Listen to me, chico. In this town, you gotta have the eyes open, the ears to the street, and a…read moretaste for the good stuff.
Before I go down to the docks to handle a shipment, let's just say forty kilos of pure, unadulterated, black-market San Marzano marinara, the real uncut sauce from Naples, I gotta eat. I don't do business on an empty stomach, you understand? So I roll up to Noventa Millas in Tampa with my girl.
First of all, the service? Fast. Faster than a boat dodging the Coast Guard. They don't waste my time, and I respect that. You sit outside under the sun like a boss, watch the street, keep your back to the wall. When your order is ready, what do they do? They hand you a cold lager, coño. That's respect. That's how you treat a man of stature.
Now let's talk about the product. The portions here? Massive. Heavier than a suitcase full of unmarked hundreds.
I ordered the Hawaiian Cuban pizza. You think you know pineapple and ham? You don't know nothing. The crust was thick, caramelized cheese dripping over the edges like molten gold, absolute perfection. My girl went with the carne spaghetti. Rich, hearty, totally solid, she cleared her plate and didn't say a word, just nodded like a queen.
I've been here before on previous runs, and let me tell you, the papaya shake is deadly. Smooth, sweet, top-shelf quality. And in the glass case by the counter? A flan looking at me like a million bucks. I didn't pull the trigger on it today because duty calls, but next time, it's mine.
Noventa Millas has the whole city in their pocket and they don't even know it. Five stars, chico. Now if you'll excuse me, I got a sauce connect waiting for me in an alley.
