Coals sit well back in a corner, and food gets arrayed on ceramic bricks in front. Prime cooking spots fronting the flames are few, so the wait on a crowded night can be considerable. The oven is really meant for pizzas and calzones, and the 30-minute drive from downtown is worth it for them alone. Marsico's crust is thin and fairly crisp, with a blackened edge that rubs off on your fingertips and leaves a satisfying grit on your lips. Pizzas are not larded up with cheese and el cheapo meats, either.
Toppings run from artichoke hearts to salami.
The zippy homemade tomato sauce sings. And proportions are healthily sparse. Pies are advertised as 12 inches, but they're really, as a friend remarked, more like a Dominoes' 16-incher and are easily shared. A board lists specials of the day, and the fresh catch is invariably a good choice. The veal version of this Italian dish is one of my mother's signatures, and I love the tanginess of lemon and capers on the lightly breaded and thinly sliced cutlets.