Perhaps Old Chicago should rethink their training practices.

Wait staff are required to ask “have you been here before?”—a fair question. As it turns out, last week marked my first visit to the chain, so the server launched into the rest of her patter.

First she explained the menu: See, this side lists the appetizers (handily placed under an “appetizers” heading, I noticed). Here are our pizzas (topped by the word “pizza”) and so on. Next she pointed out that the small plates belong with the appetizers while the larger ones are reserved for main course.

I half expected a discourse on the purpose of those tined metal things wrapped in the napkin.

If this Dining Out 101 lesson weren’t so bemusing one might be tempted to remind management that a first visit to Old Chicago in not tantamount to a first venture into the civilized world.

Then again, the chain may cater to illiterates or Arizona State grads—a joke, by the way.

Yet as deep dish pizzas go, the place is not at all bad: meats propped by a welcome level of spice, a sturdy crust, decent cheese and enough heft to last for the rest of an afternoon. It is not, however, proper Chicago style pizza.

You see, Old Chicago’s pies stack in an ordinary fashion, with cheese on top. The version first created by Pizzeria Uno and Original Gino’s that received the windy city’s stamp weigh in by the pound. And chefs assemble these beasts in reverse order: cheese, a few days worth of toppings and, finally, a blanket of sauce, all on a buttery crust.

True Chicago style pizzas are things of beauty, to be savored. They captured the heart and soul of a gritty, meat-packing and—because of the heavy pizzas—toddling town. The Old Chicago chain just serves good American deep dish pies.

As for the rest of the menu, the place serves a neatly composed appetizer portion of fried mac and cheese, baked in-house the day before its dip in hot oil. Although the cheese is reserved and mellow, the crisp, granular crust lends an almost herbal sweetness to each bite. Their artichoke dip, on the other hand, resembles nothing more than canned greens mashed into cream cheese. Fortunately the bread served alongside reeks of garlic—enough to create some necessary interest.

Old Chicago is a reasonable dining option: clean, kitschy, with fine pies and over-informative servers.

And the bar stocks over 100 different beer labels…though I’m not sure if I could last through the waitress’ lecture on that menu.