Good seafood at a firehouse?
Damn straight. Not just good, but probably the best you'll ever eat.
Unfortunately, you'll have to wait until next Lent to try it out. I asked Jesus Christ to delay his Resurrection a week or two, but He doesn't care much for seafood and said No.
No reservations. You go there and some surly fat gay takes your name and you have to wait a good hour or so.
No fancy tables either. You're not going for the atmosphere, but to eat.
Flounder, Clams. Calimari. Shrimp. Scallops. Lobster. And pasta, of course. It's Roseto.
Just about everybody from the Slate Belt goes. I went on Good Friday with Mark Cotturo, a former male model who had about eighty women swoon over him during the evening. I was hoping for some fallout, but no dice.
Also with me was The Bastard, Mark Thatcher, the very dude who grabbed Toni Lynch's cell phone a few months ago and chucked it into an unflushed hopper at the Mount Bethel Diner. Lynch kept playing "Ride of the Valkyries" on the phone, and Thatcher hates Wagner.
Toni was there, too. He actually handed The Bastard his new, snazzy iPhone, his third in the last two months, because a second iPhone was also smashed to pieces at the Mount Bethel Diner after he kept playing "Along Came Jones."
Bangor School Director Dennis Jones came along and chucked the phone against the wall.
Lynch's cellphone was safe Friday night, but he took no chances and bought The Bastard drinks.
Tangos.
There was a shitload of other Slate Belt people there, too. This place is so good that Northampton County Council member Scott Parsons, currently running for the state senate, ditched Detzi's Tavern for the night. Don't tell anyone, but John Detzi from Detzi's Tavern was there, too.
So were Judge Craig Dally and Executive John Brown.
They had to wait.
I'm unfamiliar with Slate Belt society, but one family was pointed out to me as "The Kennedys". They apparently dress very fashionably and still have all their teeth. They walked around with their noses in the air. Except instead of the husband screwing around, it's the wife. She's apparently done everyone in the Slate Belt at one time or another.
Except me.
And the Judge.
They had to wait, too.
Unfortunately for them, we had already eaten most of the food.
Where was Ron Angle, the Northampton County Bulldog? Well, he's really fixated on shit lately. He was working his ass off to clean cow shit out of his barn after the long, hard winter. Once Angle gets his hands on shit, he just doesn't want to let go.
Next Lent, be there if you like good seafood.
There's no parking lot, and on my way to go inside, some asshole decided to let his dogs out without bothering to go with them. Pit bulls.
One of them nailed me from behind, but let go as soon as I swung around and he recognized me.
Professional courtesy.
Then I bit the owner.
Roseto needs to change its symbol from a rose to a lobster. Or a bowl of pasta.
