I've tried, Cooterville. I've tried every pizza ya got, and I haven't finished one yet.
The west coast is pizza-challenged in general, so my expectations are low, but this is plain dire. Clue #1 is invariably the pizzas I do not order. Sure, there's the pepperoni and sausage thin crust that will soon splatter the floor of the dumpster outside, but beneath that on the menu are the telltale signs that the owners do, in fact, hate pizza. I don't want to see the words "feta" or "reduction" or, god help me, arugula. Fucking arugula. These are now my coal-mine canaries.