A year later and there’s still ‘za in my mouth

Tarrantino’s.

How many times have we met?  How many more times will we spend an evening together.  Salty is your dough.  Salacious even.  Your oily cheese and mediocre sauce sends my mind reeling through years passed, of nights with bros and pups.  Many a time has your minuscule palette of flavor been sent through a toaster oven, floors populated with the remnants of your brothers.  You even serve us well in a microwave the following day.  The silty residue has been left permanent on our fingertips.  We love you.

And my how you’ve aged.  You’re even better than I remember.  Like an expensive Italian cabernet or a titilating NFL sideline broadcaster.  We’ve matured and you’ve matured gracefully.

And paired with a Hardywood Singel you’re in for a few moments of bliss, best enjoyed alone.

Tarrantino's…again.

And it’s back to their normal crust.  Just look at how well it’s cooked.  The cheese is like molten lava queso, piping hot and ready to burn the roof of your mouth.  I say, if you don’t have a piece of skin hanging from your palate after eating pizza, then you didn’t eat it fast enough.

-gRant

The Ever Changing Tarrantino's

Friday usually means waking up late for work because you’ve already treated Thursday night like Friday night.  It also means knocking off work early and saving space in your stomach for a pizza fix later that night.

This is exactly what I did today.  A friend and I went up to Tarrantino’s, part of Tarrant’s cafe, only to find that they are expanding the restaurant into their old pizza parlor space.  We had to make do with standing in the way of dining patrons while we waited for our pizza.

After Andy’s pleasant experience at with their pizza, I decided to give it another go around.  Half cheese, half pepperoni.

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