Sbarro, the pizza eaten by mall slobs throughout the the country, is actually Italian for “sub par.” Yes, I’ve been guilty at times of being a mall slob, but have resisted the heat lamp, triangle-boxed pizza with the pretty colors for many years. This is until desperation sets in and it’s the only thing available. This was the case before going to see a show at MSG one night. Man, we should have skipped the pizza and eaten our shoes–it would have been warmer, tastier, and, ultimately, less expensive. What does your seven bucks buy you at this gyp-joint? A cold slice of congealed fat on top of thick, soggy cardboard and a drink that has been sitting pre-poured for an hour or two and is beginning to free itself from its waxy confines. Nothing like a good value. The place itself is depressing, dirty and lurking with dangerous looking felons. The folks at the mall never had it so bad. The funny thing is we were trying to avoid paying stupid prices for hot dogs at MSG, but ended up with a much less satisfactory experience eating the dregs of the Italian cuisine. Somewhere Mama Celeste is rolling over in her grave. [MF]
159 W 33rd St.