Eugene N.
Yelp
Zelda's Pizza: The Battle Maid Still Stands
This Nobleman found himself in a nostalgic mood, craving a deep, flaky pie crust pizza -- the kind that exists only at a true Sacramento institution: Zelda's.
Now let me be clear: Sacramento is a dive bar paradise, a living museum of bygone watering holes where men once pledged loyalty to barroom pool teams like they were medieval clans. From Pine Cove to the Round Corner, from the Flame Club to the Raven, Limelight, Torch Club, Brownies, Zebra, Swiss Buddha, and even the dearly departed Monte Carlo -- each a dive with a story. And nestled among them, proud and unyielding, is Zelda's.
The name Zelda traces back to the gray battle maid, and true to her namesake, this old girl has been slinging the same thick, buttery, pie-crust pizza for decades. Some hate it -- and they're welcome to be wrong -- but this Nobleman? I love pie.
Perhaps it's childhood bias. Granny's maid Olga made the finest apple pie I've ever tasted. That is, until she hit the jackpot in 2003 by running off with Hector the Gardener, taking her sacred recipe and vanishing from history. To this day, I swipe my card at Freeport Bakery, trying in vain to replicate the magic she left behind. Granny's hedges, I'll add, were never the same.
But I digress.
Zelda's weathered COVID shutdowns and financial strain, even closing briefly. But unlike Olga, the new owners secured the recipe -- bless them -- and revived this temple of crusty devotion.
I sat at the bar. Still divey. Still charming. Budweiser on tap, whiskey as it should be, and even a pleasant surprise -- Four Roses bourbon behind the counter. The drinks are honest and poured like the bartender's trying to fix your day.
Next to me, a man devoured a sausage sandwich with the primal energy of a hyena. Between bites, he grunted "amazing." I took it as gospel.
Then came my combination pizza -- and I'm pleased to report the Old Battle Maid still has her sword-arm. Flaky, rich, indulgent, and proudly resisting any trend toward thin crust or dainty toppings. I paired it with the garlic bread (hot, crunchy, glorious) and a Caesar salad, which was crisp and generously dressed -- a noble side quest, if you will.
I left full. I left happy. I left grateful that some parts of Sacramento still remember who they are.
Verdict:
If you hate flaky crust, go order flatbread somewhere and talk about your feelings.
But if you believe pie is sacred, bars should smell like history, and loyalty matters -- Zelda's awaits you.
Long live the Battle Maid. Long live Olga (but give the recipe back).
Land Park Gentleman