Dough Pizzeria Napoletana is honestly advertised, a tasty place. And popular: a waiting list at 7:00 p.m. Sunday, though as a solo I got a bar seat immediately, right in front of the chief pizza flipper.
I skipped the eponymous pizza in favor of sausage and peppers, a colorful, erotically oily melange that provoked the admiring inquiry of the single woman next to me.
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