There are few establishments in the country that will ever match the longevity of Fort Lauderdale’s Franco & Vinny’s Pizza Shack. Established in 1971 by Francesco ‘Franco’ Esposito and Vincenco ‘Vinny’ Esposito, the Italian restaurant was just over a block from the paradise of Fort Lauderdale Beach. When you entered, the walls near the entrance were filled with photographs and memories, with a bar and kitchen to the right and a fish tank to the left, just before you entered the dining area. It was an evening-only spot, open from 4 to 11 p.m.
Over the years, the brothers purchased more property around the original shop, including the building that would house the Mexican Cantina for many years until it shut down during the coronavirus pandemic of 2020. In September 2014, Franco passed away from a heart attack. Years later, his brother decided it was time to go out in style.
Before it’s time to close, there are guests to feed. Many, like myself, don’t have long stories about years gone by, the old days, or sentimental moments to recall, which made it easier to understand the depth of love and respect this unique place held for both locals and tourists alike. For my friends, there were memories of sitting with their father years ago and enjoying pizza. For another, memories of sitting with her daughter, and soon to create more memories with another daughter, as both enjoyed the last night with some Prosecco to toast Vinny’s retirement.
While many guests were locals, I heard many say they made it a point to eat at Franco & Vinny’s whenever they were in town. One guest, from Colorado, mentioned that he never missed the opportunity to stop by and was sad to see it go, but he gave Vinny a big smile and said, ‘Thank you for all the years.’
The atmosphere during the final weeks was somber yet thankful. Certainly, with all the division in our society over politics, places like this rise above petty partisan and tribal bickering to unite people over food and drink. I’ll mainly remember the root beer. During those final weeks, we went nearly every night to enjoy the different dishes once again or for the first time. We’d start with a straightforward plate of spaghetti with meatballs, meat sauce, and sausage.
As easy as it was to simply keep ordering the fantastic Shack Special pizza (the equivalent of a Supreme anywhere), the pasta dishes were equally fantastic. The Carbonara was a favorite among my friends, and they also enjoyed the Manicotti. The mozzarella sticks were delectable, and the desserts were never a disappointment. Without a doubt, the Tiramisu was delicious every time.
The time to close came on April 25, 2021, and the guests were treated to some of Vinny’s retirement party cake as friends and family gathered around, including his wife, Caterina.
Until the end, Vinny was still checking on his guests. He wanted to make sure everything was just right. I’m honored to say I’ll never forget when he came to our table weeks before closing and served us slices fresh out of the oven. It had a quality of generosity not commonly found in restaurants anymore. Vinny was a straightforward talker when he visited with you and seemed to know precisely when to get back to the grind of the kitchen for other guests.
As the clock neared 10 p.m. on that final night, we all gathered around to watch as Vinny prepared the last pizza his place would serve and showed us all what hard and steady work brings together: a strong sense of family, community, and respect. Good job, Mr. Esposito. You created a great legacy for yourself and went out in style.
2025 Editor’s Note: Why did I write this story? Well, I had always monitored Roger Stone’s activities, and he mentioned that this place was closing down. At the time, he was a regular subject of my work tracking Trump’s use of Russian hacking to his advantage and his conduct of ground operations to disrupt democracy. It just so happened that someone said, “Oh, my dad and I used to go there all the time,” which led us to decide to go every day for the last two weeks. After all, I had already shaken Stone’s hand at the Riverside—what were the odds I’d smell sulfur once more?
