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Manhattan truly is the
home of the generically named pizza joint. They dot the eastside from
the Bowery to the upper reaches of the UES. They generally have some
vaguely Italian name and feature the long, glass counter coated in
cheese grease and fingerprints. The formula is not necessarily a bad
one, but certainly a tired one. Cold pies lay like cardboard Frisbees
just waiting to be refreshed by one of those huge pizza ovens. The
fountain soda machine sits there unused, and always in some state
of disrepair. I guess orange Fanta just isn't the draw it once was.
The owner is most likely still smarting over that purchase. Giuseppe's
fits in this category of restaurant like it was born to be mediocre.
It just feels like there's some huckster out there selling non-descript
pizza franchises--and our friend G-man was there waiting in line,
hopping up and down with his fistful of hundreds with the rest of
the unimaginative underachievers. I guess when it comes down to it,
we don't patronize these places for their ambience. And that just
leaves the food. I'll take a ho-hum chicken roll to go--and step on
it; I'm getting depressed. [MF]
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