Understanding the Allure of Police Station Pizza
Stop you're under arrest! For being...delicious?? A trip out to Ambridge to try Police Station Pizza
Police Station Pizza fans froth at the mouth whenever someone nears them mentions pizza. They can’t wait to tell you how amazing and delicious Police Station Pizza is compared to any other pizza in the region. They gush about the, uh, hostile ordering environment. And they always mention the specific way you have to order or risk getting yelled out. And they love to mention how chaotic, unorganized and abrasive the employees are. The pizza is “good” but there’s a dozen caveats depending how you order. Are you getting it to take home? What toppings? Hot or cold?
I began to wonder if those that worship at the Police Station Pizza altar think that you must suffer for good pizza. Pleasure is pain, pain is pleasure.
If you struggle to achieve something it will always be worth it. The more you suffer, the better it is. Think of all the food pop-ups around the city. Waiting in line for food in inclement weather is a badge of honor. Suffering is the seasoning that radically boosts the flavor of food no matter how it’s prepared. Maybe that’s how we rationalize our actions. Waiting for an hour or going into a hostile environment for something bad…admitting that is embarrassing.
But back to Police Station Pizza. Or is it the Original Pizza House? Between tales I’ve heard, the circumstance I had tried Police Station Pizza, the fact that this beloved pizza house couldn’t keep a location open in Robinson Town Centre left me skeptical. What was up with this pizza? What created such zealots? I had to go to the source. Luckily, pizza pal Chad had recently moved to Ambridge. He coordinated a kid’s D&D adventure and the special guest food would be Police Station Pizza.
Charlie and I drove out to Ambridge 5pm on a Saturday. Chad ordered the pizza ahead of time and told me I’d pick it up under my name. I was nervous and surprised. A place as crass as Police Station Pizza allows you to order ahead? Doesn’t align with how I’d imagine the most hostile environment operating. But okay, it is 2025. We parked near the pizza house around 5:30pm. We crossed the street, which was heavily under construction, looking at all the dormant businesses on the main drag. There was a brewery that was popping off, but outside of that not much was happening at the many tire shops that called this area home.
I nervously walked into the building waiting to be verbally assaulted. Screamed out like a drill sergeant in front of my daughter, embarrassed for all time. Whatever respect or reverence she would have for me would simply evaporate. She’d never listen to my advice after this. A generational rift caused by a pizza shop employee.
The screaming never came. Order was loose in the lobby, people stood in various corners waiting for their cuts. But someone at the counter asked me how they could help me. I noticed an electronic point of sale system, relieved they took credit cards. I gave them my name, they rang me up, and said my order would be up shortly. And then we waited. Despite the order being called in way ahead of time, they don’t start working on it until you’re there. Maybe to preserve freshness and quality control.
Charlie and I sat under the menu. A simple blackboard with various prices and a list of toppings. Frills were not welcome here. We watched the employees work in full view of an audience. They each had their station: working the huge vat of sauce. Cutting up sheets of pizza, operating the oven. An assembly line Henry Ford could be proud of.
Ordering ahead didn’t seem to make a difference in the flow. We waited fifteen minutes for our order to be complete and placed into the largest box of pizza I’ve ever seen. What in the world did Chad order?
The pizza barely fit in the back of my car. It’s hefty, big enough to feed a police force I reckon. After a day of busting perps, you know you’re crushing an entire box of Police Station Pizza. Almost makes me want to join the police force.
Diving Into Police Station Pizza
We got to Chad’s place and cracked open the pizza to reveal a trio of options. Sausage, pepperoni and plain. Something for everyone, equipped with triangle tables to keep the pizza from getting crushed during transportation. From an aerial view the pizza looks like a molten soupy planet that will take a billion years to reconstitute. There’s no way it ever harbored life, or in this case, flavor. There is nothing spectacle looking about this pizza. A goop fest that you might serve to appease hoards of elementary school kids with underdeveloped tastebuds. The cheese distracts them from the lack of flavor. It looks appalling.
But looks are one element of a pizza. I winced when I opened this box. As someone who prefers light cheese on my pizzas I am looking into the abyss and looking back at me is my nightmare. I had to dive in and conquer my fears.
I pulled out a slice of plain and sausage. Both corner slices. The toppings and cheese came off in a comical way. Like the pizza pranked me. “Nice try, almost got a complete slice,” it seemed to say. But I took it in stride and did my best to rebuild my slices on my plate.
I took a bite and was expecting the worst. Yet, delight ran through my veins. It wasn’t a dense goopy mess. The crust was akin to a well-oiled Sicilian. Crispy, savory, flavorful. Whatever cheese survived the trip blended well with the sauce and crust. It was light, airy and fun to eat. I couldn’t believe this pizza wasn’t stacking like bricks in my stomach.
As the kids rolled dice to save a dwarf captured by the rat king, I got up to get slice after slice. I ended up eating six slices and enjoyed it to the very end. I could have eaten more, but didn’t want to seem like a huge pig. But I am a huge pig. Not sure why I’m trying to hide it.
I better understand the allure of Police Station Pizza. The world has turned, but this has not. It’s a relic of the past thriving on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, a city that has undergone a tremendous transformation. There’s nothing artisan about this pizza. And in a world where we are to believe everything is bespoke and streams of content constantly feed us the “next thing” this is an anchor.
Wow what a trip. This was on my list for a while so I’m grateful to try it under pleasant conditions. Quite an intriguing place.
-Dan Tallarico, Pizza Journalist
And that is why it couldn’t survive Robinson Town Center. Because Robinsonites (?) and the nearby others in Moon and North Fayette prefer bland, chain pizzas. With a few exceptions, there is such a good pizza desert in the airport area.