If survival were an Olympic sport, Charlie Marshall would have a gold medal—and maybe a matching pizza peel. Through the pandemic, rising rents, and the general absurdity of Hell’s Kitchen, he’s kept The Marshal thriving, one perfectly charred, oven-roasted pizza at a time.
Now, I’ve had a lot of pizza. Some good, some regrettable, some that tasted like a cardboard coaster at a dive bar. But Charlie’s? His crust alone deserves its own fan club—blistered in all the right places, sturdy yet airy, a structural masterpiece that could hold up a small building or, at the very least, the weight of our collective neighborhood stress.
But it’s not just about the pizza. Charlie cares. He’s been feeding us, sustaining us, keeping Hell’s Kitchen delicious when so many others called it quits. So let’s give the man his due. Best pizza in Hell’s Kitchen? If justice exists, it belongs to Charlie Marshall.