best thing I never had

According to the signs posted outside of Joe Italiano's Maplewood Inn, you are looking at a plate of the "World's Best Spaghetti." Think about that for a minute. The world's best spaghetti. The best spaghetti in the entire world — out of all of the restaurants on this planet that offer spaghetti as an entrée on their menu. This is the best! Stare at it. Bask in its glory. The. Best. Spaghetti. In The. World.

My wife and I have been traveling to Atlantic City for a good portion of our lives. First as children, chauffeured by our parents on family vacations to the famous New Jersey shore destination. Then as adults with our son to create our own beloved memories of the storied seaside burg known as "America's Playground."

In more recent years, Mrs. Pincus and I would drive from our suburban Philadelphia home to Atlantic City to... enjoy?.... encounter?.... experience all that the Harrah's Casino Resort has to offer. For a time, Mrs. P was a favored patron in the eyes of Harrah's. She was showered with gifts and trips and free rooms and complimentary meals, as well as literally hundreds of dollars in "free play" for use in their casino slot machines. We traveled to Atlantic City several times a week to take advantage of all of the perks that came our way... until it ended, of course. Yep, one day, the marketing algorithms caught up and Mrs. P was cut free. Until, of course, it picked up again. In hopes of recouping some lost income due to closures during the COVID-19 pandemic, Harrah's apparently dug deep into their mailing list and suddenly Mrs. Pincus was back in their good graces. She began receiving offers to come down and collect a modest gift card or household appliance of some sort. These offers were made to encourage folks to gamble a bit while they were there to get their free gift. But they don't know my wife very well. We took the ninety-minute trip, Mrs. P ran in (properly masked and gloved while I — also masked — waited outside), got her gift and we left. We spent approximately fifteen minutes at Harrah's including the walk from the parking garage. Mrs. P didn't drop a single nickel in a slot machine. Oh, they'll cut her off soon. Don't you worry.

So, while we are still on Harrah's "good list," we have found ourselves Atlantic City bound on that two-lane blacktop road that bisects the rural-looking communities of South Jersey more often than we ever figured. Considering how often we traverse Route 30, colloquially known as "The White Horse Pike," I still marvel at how it still seems unfamiliar and its landmarks very forgettable. The landscape is dotted with a smattering of weather-worn, single-story houses that — I am convinced — all have one of those brick-walled dry wells in the basement, like Buffalo Bill's house in Silence of the Lambs. I'm also sure that they each contain a senator's daughter pleading for her life. Oh, there are a small amount of recognizable businesses along the way, too — like local supermarket chains and big-box stores like Wal-Mart. (I think we pass three.) But, for the most part, it is a repetitive tableau, like the one Fred and Barney pass as they tool through Bedrock. There are dozens of car repair places, their yards piled high with rusted husks of years-old vehicles in various stages of disassembly. There are numerous strip centers with empty stores. There are a number of restaurants, some looking closed at the dinner hour, some lit up with no customers. But among those restaurants, shining like a beacon, its parking lot jammed with cars, is Joe Italianio's Maplewood Inn.

An otherwise nondescript building situated in a cleared lot along an unremarkable stretch of the White Horse Pike in Hammonton, Joe Italianio's Maplewood Inn has something its competitors (if any) are lacking. Joe Italianio's Maplewood Inn has the world's best spaghetti. They even have two signs proclaiming the title. The most noticeable is perched on the roof of the building, backlit at night, reinforcing what the world (in the aggregate mind of Joe Italianio's Maplewood Inn) already knows. If you are in search of the best spaghetti in the entire world, search no more. Within this unadorned brick structure, your quest has come to an end. The great pasta salons of Rome, Venice and Bologna have resigned themselves to the fact that despite centuries-old recipes and preparation processes, a little red masonry structure in the tiny hamlet of Hammonton, New Jersey has bested them all. The best! In the world! Wow! Just wow! They don't have enough room on their signs to spell out Joe's first name in its entirety, but — damn! — they need the space to alert the 14,000 residents of Hammonton and beyond that within these walls the best spaghetti in the world can be found. There are highly regarded restaurants and establishments boasting the coveted third star from the revered Michelin Guide. They are concocting delicate gourmet recipes from exotic ingredients to tantalize the discerning palate. But, when it comes to spaghetti — forget it! They hang their collective heads. Because, as we know now, none of them serve the world's best spaghetti. That, of course, can only be gotten from the kitchen of Joe Italianio's Maplewood Inn. 

During the pandemic, Mrs. Pincus and I are being very cautious in our actions. Yes, I know. Going into a casino seems like the last place we should be going. But, Mrs. P is diligent in her precautionary measures... and when my wife is diligent about something, watch out. In the meantime, we are eating all of our meals at home and we have not ordered from a restaurant in eight months. When the time comes when we feel it is safe for us to venture out and re-enter the world of "dining out" again, will we make a beeline to Joe Italianio's Maplewood Inn for a sampling of the world's best spaghetti?

Nah.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com