Recently I visited Stretch, AKA Marfie, in his new hood, next to Greenwood Cemetery (a brief note to Marfie: living next to a cemetery is pretty evil; living with a dude who bakes you cookies is less-so). There aren't many options for the living in this desolate neck of the woods, so we munched up at Toby's Public House, which serves pizza, beer, Metal and hockey. I could give a shit about hockey, but pizza, Guinness and Dio are an impeccable combination.
Let me get the bad stuff out of the way: Toby, your Caesar salad was like an anchovy taking a dump in mouth. There weren't actually any anchovies in the salad, so I'm both impressed and amazed at how you accomplished this. I'm pretty sure the Parmesan was the Kraft, pre-grated variety, which has all the texture and deliciousness of Coney Island sand. Your pizza, however, was spot on. My pie had a bubbly and burnt thin crust, topped with a sweet tomato sauce, creamy buffalo mozzarella, and sopressata. I can forgive the crap Caesar after tasting the special hug of the buffalo mozzarella and the slightly smoky sopressata. I'm also a sucker for exposed brick, so you had me at brick oven.
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