Casey's pizza beats everything in Iowa. I don't care if it's a regionally mass-produced gas station grease vessel.
I've had New York, Detroit, and Chicago style pizza in all three of those cities.
I've had Neapolitan pizza in too many joints to mention.
They all have their place. But Casey's is ours and it stands up with the rest of them because it's not fake. It's unapologetic. It's Iowa-style pizza that unifies us just like the Tigerhawk and we should wear it like a badge. Gotta feed 25 coworkers quick after an 11:30 meeting that ran long through the noon hour? I need 5 large pepperonis, 3 large tacos, and 3 large all meats, please.
All your buddies end up at your place after 27 holes in 92 degree weather and a twelver of Busch Lattes a piece? We're calling Caseys.
Hungover and running late to work on that Saturday morning you weren't supposed to be working anyway and then halfway there you realize you left your employee badge in that heavy chick's car who kept trying to sit really close to you and telling you about her kid and now you have to ask someone for her number? You grab a slice of Casey's sausage breakfast and a 20 oz Dew and it'll take the edge right off of that situation.
Got an end-of-the-year party for your 3rd grader's baseball team? You know where you're going.
Everyone finished with the brisket you smoked for lunch on Saturday and now your peeps are hungry again and buzzin as the Hawks are about to kick off at 7PM against Penn State? Bingo.
It's us, folks. It's as much a part of our identity as Tigerhawks, hog farms, corn fields, and HyVee mac salad. Get the hell over yourselves.