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There are bare-bones restaurants and there are no-bones restaurants. Then there's Frankie's. Parking lots have more ambiance than this square, spare room decorated with a worn Formica counter, faded sports posters, and a rattling cooler full of soft drinks. No booze, no seats (except a couple of benches to park butt until your order is ready). Who cares? Frankie's is the best goddamn pizza from which you could hope to dribble tomato sauce on your shirt. It's all in the crust, a round of culinary alchemy that's crisp on the bottom, airy and slightly chewy, and tasting of fresh-baked bread. You could put motor oil on it and it would still be delicious, though it's better with the standard array of toppings, judiciously applied so you can taste what Frankie's pizza is all about.