Tonight was a good night. It was filled with pork, beer, bones, and pizza. Can you top that? As a matter of fact, you can.
Tony Bennett was the icing on the cake. I didn't want to take a photo of him because it would have required the flash on my shitty little camera phone, but trust me it was him. There was some early speculation to the situation as we sat at the bar in Roberta's, but as we schemed about the whole thing, we heard the owners being introduced to him as Tony.
Could it be? Was this really the Tony Bennett? Was he in an amazing shit hole looking pizza place in the middle of Bushwick!?
Oh it was baby and I don't mean to make Roberta's sound like a dump. It's just, when you see the tiny, cinderblock-built building from the street, it doesn't look like much, but trust me, it is much... way much! Their pizza is worth the travel alone, even if you live in the Bronx. I would kill a bum, or more preferably a Wall Street whore for a margherita pie with some speck (that's delicious cured ham-porky goodness). I mean fuck. Pizza and pig, why not. I'm gonna die from a heart attack or some sort of cancer, why not cram salty pig into everything and while you're at it, throw Tony Bennett into the mix. He can sing I left my heart in that salt cure, or better yet, in the pizza oven along with some fucking amazing pig love.
So take my advice, and not lightly, take it heavily... GO TO ROBERTA'S! Maybe you'll see Tony Bennett.
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