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An old St. Paul family pizza joint and bar where the emphasis is on real family. Kids frolic in one room, slapping their cheese-splattered hands on the aquarium, while in the room with the bar an embittered wife carries in two garbage bags of her husband's possessions, depositing them beside his stool. He says: "I guess I'll get my fishing gear in the spring." And his wife says: "I'll call you if I clean out the garage before then." And he says: "And I'll call Channel 9, 'cause that'd be a miracle." So she gets a pizza to go and leaves, and he orders another pitcher. About that pizza--imagine a very, very large man floating on a very, very small raft. The crust is a martyred delivery vehicle for mammoth quantities of cheese over authentic toppings and a robust homemade sauce. In fact, there's an entire novel waiting to be written about the sauerkraut-and-Italian-sausage special, something about that which was fired in the crucible of 20th-century East St. Paul, when breweries and immigrants from all over Europe united to create something that seems bizarre, but goes great with tap beer. If you write that novel, call us, and we'll call Channel 9.