We're gonna be upfront with y'all — we really did enjoy listening to Flora Shakespeare and Oblio on Friday night at the ChadPad. Good rock show — Oblio make really good, smart rock 'n' roll and happen to be one of the few sure bets on the rock scene, and while Flora Shakespeare don't have that certain je ne sais quoi that makes us flip our lids, they were decent. We watched them out of the corners of our eyes, but let's be honest — they weren't sending out free samples of pizza from behind the drum set. What's more, they weren't sending out Pizza Buds pizza. The Pizza Buds truck, on the other hand, was sending out little squares of sweet, savory, saucy, crispy, crunchy awesome. Bands: You were good. But you weren't pizza.
Yeah, it's just pizza — the world ain't gonna run out of it anytime soon — but it's, like, really fucking good pizza, and it's going to be showing up at all of our favorite haunts on the regular for the foreseeable future. And they're going to be showing up when The Spin is at our most vulnerable — one-half to three-halves drunk, as we're leaving a show. Rocked the fuck out, so to speak. We've been waiting years for some serious post-bar food to wander into our lives — or, more accurately, to pull up and park in front of our lives — but we're not the types to let just any stranger on four wheels into our heart. We had some serious, serious research to do before we let these scraggly hipster types with an RV labeled “Leisure Time” obliterate our wallets and our waistlines.
We can think of a few cities that might have a better pie in the janitor's closest of the every waste treatment plant, but those are places to visit, not places to live. Seriously, barring the overabundance of tribute shows and the constant onslaught of knucklehead politicians, for the longest time our only real issue with this town was the lack of a serious slice waiting for us outside of shows when we're good and sloppy.
Pizza Buds make the kinda drunk-slice that we — the liquored-up night creatures of Nashville — have been waiting for. Finally. And the thing is — and this is why we're thinking that we might just give the Pizza Buds the number to our bank account and call it a day — there are two very distinct states of Pizza Buds pizza. There's the oh-shit-look-at-this-line, fresh-out-of-the-oven state, in which the bottom crust is crunchy and cracker-like before receding into the robust sauce and ooh-y, gooey cheese.
Then there's the slice that, like an expensive bottle of wine at a four-star restaurant, has had a moment to breath — to let everything soak in, so to speak. This, the second state of matter in our little pizza-physics lesson, is the point where things go from awesome to sublime. Unless you're the kind of asshole who dabs their pizza with a napkin, you're probably going to have to change your panties once you pick up that slab of ’za and it flops right over, dripping cheese and sauce like a Salvador Dali painting. It's the sort of slice you have to hold over your head to make sure you don't lose any as gravity tries to steal a bite. Then, when you've gotten past the unimportant part, you hit the payoff, the reason to plunk down your hard-earned clams — the crust! If there's a Venn diagram that represents the best possible combination of sweet, savory, crispy and doughy, then the last, best bites of the Buds' pie are dead-motherfucking-center. At least if you're a li'l drunk. Which we try to be. And now we can finally get a decent slice after they roll the sidewalks in. Oh, and the bands were pretty cool, too.