Who doesn’t like good pizza? Delicious mozzarella that stretches as you pull the slice from your mouth. Sauce from the finest Roma tomatoes plucked from the storied shadows of Mount Vesuvius. Flavor-packed pepperoni cups, each like a salty little kiss from Santa Maria herself. There is simply no greater pleasure.
Anyway, don’t expect that stuff here.
Remember when you lived in the city? The hustle and bustle infiltrated every cell in your body. You even had a MetroCard. Then you moved here. You gave up. I will not reward that kind of mediocrity. You’re lucky I even stay open. If I weren’t locked into another four years of local Little League sponsorship, I would’ve left you strip-mall regulars in the dust years ago. The pizza I will make is the pizza that best matches my assessment of you and your choices. It is barely adequate.
