Jace F.
Yelp
In a young boy's life, there's a defining moment when he truly steps into manhood--whether it's that first job, that first shave, that first drive, or now, that first slice. This is my rite of passage at Sally's. Ah, Beetz.
While I didn't know Salvatore Consiglio personally, I assume he'd be pleased at the turnout for opening night. Sally's did their best to prepare for pandemonium and save for a couple service snafus and delays (bunch of tables seemed to get comp'd apps for the wait on pizzas), otherwise, they navigated it well, all things considered. No takeout. No reservations. Just legions of One Bite wanna-bes (myself included) wrapped around the block in puffer jackets, waiting to get a whiff of some of the best pizza in America. Oh. And a booty-thumping DJ, evidently (although I suspect this is just opening-weekend fanfare).
The restaurant itself was modern and sprawling, with an open concept, floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge wrap-around bar, and almost enough seating to accommodate the droves of mini-Portnoy's taking selfies with their pies, as if they just announced a Facebook relationship status together. Admittedly, it was humbling to arrive just minutes into their grand opening, watching the pizza bourgeoisie flaunt their golden tickets through the windows to zombie onlookers, shuffling along the red carpet sidewalk like the Walking Dead. And though we had to park in Burlington, the line moved relatively quickly, and soon enough, we entered the pearly gates of St. Sally.
We opted for brussel sprouts as an app, which were overcooked and overly balsamic sweet. That said, the crown jewel of New Haven translates its coal-fired and sauce-forward pie to perfection with the same thin, crispy, chewy char that we've come to salivate over on Wooster Street. So good that no one even cares they're shaped like that concerning birthmark on Grandpa's back.
In the end, as I took my last contemplative bite, I couldn't help but think, "Salvatore, if you're watching from pizza heaven, you've truly left an indelible mark on New England and beyond." Sally's Apizza in Woburn is more than a restaurant; it's a cosmic convergence of crispy crusts and celestial sauce. So, as I exit the pizza paradise, my belly full and my soul seasoned, I raise my slice to the maestro of mozzarella, the sultan of sauce, and the new grand wizard of Woburn--Salvatore Consiglio. May every pizza pilgrimage delightful, and every bite a reminder that in this chaotic universe, there's always room for another slice of happiness.