In the winter of 1951, me Da woke us up in the dead of night. We packed only what we could carry and were rushed out of our Dublin flat into the back of a bread truck, hidden beneath a dummy bench. Bent and cramped with my parents and kid brother for a 3 and 1/2 hour ride to the port of Cork. From there we were smuggled aboard a ship bound for the Americas, all four of us in a 5 foot wide room with 2 beds. 8 days we were out at sea. We had no money for food and survived off the scraps of generous passengers and the sheer kindness of one priest coming over from Co. Wexford. It was the worst week of my life. We roamed the steel halls of the ship like stray dogs, begging for whatever was left over. I never thought I’d miss those scraps, until I tried the pizza here...
I wondered into this shop on the way to Florida and ordered a pie. Half of it stuck to the box and the other half had more flop than when I take a piss in the evening. All tang and no flavor. I swear, I’ve gotten better pizza from a vending machine. After getting through about 2 inches of cheese, and another 1 of grease, I tasted that smokey burnt cardboard of a crust. Overall, not a good one. Also had to wait nearly an hour to get it so it’s possible that factored into the score. Wouldn’t recommend or return.
