The only thing more inflated than our prices is our ego.
It’s not just a pizza place — it’s an attitude. At Le Pizzaria Pompous, we put the pretentiousness in pepperoni. We serve up the smugness in sausage. Our onions? They’re overachieving and ostentatious. Forget about ordering a cobb salad — a snob salad is the Chef’s choice.
It’s not just a pizza place — it’s a garden. Gather around our little soil-sanctuary called “The Eden of Ego.” Our tomatoes aren’t merely sun-kissed; they’re French-kissed. Our basil? Watered with tears of joy. Our gardener? A refugee. Not from some third-world country, but rather, some third-world planet.
It’s not just a pizza place — it’s an event. Think you’ll stroll in and grab a table? Not before you strut down our red carpet. Want to snap a photo for Instagram? Our personal paparazzi has you pictured. Ready to place an order? Don’t expect any ol’ waitress; expect Jimmy “flippin’” Kimmel.
It’s not just a pizza place — it’s the people. Meet mononymous marvels like Drako and Svenn, who scoff at the concept of last names. Or as they say, “First name, last name, who said it was a race anyway?” The patrons here aren’t your average Joes and Janes. They’re your obscure Jürgens and Jelenas.
It’s not just a pizza place — it’s a worldly bar. Thinking about ordering a PBR? We’ll set you up with a Peroni. Want to pop open a Pepsi? We’ll pour you a San Pelligrino. Needing to watch the NFL like a Neanderthal? Never mind that noise — we’ll put on Netball for the Nobles.
It’s not just a pizza place — it’s wood-fired. Our wood isn’t from any old fairytale forest, our wood is locally s̶t̶o̶l̶e̶n̶ sourced from my father’s backyard. You’ll taste my short-fused father screaming, “Stop cutting down my fuckin’ trees!” in every bite. Its smoky, midwest-outrage infuses itself to the crust, creating a flavor that’s more inflated than our egos.
So, pull up a chair at Le Pizzaria Pompous, where we take pizza to new heights of haughtiness.
And remember our motto— Here, it’s not merely about satisfying your hunger — it’s about serving up a slice of self-importance.