I hear this from the young man behind the counter at the pizzeria, but assume he must be talking to a co-worker so I don’t respond.
“Miss! Miss! Whadya got?”
“Are you… talking… to me?” I think about going all DeNiro on his behind, but hold myself in check once I realize this is his way of saying, “What would you like to order?” and he’s actually semi-smiling.
Off to my right, I hear an older gentleman working behind the counter approach the next person in line. “Whadya got, sir?”
So that’s just how they do it. “Whadya got.” Indeed. I would tell ya what I got right here (as we say in Jersey) but my mama raised me better.
I tell the young man I’d like to order a sub with fresh mozzarella and roasted peppers and ask what else usually comes on it. “Whadya want? We can put anything. You want lettuce? We’ll put lettuce. You want tomato? We’ll…”
I’m onto the pattern here. I ask for tomatoes, oil and vinegar and wait for the order to be completed.
As my order came up, the young man placed bags of zeppole on the counter, shaking them so the powdered sugar in the bag spread out over the warm, doughy treats. “For you,” he points to me. “No charge.” He says to the next man, “Zeppole, enjoy.”
Well, points for that. I thank him for the zeppole and take my food on home.
So I realized I may have found the most New Jersey pizzeria in existence. Next time you’re in the mood for a tasty pie, I’ve got a pizza place for you. Just hope you’re in the mood for a side of Jersey ‘tude, no extra charge.