Додо Пицца!

Пицца is the Russian word for pizza. And just by looking at it, you can kind of see that Додо is the word for dodo. So, you must have figured out, by now, that I finally gave into the pizza craving I've been having for a couple of months now and ended up at Додо Пицца or, for those of you who prefer the Latin alphabet, Dodo Pizza.

When you live abroad for extended periods, you sometimes get food cravings.  Bishkek is fairly cosmopolitan in its offerings of international cuisine and I enjoy Central Asian food, so I really haven't had any food cravings, except pizza. I am not sure why it is, but pizza is the one food, perhaps other than chocolate, that I sometimes crave, and sadly it is also a food that, at times, has trouble traveling successfully between cultures.  I mean in its basic form, it's only bread, tomato sauce and cheese, so it shouldn't be too difficult, but many countries have real troubles making a pizza that satisfies an American's cravings.

I think Japan might have been the place where I experienced my most severe case of "Pizza Culture Shock."  I remember getting a pizza there topped with only these five ingredients: cheese, tuna, squid, corn, and mayonnaise. When I think about it, I don't believe there ever was a pizza I consumed in Japan that didn't have corn on it. I still don't know why.

I think the problem with pizza outside of Italy is one of "over-translation." Pizza is such a simple, yet versatile, food that it lends itself to cultural translation. So, when they do the translating, the Japanese cook puts corn and squid on the pizza or the Turkish chef adds the lamb shawarma--a style of pizza I had a slice of in Istanbul. We, Americans, are also very guilty of this over-translation, taking a simple masterpiece and distorting it in the process.  My favorite American pizza is the Hawaiian Pizza smothered in Canadian bacon and pineapple. Whenever I describe my favorite American pizza to Italians, their faces turn red and they raise their voices, almost to the point of rage, angry at the heathen savage who would dare do something as offensive as adding sweet pineapple to a pizza. This over-translation of simple pizza borders on sacrilegious, to an Italian, so if you ever have an Italian houseguest who has stayed in your home for too long a period, serve him a Hawaiian Pizza, and he'll have his bags packed and will be out of your house before sunset.

Because the slice of shawarma pizza I had in Istanbul, while possessing a certain exotic appeal, did not have the effect of satisfying my pizza craving, I finally decided to trek over to Dodo Pizza, because I had heard they actually served a good version of a Hawaiian Pizza. Was I as "dumb as a dodo" for going to a Kyrgyz pizzeria with this peculiar name? It turns out, no, I was not.  My Hawaiian Pizza was an excellent Kyrgyz translation of an American translation of Italian pizza. And, this particular exercise in translation, that Berlitz himself would have appreciated, will satisfy my pizza craving for the next few months at least.

The interior of Dodo Pizza

The display screen indicates when a person's order is ready.  Order #22, for Erik.  I kind of like the way my name looks in the Cyrillic alphabet.  

There's my pizza ready to be unveiled. I would love to talk to the person who decided to name the place Dodo Pizza. Why the dodo?  It's so odd, I like it.

Here it is, in all its glory, my Hawaiian Pizza.  The Dodo provides some barbecue sauce on the side for those who would indulge in this unnecessary condiment.