Mioposto Prompts Something Close to an Anti-Fertility Tirade

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Mioposto's executive chef hard at work.
Mioposto is in this classy neighborhood in the Mt. Baker region. This is the kind of tree-lined subdivision into which I'm rarely allowed, so the time I spent at Mioposto was like some sort of anthropological study of how yuppies live. It's family friendly, maybe excessively so, which in this case means "let your kids run amok all over the goddamned place." In fact, you aren't allowed inside Mioposto if your stroller didn't cost at LEAST $800. That's why I had to sneak in.

I'm not going to launch into some sort of anti-child tirade, because we've got to continue the species SOMEHOW, but Jesus Christ could someone rein the rugrats in just a little? We slipped, repeatedly, on cheerios and crayons rolling around on the floor. Who knew that Cheerios were so slick? I didn't, until I almost broke my neck when I stepped on one. The floors are REALLY FUCKING DIRTY. Seriously, the ground inside Mioposto was littered with napkins, crumbs, crayons, discarded pizza crusts, and all other manner of crap. I bet "Mioposto" is Italian for "I wish I had an abortion."

But was the pizza worth braving the shitty floors? Fuck yeah it was.

A caveat, though: purists won't like it. If, in your mind, a pizza with figs, or edible flowers, or venison, or stem cells, isn't a "real" pizza, you will be more offended by Mioposto than if I suggested you drink the gushing blood from someone's neck wound. The crust is like a cracker, but in a good way: it's crispy and bubbly but still a little foldable, studded with salt crystals and dusted with black pepper. I've never had a pizza crust like this. The sauce is a bit cloying and thin and is terminally Chef Boy-ar-dee-ish, which of course is exactly the kind of sauce an unruly kid loves the most. And all of the pizzas are one size: maybe 10 inches? maybe 12 inches? I can eat a whole one when hungover, if that helps. It probably doesn't.

Salsiccia piccante ($11.75) was good, with little crumbles of spicy sausage and tangy rings of pickled pepperoncini on top of Mioposto's Chef Boy-ar-dee sauce. This was damn tasty: the tart spicy brace of pepperoncini cut like a knife through the fatty haze and counterbalanced the sweet sauce.

Plain pepperoni ($11.75) was decent. They used these huge flavorful areolas of salty pepperoni, and it wasn't greasy at all. The sandwiches are similarly tasty, if skimpy: The della polpette ($8) is a meatball hero and comes on a round crusty salty roll with shitloads of melted cheese, marinara sauce, and an unfortunate dearth of tiny meatballs the size of marbles. I wish they weren't so stingy with the meatballs; I felt like Oliver fucking Twist because I wanted to go up to the counter and beg for a fucking meatball. At least wine is cheap: a bottle of a drinkable, if watery, montepulciano is $15.

I like Mioposto. I like it so much I would volunteer to sweep the floor in exchange for free pizza, because those motherfuckers could obviously use the help. If you go there, for the love of Christ wear some golf spikes, so you don't trip over a Cheerio.

Rating: 7 dirty Cheerios out of 10

Mioposto is located at 3601 S. McClellan St., 206-760-3400

 
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