The next day we scrapped our plans to visit the Brownstone Water Park (those pesky lightning storms were not letting up) and ended up at the legend-wait for it-dary Frank Pepe’s in New Haven for a pizza lunch. Yes, you read that correctly, instead of being all skinny in a swimsuit I swapped it for a mouthful of pizza. Shocking I know. A couple things of note at Frank’s:
1) Go early. Like right when it opens. We didn’t plan it, but showed up about 15 minutes after they opened and found a table to sit out (it’s a seat yourself establishment) no problem. Frank Pepe’s is on a tiny residential street with not much parking except for two huge parking lots on either side of the restaurant (for restaurant patrons only). The constant reviews on Yelp discussed hard to find parking and LONG lines seemed a little over-dramatic when we first sat down. But let me tell you, an hour later when we left, there was a huge line out the door and parking attendants manning the parking lots. Crazyiness.
2) There was this tiny, elderly woman sitting alone in a booth across from us. Couldn’t be younger than 80 or more than 90 pounds soaking wet. And she ordered three large pizzas. They filled up her entire table meant to seat 4 people. And she just sat their happily for hours making her way through the different options before finally asking for some take home boxes. I’m telling you, that is my idea of how I want to be in my golden years. Making my way through an entire table of pizza.
As for the pizza. I don’t know… I mean it was really good. Really good as in we ordered two smalls and figured we’d take home half of each pie and left empty handed but full stomached. But I don’t know if it was stand-in- line for hours on end to experience this pizza. But maybe because I’m more of a Chicago deep dish fan. Best thing ever.
So a very happy 6 years and 3 months or 10 years and 7 months or something in between to my lovely husband. Whom still can crack me up at a second’s notice and still feel so warm and cherished even when he’s calling me by my maiden name – that’s the name he uses when I’m pissing him off.