The strings of outdoor lights come on at night, and there's music outside — very romantic — and other events from week to week that make it worth coming back.
Parking nearby is a pain, much easier if you choose a spot way up the block. That's around the corner from my mom's old urban pioneer townhouse, my post-grad crash pad, so that was a little side trip down memory lane.
Our little group sat at a wonky table but the sweet service and $5 wine for happy hour made up for it. The happy hour wine is a nondescript plonk, but there are better bottles if you're so inclined. There's a happy hour pizza, too, that's a good deal at about half price.
Okay but here's the thing: They don't slice it for you. Wut?, you may say, and I repeat: you and your dull stainless dinner knife are going to have to slice it yourself. I asked the reason, and the answer said, "Because people complain that it gets soggy."
I make pizza at home from scratch, so I'm guessing the homemade tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella are a little watery, and that causes the potential for sog. I get that because I've seen it.
If I were in charge of the Napoli kitchen and looking for options, I might cook down the sauce to a thicker, less liquid consistency, and store the mozzarella in a strainer.
But if I were in charge of the dining room, the slice-it-yourself ethic would certainly seem easier, if much, much weirder.