November 30, 2023 | OPINION | By Sam Treat
A wise man once said, “Pizza is like sex, it’s all good, but some is a lot better.” That 21st century American proverb rattled around in my otherwise empty skull as I sought out to discover where on the pizza-sex hierarchy Fargo’s Pizza belonged. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of cruising east on Platte Avenue toward the extended Kansas plains of eastern Colorado, let me paint you a picture.
Pawn shop after pawn shop blur into the cracked concrete, as each shady medical dispensary slowly transforms into a worn-down auto parts store. Miles upon miles of profound Colorado Springs mediocrity suddenly becomes something truly different when the lights of a building shine, a beacon of hope in the dusty landscape of fast food and houselessness.
Fargo’s Pizza, that aforementioned palace, is atypical in this tundra of despair we call home. A cross between the American West and Victorian-era England, Fargo’s knows no boundaries. Blending the gaudy sophistication of white awnings and gold lights with the understated toughness of the frontier, Fargo’s attempts to create a truly unique dining experience.
The waitstaff is dressed in shiny red tuxedo vests with crisp white shirts underneath, but they work beneath massive shoulder mounts of bison, elk and more. Truly, the building’s interior is unlike any other place I’ve been. Notably, Fargo’s is on its 50th year of operation in The Springs, and, like how I imagine is the case with anyone who has spent 50 years in Colorado Springs, it is past its prime. Cracking paint, upsetting old mannequins and strange decor choices are illuminated by once-magnificent chandeliers who provide a strange ambiance to the whole affair.
Despite the almost haunted feeling of the restaurant, I braved the standing counter to place my order. Coaxed by the friendly hostess into ordering both pizza and pasta, I went with the BBQ Chicken Pizza and the Pasta Sampler. To order drinks, I was directed to the bar where a plethora of on-tap beer was available in a mug ($5) or a pitcher ($15 to $20). The pitcher is a bona fide deal as it contains about six mugs’ worth for the price of around three (depending on the beer). Fargo’s as a pregame spot is a real possibility.
The salad bar is advertised as “world famous” and will cost you about $8 for a one-time run through. I declined the salad bar, and by the looks of it, I would recommend that others do the same. Large containers of various mushes – cottage cheese, macaroni salad, potato salad and what might be pudding – dotted the bar, complimented by croutons, fruit salad, and slightly off-colored lettuce. I struggled to figure out which part of the world made this salad bar famous.
The mirror-number system of Fargo’s is another distinctive aspect of this unique dining experience. A set of mirrors around the restaurant reflect your order number when it is ready, a system that simultaneously makes perfect sense for this establishment and is completely unnecessary. My pizza was ready quickly, and I wasted no time diving in.
The pizza was about what one could expect from a restaurant that seemingly devoted so much attention to the ambiance and decor of its building. The crust was fine, with perhaps a bit too much cornmeal on the bottom. The barbecue sauce was surprisingly good, but the cheese it was topped with was squishy and almost plastic-like. The chicken was plain, but at least it was cooked all the way through. It wasn’t the worst pizza I ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the best.
The pasta took almost 45 minutes to come, which was an abomination given what I received. It was a heap of mediocre noodles covered – smothered, even – in red and white sauce. I found it flavorless and bland, a boring medley of nothing special.
To pivot to a more positive note, let us discuss dessert. The real saving grace of Fargo’s (besides the cheap beer) was its sweet treats.
A sucker for a sweet treat, I knew I had to try “Sophia’s 14 Karrot Gold Nugget Cake.” While I believe the popularity of carrots to be one of Satan’s greatest victories on this planet, carrot cake is a testament to all things good. Taking what might be the most foul-tasting orange abomination from the ground and transforming it into a delicious baked delicacy should give even the most pessimistic of dessert eaters something to smile about.
Indeed, when I ate the overly wordy carrot cake from Fargo’s, my entire dining experience changed. Delicately sliced by a man in a red vest who clearly took immense pride in his profession as beer pourer and cake slicer, the cake was moist and perfectly carrot-y (meaning it was almost nonexistent, thank God). In fact, this cake was so good that I ordered two for my birthday (no joke).
The carrot cake was only rivaled by the Sophia’s Chocolate Cake sundae, which I was given as compensation for my pasta wait. Decadent and rich, this cake made me understand the bourgeoisie of France from back in the day – if you don’t have bread, eat cake.
If there was one term to describe my experience at Fargo’s, it would be that word: experience.
While every employee was overly kind and attempted to provide wonderful service, the wait time for my pasta was, nonetheless, absurd. While the desserts were delectable and the beer was cheap, the pizza itself wasn’t much better than a cheap frozen one. Despite its shiny exterior and remarkable interior, Fargo’s fails to deliver in key aspects of a restaurant, namely the food. However, if you want an entirely unique experience and acceptable food, you’d be hard-pressed to find better on E. Platte Avenue.