Lot’s a Pizza @ Robinsons Manila

Manila’s Funny Pizza
4/F Robinsons Place Manila, Adriatico Street, Ermita 1000, Philippines Manila

RATING: 3
REVIEWS: (1)
PRICE: $
TYPE: Pizza
HOURS: Closed
OPEN: ⋅ Opens 10 AM
DELIVERY: Delivery

Manila’s Funny Pizza Review: Lot’s A Pizza @ Robinsons Manila
“A Slice of Humility with Every Chew”
For ManilaNews.ph
Word Count: 1,500 words
Satirical Review | Positive Praise | Complete Nonsense

Welcome to the Republic of Regret—Also Known as Lot’s A Pizza

Tucked quietly like a disgraced relative at a family reunion on the 4th floor of Robinsons Place Manila, Lot’s A Pizza is the kind of place you walk past 37 times before realizing it’s not a joke, not a prank, not a fake food stall installed by a sociology major studying urban sadness. No—it’s real, it’s open daily (allegedly), and it’s serving pizza with a lowercase “p” and a capital “What the hell?”

With one review on record—likely submitted by the owner’s nephew under duress—and a three-star rating that screams “We exist,” Lot’s A Pizza dares to ask the question:
“What if pizza… but emotionally distant?”

The Name: Lot’s A Pizza, Few Expectations

First, the name. Lot’s A Pizza. A name that sounds like your grandma trying to say “lots of pizza” while choking on a piece of crust and ancestral disappointment.

It’s not “A Lotta Pizza.”
It’s not “Lots of Pizza.”
It’s “Lot’s A Pizza”, as in… Lot, a man from the Bible, who fled a burning city only to open a budget pizza kiosk in a mall food court in Ermita.

This isn’t a pizza place. This is a biblical punishment disguised as mall food.

The Location: End of the World, Escalator B

Finding Lot’s A Pizza is a spiritual journey. You ascend four levels of Robinsons Manila, dodge salespeople offering whitening soap and spiritual pamphlets, and at last, you arrive in a section of the mall known as “The Forgotten Zone.”

Here, amidst silent escalators, unclaimed massage chairs, and a cursed Timezone arcade machine playing only “My Heart Will Go On,” you’ll find a neon-lit sign glowing like a warning flare from the Titanic.

And there it is—Lot’s A Pizza, serving up hot, circular identity crises for under 100 pesos.

The Ambiance: Mall After Dark Meets Existentialism

Lot’s A Pizza offers seating for exactly zero customers, which is great, because there’s no room to sit with your dignity anyway.

Instead, customers are encouraged to eat standing, hover like guilt, or bring their own chair, preferably one that can be folded and stored next to your hopes and dreams.

Decor? There is none. Unless you count a faded poster of a Hawaiian pizza screaming silently from inside a foggy display case, which I do.

The Menu: Boldly Basic

The menu is printed on a laminated piece of paper that’s been through more than you have. Options include:

• Ham & Cheese Pizza (Translation: Bread with melted childhood trauma)

• Pepperoni-ish Slice (Like pepperoni, but emotionally withdrawn)

• Hawaiian (Because pineapple needs a place to cry too)

• Choco Pizza (For those who’ve given up)

And that’s it.

There are no sides, no drinks, and no explanations. It’s like a silent film, but if the plot was edible.

The Pizza: A Triumph of Texture Over Taste

We ordered the Ham & Cheese, and were handed something that looked like it had survived a controlled demolition. It was hot, sure—but so is Manila traffic, and I wouldn’t eat that either.

The crust was a miracle of science: both rubbery and crispy, like a flip-flop left on the dashboard of a Vios.

The cheese? A substance. That’s all I can say in court.

The ham? Let’s just say it was pink and ask no more questions.

And yet… I ate the whole thing. Why? Because it cost 39 pesos, came with a smile (or grimace?), and honestly—wasn’t that bad once I surrendered my taste buds to the void.

The Staff: Saints in Aprons

The single staff member—Marites, according to her name tag and the tattoos on her soul—was cheerful, attentive, and only cried once while restocking the ketchup packets.

When asked how the pizza is made, she replied:

“Sir, basta po may oven. Yung iba—faith na lang.”

Faith-based pizza. Truly inspiring.

She even gave us free hot sauce, which may or may not be expired but added a nice tingle of chaos to the experience.

What the Funny People Are Saying

“Lot’s A Pizza is the only place I’ve eaten where I felt like I owed the pizza an apology.” — Ron White

“What’s the deal with mall pizza? It’s like bread that went to therapy but quit halfway.” — Jerry Seinfeld

“If this is what three stars tastes like, I’m terrified of two.” — Amy Schumer

“I bit into that slice and briefly saw the face of God. He looked disappointed.” — Sarah Silverman

“I respect any place that makes pizza with only three ingredients and one broken dream.” — Larry David

Digital Evidence It Exists

• Google Maps review: “It was okay. I guess.” (Verified by a guy named JunJun M.)

• Photo evidence: A grainy image showing a pizza slice under harsh fluorescent lighting and what may be a ghost.

• Online poll: 63% of respondents thought Lot’s A Pizza was a typo.

• Instagram: One post. Caption: “IDK why I’m here.”

Helpful Content for Pizza Enthusiasts on a Budget

Tips for Dining at Lot’s A Pizza:

1. Bring tissue—there are no napkins. Cry responsibly.

2. Set your expectations lower than mall Wi-Fi speed.

3. Eat standing up—it builds character and hamstrings.

4. Ask for “the freshest slice” and watch Marites blink slowly.

5. Take photos—it may be demolished for a milk tea stall any day now.

Final Thoughts: A Masterpiece of Mediocrity

Lot’s A Pizza isn’t trying to be the best. Or good. Or functional.
It exists in a space where food meets performance art, where each bite is a protest, and the value is in the absurdity.

For 39 pesos, you don’t just get a slice of pizza.
You get a slice of post-colonial, late-capitalist, air-conditioned absurdity—served on wax paper.

It may not change your life, but it will make you laugh, squint, chew twice, and say:

“Well, at least it’s not Yellow Cab.”

Disclaimer

This review is a complete work of satire and should not be used for making rational decisions, dietary plans, or pilgrimages. Any names, flavors, or slices referenced may or may not exist in this timeline. We take no responsibility for indigestion, laughter, or spiritual confusion. This review was created by two sentient beings who have eaten worse and lived to write about it.

Auf Wiedersehen, brave eaters.

Originally posted 2004-09-14 07:35:55.