bite was crisp and delicious, the sweet tomato dipping sauce a perfect contrast to the sharper sauce used on the pie itself. I was forced to not mindlessly devour but actually savor, plucking each bite like the petal of a flower. It’d have been almost poetic were I not in my underwear and hunched over like a hyena shoving its face in a water buffalo carcass. The Cheesy Bites Pizza gets two thumbs up, one for each artery I’ll have to have bypassed after I eat a baker’s dozen of these beauties come Sunday. God bless America.