Is it meet and good for a pizza to contain red sauce? White sauce? Pesto sauce? New York or Chicago style? Thin or thick crust? Stuffed? Fresh or roasted garlic? Can you add meatballs? Fried eggplant? Carrots? Chicken wings? Is it acceptable to eat pizza whose crust has been stuffed with meats, cheeses, or some beastly amalgam of the two?
More to the point: is it really possible to find world-class pizza in a grim metropolis at the edge of the planet that looks like it was abandoned by the Soviets at the end of the Great Patriotic War? Is it worth making the bewildering hairpin turn off of the Seward Highway, navigating the hive of angry metal hornets that is the parking lot, and waiting close to the lifespan of the average housefly just to get said pizza? Does pizza reliably taste better when a wind like the gelid breath of Cocytus itself is blasting off of Cook Inlet and the windows display only an inky subarctic waste that you know could rip the flesh off your frozen bones?
To all of the above, my answers would be: 'yes,' 'sure,' 'no,' 'who cares,' 'thick,' 'no,' 'roasted,' 'yes,' 'no,' 'decidedly not,' 'you can't be serious,' 'only if you are on your fourth domestic lager of the evening,' 'yes,' 'definitely,' and 'come on up in January and see for yourself, you weak-willed cheechako.'
I would bet good money (or bad money, take your pick) that you're probably reading reviews of The Moose's Tooth because you're visiting Anchorage (or planning to do so) and are wondering whether there's anything worth eating / drinking there beyond the bars that look like military bunkers, the strip-mall Thai places, and the Cold War-era diners that you just *know*, despite having only glanced at the plasticine sign, pride themselves on their Salisbury steak.
Well, here's the simple answer for you: congratulations, Yelp User #n+1, you've found the best restaurant in Anchorage! The Moose's Tooth has honed the art of pizza-making to a razor's edge that could dissect an origami swan. The pizzas fire on all cylinders--a solid sauce that's tangy yet never overused, nice smear of cheese, a miraculous crust that's buttery and substantial while avoiding the gummy doughiness of the slippery 'deep-dish' slope. It's a solid foundation that the toppings merrily build a teetering ziggurat of flavor atop--not just your typical sausage-pepperoni-olives-tomato roulette, but more daring ingredients: gyro meat and tzatziki, cilantro and chipotle steak, carrots with Thai peanut sauce. Many accolades for being able to google the place and shrewdly deduce from the amount of illuminated square stars that this is excellent food. Your reward is waiting for a million billion hours in order to get a pizza.
Let's say, though, that you're a local who's already familiar with the place and are looking it up in hopes that the Internet hive-mind will allow you to peek beneath a previously ignored rock to discover another fragment of the strange life that lurks underneath, or you're one of the lost souls, neither a local or a visitor, idly drifting through webspace in search of some new room to haunt.
In that case: I would say that the real virtue of the Moose's Tooth is not the pizza (though it's good pizza) or the beer (though it's good beer). The real pleasure is in spending a few hours at the place, tossing back a few slices and more than a few pints and emerging, pleasantly full and pretty buzzed, into the July (or June or even August) evening, watching the sun, still not near setting, on the mountains to the east, taking in the sound of the freeway, the smell of the fireweed, and the redolent air. Or, in the dead of winter, stumbling into the place out of a storm fit to send Satan crying back to mommy and, with your toes numb and your nose dripping, suddenly being accosted by the warm odors of yeast, tomatoes, and sausage, sent to a table, and served a beer the color of old leather. Coming out and going in--the joy here is not in the juicy center of the place (food, drinks) but on the margins. And here you are on the ragged margin of civilization itself, the uttermost edge of the world, so to speak, so the only thing to do is accept it. Have yourself a slice. read more