Coal Vines

So cliché, with that portrait of a young Frank Sinatra hung beside the bar, his face gazing upward. You might wonder if the moon's in his eyes, though that's another artist who's equally as shopworn in New York Style Pizza joints. And that cheesy tune is playing too, ting-a-ling-a-ling -- it's almost a parody. But then you look around the room at Coal Vines, and all is forgiven. Maybe it's that gorilla of a bartender who places your napkins just like so, and always tops off your wine before it empties. Or the Dominic Chianese look-alike who greets you at the door, makes sure you have a seat and slowly grazes on a salad from behind large glasses after things get slow. It's much more likely the pizza, fired by coal, just as the name of the restaurant suggests, which offers a passable attempt at recreating the style of pie served on every single corner and in every borough of New York City. A Northerner could sit here, eyes closed, with a folded slice in his hand and pretend they are back home.