This is what it looks like in Sally's. The place is full of guys like those two. I was completely enamored by the fastidious fellow on the left. He never broke his posture once during the entire meal. My sweetie noticed that the fellow on the right had brought a little baggie of Parmesan cheese with him and that, with a tiny spoon he'd also brought along, he periodically spooned little puffs of it onto his pizza. Anyway, that's enough of those dudes. Here are some fireworks to keep you reading (I saw 'em on the drive home from Sally's):
The coolest thing about Sally's is the menu. They offer pizza and little else. You can get a beer and a soda, but you cannot get a salad. They don't even have Iceberg lettuce, so forget about that, too. In fact, Sally's acts as if the California pizza "revolution" never even happened. Wolfgang Puck? Who the f**k is he?! Avocado and bacon? Go straight to hell! BBQ sauce, chicken and red onion? You can shove it up your a**! Sally don't play like that. Oh, and you'll probably wait two hours for you pizza, but it will be worth it. The crust makes all the other pizza crusts I've ever eaten seem like abominations against pizza crust.