Joanna walked in after class on a Tuesday afternoon.
“Slice of bacon?” I asked her.
“You got it.” She drummed on the counter. “And while I’m here, what do you say we take a look in the old suggestion box?”
“Go for it.”
She pulled the box off its shelf near the window, opened it, and read the few pieces of paper.
“Anything good?” I asked.
“Good? Sure. Surprising? Not a bit.” She split the papers into two neat stacks.
“What does that mean?” I slid her slice onto a tray.
“Same two requests as always. Gluten-free and better desserts.”
“Again?” We’d had that conversation more times than I cared to remember. “Gluten-free is a nightmare. And we’ve got cookies.”
She raised a skeptical brow. “Those cookies are sad, Ty.” She tapped her chest. “What happened to keeping your mascot happy?”
“Avatar,” I corrected.
“Whatever. I like dessert.”
I turned back to the prep station and ladled sauce onto a pie. “It’s just one more layer of stress I don’t need.”
“Come on, Ty. This is the Pizza Lab, right?” She gestured around the shop. “Where are the experiments?”
“I know, I know.” I put the ladle back into the sauce bucket. “The thing is, I’ve never been much of a cook.”
“You make decent enough pizza.”
“Using the exact recipe I was handed when I started.” I sprinkled cheese on the pie. “Adding bacon was easy enough, but the cookies I’ve been making with my supplier’s dough haven’t been moving.”
Joanna’s face pinched. “Well, half the time they’re burnt.”
“I know. Wrong oven.”
“Why not just sell candy bars or something?”
“I probably should,” I said with a shrug.
“So why don’t you?”
“If I’m adding anything, it should be worth the effort. I want buzz. Something that will bring people in the door.”
She leaned her elbows on the counter. “So make something no one’s seen before.”
“Like what?”
Joanna tore off a chunk of crust. “Chocolate pizza?”
I blinked. “Chocolate pizza? How would that even work?”
“I could brainstorm with you, but I’ll need fuel for that.”
I laughed. “Another bacon slice coming up.”
“Let’s think. Cookie dough crust?”
“Maybe.” I plated her slice. “Not with chocolate chips though.”
“Okay, plain sugar cookie then. Or pie crust?”
“My supplier carries sugar cookie dough. Could work.”
Joanna took a bite like she hadn’t eaten all day. “What about the sauce?”
“Ohhh… How about hot fudge?” I was starting to get into this. “And you know what? I could get a block of white chocolate and grate it on top. It would look just like cheese.”
She picked a piece of bacon and dropped it into her mouth. “Toppings?”
I looked through the toppings in my prep station, noting the variety of colors. “How about M&M’s?”
“There you go.” She smacked the table. “I do believe you have the makings of a killer dessert. Are you sure the ovens won’t kill it again?”
“Look, if I have a winning dessert, I can dedicate an oven to just that. It won’t be perfect, but if I clean out the pizza grime and run it at the right temperature, it could work. I’ll need at least one more person to help, though,” I said as I sprinkled the last of the onions onto my pie. “I don’t know how long these will take to make, but they’re sure to slow me way down.”
“I don’t have any class on Thursdays.” Joanna grabbed herself a napkin. “If you want to launch it then, I’d be up for playing around in the kitchen.”
“I’d want to do some experiments the night before so we know what we’re doing. You up for that too?”
“All that would be on the payroll, right?”
I offered her a thumbs-up. “Of course.”
“Great. Count me in.”
Today’s Experiment at the Pizza Lab is a Chocolate Pizza. Is it the perfect dessert following a slice? Or is it like Frankenstein’s Monster, an unholy creation born from mixing forces never meant to be merged? You tell us. As with all Experiments at the Pizza Lab, we welcome your feedback.
I attached a picture of the chocolate pizza Joanna and I made the night before and hit post. Our social media following had taken a nice jump during the Grand Reopening. The question was, would people respond?
My initial post about the chocolate pizza picked up a dozen shares and more than a hundred likes. That got the ball rolling. But things really took off when students started posting selfies with their slices. I’d cut each pie into twelve wedges—slimmer than our usual eight—to keep the portions manageable. Joanna went full throttle in the kitchen, churning out cookie dough crusts to keep up with demand.
By the end of the day, it felt like every student on campus wanted to try a slice. And while the chocolate pizza got them through the door, plenty ordered a normal pizza first.
The buzz even pulled in a reporter from the school radio station. We were slammed, but I stole a minute to talk. She asked about the new name, the energy, the crowd. I made sure to drop that we were student-run. She said the interview would air that night.
Everyone loved the chocolate pizza.
Well—almost everyone.
“It’s kitsch,” Meg said, standing beside the counter, a plate in hand.
“It’s selling like crazy,” I said as I laid another dozen slices onto plates.
She crossed her arms. “It’s a pet rock. Huge today, forgotten tomorrow.”
“Can’t blame a guy for riding the wave, can you?”
“Don’t.” Her gaze locked on mine. “Pull it off the menu. Make it a one-and-done.”
I jerked back. “What? Why?”
“People are having fun with it today, but that’s just novelty. It’s not a quality dessert, Ty. If you keep it on the regular menu, sales will plummet. Tomorrow, make sure it’s gone.”
Man, talk about a party pooper. “But people are sure to keep asking about it.”
“Exactly.” She shifted to let me pass a few more slices down the line. “Tell them it was a special. If they want to know next time it’s offered, they should follow you online. That’s how you build anticipation.”
She leaned in and whispered. “Otherwise they’ll get bored of it. And fast.”
“You have any idea what it did for my sales today?” I hated that my tone was getting defensive. “I can’t believe I waited this long to get a decent dessert on the menu. Just making this one change increased my average transaction by over a dollar per customer. In one day!”
“Not in one day, just for a day. I’m telling you, it’ll drop right back down. You want to add dessert? Fine, then add dessert. But do it well.”
“Yeah, I know your idea of quality desserts. It takes what, ten hours to bake one of your masterpieces? I’m trying to run a business, Meg. A profitable business. You always seem to know what I should do better. But look at all the people lined up to buy my chocolate pizzas. Meanwhile, you’ve sold how many cakes this semester? Five?”
Meg spun on her heel and stomped out.
There were two things I hated about Meg. One was the way she made it seem like nothing—and no one—was ever good enough for her. The other was how often she was right.
I’d hoped to ride the chocolate pizza wave into long-term growth. But by day two, sales dropped to a quarter of what they’d been. Not terrible—but clearly the tail end of a trend. By day four, I pulled it from the menu.
Cool concept. Meh taste.
Maybe I’d bring it back as an occasional special, but day-to-day I needed better.
“Hey, Mitchel,” I said to a student who walked in the door. “Good to see you.”
“Well, I sure am glad you enjoy seeing my smiling face, as you’re guaranteed to see it at least once a week for the next five weeks.”
“You’re welcome any time, Mitchel.” I slapped on a courteous grin. “What would you like on your pie today?”
“I’m in the mood for mushrooms and onions.”
“Coming right up.”
Mitchel wasn’t a bad guy. Big smile. A bit too big. The expression of one who knows he’s getting a superb deal at your expense.
He’d taken the crowdfunding deal—paid in advance for five pizzas at a discount—and showed up every week like clockwork, claiming his free pie. OK, it wasn’t exactly free. He’d paid the price of five pizzas up front, and without that cash infusion, I might not have been able to keep the doors open. But that money was long since spent, and every time Mitchel came in, it pained me to make a pie and get nothing in return.
At least some of the other deal customers brought friends or ordered drinks. Not Mitchel. He came alone, got his pizza, and left without spending another cent.
