When I was growing up, we frequented two (and only two) pizza restaurants: Pizza Hut and Pizza King. Pizza Hut was an obvious choice because we all had free personal pan pizza Book-It coupons to spend; plus their lunchtime buffet was a favorite. Pizza King is an independent pizza place in Brookings, and once we aged out of Book-It, we started going to Pizza King and we’ve never looked back.
Brookings did have other pizza places, but those were our two main spots. Sure, we’d pick up Papa Murphy’s pizza to take and bake from time to time, but it was never a standard.
You know where we NEVER went?
Pizza Ranch.
“Never” is not quite true, but I bet you appreciated the dramatic emphasis. I can think of only two occasions when I went to Pizza Ranch in high school: once because my high school band was having a fundraiser there for our new uniforms, and another time after my advanced biology class had just come from our field trip to the cadaver lab at SDSU.
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| This is that same trip - before the Pizza Ranch, but after the cadavers. |
(That last visit is most memorable because the Pizza Ranch chicken was the exact same color of mottled grey as the cadavers we had just seen.)
Likewise, I almost never went to Pizza Ranch during my college years. I remember going there once during summer for a staff bonding dinner (luckily, I had just had my wisdom teeth out and couldn’t eat anyway) and once more in Morris (my college town) for someone’s birthday. Every time, the pizza was cold, the cheese coagulated, the meat questionable and grey. Even the cheesy bread left a thick coat of grease on the roof of your mouth. Nothing good ever came from Pizza Ranch.
After those few early college visits, I thankfully forgot about Pizza Ranch.
Until I moved to Luverne in 2013.
Luverne is in the southwest corner of Minnesota, just a few miles from both the South Dakota and Iowa borders. James works in Ellsworth, MN, which is just a few feet from Iowa. He invited me to a staff dinner at the very end of summer, and I said yes… before I knew it was at Pizza Ranch.
“PIZZA RANCH?!” I said. “NO.”
But it was too late. To Pizza Ranch I went, and not a single thing had changed since the last time I ate it. The pizza was still terrible – but this time, as I was now in my late 20s, it gave me a stomachache. So much for the iron stomach of my early 20s. All I had for dinner that night was a glass of Coke.
I walked out of Pizza Ranch, hoping I could continue to avoid it (and making a note to not say yes to dinner invitations anymore until I knew where we were going).
But alas, I cannot avoid Pizza Ranch.
James would recount endless stories about Pizza Ranch being served for staff inservices, similar fundraising events to my high school band uniform experience, buying his students Pizza Ranch as a reward… because people in my little part of the world are super into Pizza Ranch. This is completely outside of my understanding.
When I commuted to Sioux Falls, I did not need to have anything to do with Pizza Ranch. I could just drive or walk past it in scorn, trying not to let that tell-tale greasy chicken smell permeate my lungs. However, when I accepted my position in Luverne, little did I know I was dooming myself to more Pizza Ranch exposure than I ever cared to have.
I travel to Slayton once a month to meet with other directors in my system, and the place they choose for lunch is always Pizza Ranch. Not one of the three or four independently owned cafes in town, but Pizza Ranch. I ate with them there once, holding my breath so as not to actually taste Pizza Ranch’s offerings. Every time since, I have left immediately following the meetings, picking up a sandwich at a coffee shop instead. I feel guilty for not socializing, but truly, I just cannot handle Pizza Ranch. (And my coat smelled ALL DAY.)
I attended an all-manager training in Marshall several months ago, with the promise of lunch being provided. Guess what lunch was? You got it: Pizza Ranch. Once again, I had a can of Coke for lunch.
The Pizza Ranch in Luverne is always packed. I hear people in passing at the grocery store talking about eating at Pizza Ranch. I hear my coworkers telling about family dinners at Pizza Ranch. I needed to do some research to see what exactly drew people to Pizza Ranch, because it CANNOT be the food.
As I soon learned, Pizza Ranch is based in Iowa – their headquarters are actually in Orange City, which is practically our neighbor. That explains the loyalty aspect. I learned they are a Christian-based company, their vision being “to glorify God by positively impacting the world.” I live in a very religious area, which also explains why the community might flock to it. Christian-based companies, though, are not my cup of tea. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I do not agree with any company forcing their religious beliefs on those around them. And honestly? Christian-based companies don’t tend to do the right thing, even with their so-called “values” (I’m looking at you, Hobby Lobby and Chick-fil-A). Wikipedia also tells me that conservative presidential candidates like to stop at Pizza Ranches during the Iowa caucuses because of said “values.” Pizza Ranch, I’m out.
You can continue to eat at Pizza Ranch; I am certainly not making a call for a Pizza Ranch boycott (outside of my own home, that is). I just honestly want to know: why does everyone love Pizza Ranch so much? Is it the “local business” aspect? Is it the God stuff? Or is it… somehow… the food? It’s an honest-to-God question; I truly am curious. Any insight from you, my dear Midwestern friends, would be appreciated.
In the meantime, I’m going to Pizza King.
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