The dimly lit tavern called Two Tony’s, located in Spring Lake, brought an aroma of tomato sauce and fish to my nose—two smells I despise. From there on, I expected a miserable dinner. 

The small enclosure swarmed with what my dad calls “the blue-haired,” old people. Pictures hung on the walls—of the Colosseum, old Italian-American musicians, and flowers. The air filled itself with laughter and stories from mothers to daughters. Chefs behind me screamed to one another, and the waitresses pranced around, going from table to table. It seemed quite busy for such a confined space. 

Our waitress placed a thin long menu in front of me and my parents and performed the typical waitress script, and as soon as she’d arrived, she left again. The service seemed fantastic overall, and not even a minute later, I had my Pepsi placed gently to my left. 

As we waited for our server to arrive once more, we spoke of the afternoon, the days to come, and ironically, our potential trip to Italy this summer. The noise level was feeble and low; I could faintly hear conversations next to me, but only if that person echoed farther out than the typical voice. The environment surrounding me seemed vibrant with cheery moods all around; even employees wore a true smile on their faces. 

When it came time, we ordered bread for the table, two house salads, and I— the pickiest eater—ordered a pepperoni pizza. As the main course was cooking, the salads and bread were up on the table within minutes. The house salad consisted of tomatoes and onions—both of which I picked off—and cucumbers, croutons, and lettuce. 

Along with the savory salad, I chose the Greek dressing to drizzle on top. Though I’m a hater of cheese, the chunky Greek dressing with beads of feta made my mouth water. However, the bread wasn’t as highly praised as the salad. It had a very hard crunch, spewing crumbs all over the table, and the taste itself wasn’t as appealing as the rest of my meal. 

The hot plate coated with pizza welcomed itself in front of me, and my mouth immediately began pleading to taste the melted cheese. My fingers slipped under a slice, ready to chomp away at the six-piece pie of complete perfection when the cheese slipped off the burning slice and onto the plate. With utter disappointment, I realized I would have to either cut or fold the piece—both things I’m not fond of doing. 

I slathered the cheese back onto my slice, folded it, and munched. The taste exploded in my mouth, fireworks of flavor taking over. The platter was nothing but excellent. It did not matter how hard that pizza was to grab, getting all the greasy flavoring bunch into a bite was worth it. 

Even though I first entered Two Tony’s with low standards, it washed away through the course of my evening. The entirety of the tavern was an absolute pleasure, and I’ll definitely find myself back on the small wooden chairs flanking the square table. Picky eaters will find no excuse to pick a selection for themselves; lovers of Italian food will find the meals exquisite. Two Tony’s is truly a welcoming abode for any age, any foodie, or any party. It’s a lovely establishment, and they can expect me there again soon.