The Grimaldi’s franchise started in Brooklyn—a credible enough source for pizza, but how well does it translate in the South, where people assume a black crust means it’s burnt? Both locations look as far from Brooklyn as it gets, situated in suburban fountain-festering strip-malls. Inside, the space is decked out in the red-and-white checkered tablecloths of a Little Italy tourist trap. (The Brooklyn Grimaldi’s looks more or less that way too.)

Grimaldi’s offers three different sizes and three different sauces: traditional red sauce, white with garlic, and pesto. Toppings are great quality. We like the pizza that begins with rounds of fresh fior di latte mozzarella on the bottom, topped with pepperoni (smaller, thicker rounds than usual) and torn sausage. Thin sauce is spooned judiciously on top, and there’s a nice sprinkling of grated parmesan and flakes of oregano before the pie goes into the coal-fired oven. In the high heat, the sausage gets nice and caramelized, but the thin crust is supposed to form yeasty, doughy bubbles that crunch satisfyingly—it used to, when Grimaldi’s first opened in Texas, but it doesn’t anymore. What’s the deal?

For where it is, what it is, and how much it is, the wine list is just barely passable—which is more than we can say for the goofy pre-adolescent martini list. Besides, with pizza, nothing beats a beer. Or a properly heated oven, for that matter.