Papa Murphy’s Is Basically the ‘I Can Fix Him’ Boyfriend of the Pizza World, And We’re All Paying for It
**Portland, OR** – In a stunning display of corporate self-awareness that will immediately be followed by zero actionable change, Papa Murphy’s has officially admitted that their entire business model—selling uncooked dough and toppings at a premium price so you can do the one job a pizzeria is supposed to do—might be circling the drain. The chain, which currently has the cultural relevance of a Blockbuster Video in a town with good internet, is reportedly “exploring strategic alternatives,” which is corporate-speak for “we’ve tried nothing and we’re all out of ideas.”
Let’s be real for a second. Papa Murphy’s is the only place on Earth where you can pay $14 for the privilege of heating your own oven. It’s the “IKEA furniture” of fast food, except instead of ending up with a decent bookshelf, you end up with a soggy, undercooked mess because you got impatient and pulled it out after 11 minutes instead of the prescribed 14. The only thing more tragic than their stock price is the look on my face when I realize I have to wait another 20 minutes for dinner after I already waited in line behind a Karen who was arguing about the price of a gluten-free crust.
The chain, now owned by the private equity overlords at MTY Food Group (because who else would buy a struggling pizza chain? The Ghost of Christmas Future?), announced this week that they’re looking at “all options” for the business. That’s right, folks. They’re shopping the pig with lipstick around to anyone with a checkbook and a complete disregard for fiscal responsibility. Sources say they’ve already reached out to the local mall’s Cinnabon franchisee, a guy who runs a successful lawn-mowing business, and that weird billionaire who collects vintage Hot Wheels.
This is a company that fundamentally misunderstands the American consumer. We are a nation built on instant gratification. We want our pizza delivered by a drone in 11 minutes, or we want to eat it cold out of the box in the parking lot while crying. We do not want to be handed a hockey puck of raw dough and a bag of shredded mozzarella and be told, “Good luck, champ.” If I wanted to do that much work, I’d just make a frozen pizza, which costs $4, tastes exactly the same, and doesn’t require me to engage in small talk with a teenager who looks like they’ve already given up on life.
The real kicker? Papa Murphy’s used to have a gimmick. “Take and Bake.” It was novel in the ‘90s when the concept of “fresh” was a selling point. But in 2024, we have Domino’s delivering a pizza in the time it takes to preheat your oven. We have local joints selling wood-fired Neapolitan pies that are so authentic they might as well have a passport stamp. We have grocery stores selling pre-made dough that’s cheaper and better. Papa Murphy’s is the pizza equivalent of a fax machine—technically functional, but deeply, profoundly unnecessary.
And let’s talk about the pricing, because that’s where the real insult to injury lies. For the price of one Papa Murphy’s large “specialty” pizza, which you have to cook yourself, I can order two large pizzas from Little Caesars, get them hot and ready, and still have enough money left over for a 2-liter of Mountain Dew. Papa Murphy’s is charging Domino’s prices for a DIY project. It’s like paying a mechanic to hand you a wrench and tell you the oil change is “your problem now.”
The company is trying to spin this as a “strategic review.” They’re blaming “challenging macroeconomic conditions” and “inflation.” But we all know the real problem: nobody wants to do their own dishes. Or their own baking. Or their own anything, really. We’re a society that has fully embraced the “I’ll just order out” mentality, and Papa Murphy’s is the awkward guy at the party who didn’t get the memo and is still trying to hand out business cards for his VCR repair shop.
The most hilarious part of this whole debacle is the devoted fanbase. You know the ones. They’re on the Papa Murphy’s Facebook page, commenting “Don’t leave us!” on every post. These are the same people who still have a landline, clip coupons from the Sunday paper, and think “Netflix and chill” is a new streaming service. They’ll drive 20 miles to the one remaining location in a strip mall next to a laundromat and an abandoned mattress store, just to get their fix of raw dough. God bless them, but they are not a sustainable business model.
Look, I’m not saying I’ll be sad to see them go. I’m saying I’ll be sad that I have to find a new way to feel superior to people who make worse decisions than I do. The closure of Papa Murphy’s leaves a void in the market for “overpriced, inconvenient, and ultimately disappointing.” Sure, we still have Panera for that, but it’s not the same.
So here’s to you, Papa Murphy’s. You served a purpose for a generation that was too lazy to make dough but too proud to eat frozen. You were the training wheels for adulthood, teaching us all the valuable lesson that sometimes it’s better to just order the damn pizza and let someone else deal with the heat. Your “strategic review” will probably result in a bunch of store closures, a fire sale on some very sad-looking pepperonis, and a final, desperate attempt to rebrand as a “pizza kit” company that sells to rich people in Portland who want to feel like they’re “artisanal.”
The only question now is who’s going to buy the scrap metal from all those ovens they’re going to have to liquidate. My money’s on the guy from the lawn-m
Final Thoughts
Look, the Papa Murphy’s saga isn’t just another casualty of the delivery wars; it’s a stark reminder that convenience is the new currency in dining, and a raw, take-and-bake model—no matter how beloved—can’t survive on nostalgia alone when Domino’s and DoorDash are offering hot, fresh pies at the speed of a text message. The private equity churn that loaded the chain with debt while bleeding its franchisees dry only accelerated the decay, proving that financial engineering can’t substitute for operational reinvention. Ultimately, this is a cautionary tale for any legacy brand: adapt your core promise to the modern appetite for immediacy, or watch your customer base bake their loyalty elsewhere.