If a Red House Pizza delivery guy showed up at our house we might have to invoke the “Castle Doctrine”. Is there a judge in the great state who would convict us if he were merely trying to defend ourselves in our home?

We think not.

Here’s an old piece on Red House from scrumptiouschef: “Recently I had a meal so bad that I really questioned whether I would ever eat again.Surely a slow death by starvation would be preferable to eating more than once at Red House Pizzeria on Manor Road.

We’d decided to have a quiet night,watch a really slow Kalatozov movie and sit on the couch with a big pizza.That sounds like an estimable plan when you pair it up with a litre of Maudite and a handy dimmer switch,but the cook at Red House has a different plan in mind.To wit,let’s send out a pie that’s simultaneously scorched beyond recognition yet achieves the distinction of being as chewy as a giant wad of Big League Chew.HOW DO YOU DO THAT?

When the bartender hands me the giant box it weighs about the same as my Austin utility bill envelope.I actually look inside to make sure there’s a pizza in there.It’s a 5 topping pie that could’ve been sent with a 42 cent stamp.It’s right at midnight so I trundle home with my pie,fire up the old Magnavox and get down to business.

OUTRAGE,HERESY,DISGUST,PUERILITY-and a lot of other adjectives too.This is some really bad pizza.A scant dusting of the promised 5 toppings straddle a woebegone,blackened husk of a crust charred to the point of resembling the castings from a coke plant in Eastern Tennessee.I’m hungry as a bear so I put the thing in my mouth.


I crunch-I chew-I crunch-I chew.I’ve eaten glutenous,chewy pizza.I’ve eaten thin brittle pizza but I’ve never eaten glutenous,thin pizza.It’s weird.I started a post called “Ground Breaking Chef in Austin Texas” awhile back and I think I’ve found that chef.He’s at Red House Pizzeria.He’s breaking new ground in shipping food out that bears little resemblance to the common definition of what we North Americans call food.Maybe this is the epicenter of molecular gastronomy in Austin and I’m just not aware enough to realize it.

This is one bad pizza. I set the box out on the back porch,rummage through the fridge for awhile before it hits me.SAVE THE RACOONS,SAVE THE POSSUMS. I step out back and grab the odious pie before some curious critter from the nearby woods happens upon it and mistakes it for food.”


Rolling by Red House this morning we noticed they’ve mounted a giant, portable sign to their roof announcing luncheon hours and a delivery service.

Does French Place have some sort of pagan past that we’re now suffering a celestial retaliation for?

With all the decent pizza in Austin these days it’s hard to fathom eating d-grade pie at lunch, dinner or from the comforts of one’s home.

Who’s been to Red House lately?

Did they right the ship or is it still abysmal?

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