San Francisco loves sex. Raunchy S & M stores (that sell tight leather pants, kinky fish net stockings, and human dog collars with the "obligatory" metal spikes) abound and an unassuming pedestrian walking down Market Street will inevitably encounter a barrage of "untrustworthy" massage parlors and flashing neon lights that advertise nightly burlesque shows at each street corner.
But not all the sex in San Francisco is raunchy. The city acceptingly embraces sexuality, and is open about doing so. Just visit San Francisco during the Folsom Street Fair or Gay Pride Parade, and you'll know what I mean when you see naked people (or people wearing see-through spandex + rubber getups) casually walking around, and bystanders who won't even do "the quick glance" to stare at the parts that are out in the open. To them, it's just another ordinary day in San Francisco.
San Francisco is a place to feel comfortable about yourself and your sexuality. Thus, a place named Pizza Orgasmica fits right in.
Despite its name, Pizza Orgasmica doesn't cater to perverts or pedophiles, but instead counts the upper-crust, uptown, Versace-wearing Marina district-ites as its staple patrons. (The Marina is San Francisco's closest equivalent to Southern California's Beverly Hills.)
Given a name like "Pizza Orgasmica," how could cool 20 to 30-something people not eat there? Essentially, it is one of those "cool-by-association" places. Not only does Pizza Orgasmica score points by thinking up an innovative name for itself, but it also gets extra credit for the names of its menu offerings. They suggestively name their plain pizzas after sexual positions, terms, and innuendos. My personal favorite? The three-cheese pizza cleverly named "ménage à trois."
Other than the hand-painted images of Adam and Eve sporting fig leaves and seductively snacking on pizza, there is nothing striking or erotic about the interior design of Pizza Orgasmica. It is a "classic" pizza place, with dim lighting and shiny wooden tables adorned with rotund glass shakers of dried oregano, red pepper flakes, and the powdery canister-type parmesan cheese.
I ordered their signature pizza, which is essentialy the supreme, topped with sliced red onions, bell peppers, pepperoni, salami, sausage, mushrooms, and mozzerella cheese. Upon one bite, by beau started moaning in ecstacy about how delicious it was.
The crackly exterior and doughy and chewy interior of the crust reminded me of gourmet-style, Wolfgang-Puckian-CPK faire, but after consulting with my resident East Coast expert / beau, he informed me that the crust was authentic New York-style.
Unlike chain restaurant or fast food pizzas, the pizza wasn't greasy or overly oily, but lightly glistened from the bubbling and elastic mozzarella cheese. Each bite was coupled with a satisfying crunch from breaking into the crispy crust, and a warming flood of flavors from the marinara sauce that had been enhanced by pungent Italian spices. Salty circles of pepperoni, sausage, and salami were generously layered on the landscape of the pizza. Best of all, the mozzarella cheese stretched off into wispy strings and softly melted away on my tongue.
Although I'd like to say everything about Pizza Orgasmica was absolute pleasure, I think my dining experience was marred by the "parking ordeal."
Parking in Marina District really is a nightmare. If you don't own a Mini Cooper, you won't be able to park in Marina. I know that there is no such thing as "easy parking" in San Francisco. All parallel street parking is marked as a permanent red zone or is someone's driveway, but you don't know it until you physically shimmy your car into what you "thought" was a space. Plus, San Francisco is notorious for its narrow lanes that barely provide enough shoulder to squeeze by without sideswiping the mirrors of other parked cars. Despite this, I am still bothered that we spent over 45 minutes looking for parking in the entire Marina! (On top of that, I forgot my digital camera, so I had to use the crappy cell phone camera to snap these pictures.)
Was the experience orgasmic? The pizza was definitely worthy of repeat visits, but honey, it wasn't Viagra.